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Dear Herma (and Paul)
Please forgive my late response to your gift & card. I’ve got several valid reasons to hold off writing until now. My delays are due to being in the thick of selling my house (which included doing some renovations) and preparing to move to Ladysmith on Vancouver Island. No, I haven’t retired, I actually got a job transfer which takes effect February 5th. It originally was for November but I requested a delay due to having to sell my house. The reason for moving now rather than later is because my husband began divorce proceedings in January of 2006 (after 7 years of waiting for me to do something) and I figured it was a good idea to get outta here rather than rent something for a few months. I was very lucky with getting a transfer so quickly but I would have gone to Nanaimo if it hadn’t worked out.
I must say your gift astounded me! It was one of those serendipity occasions which I’ll explain. In 2005, a writer friend of mine, who lives in Ohio, brought up Adam Grant who was the resident artist of ‘Paint by Number’. My friend gave me an internet link and I went and looked up Mr. Grant’s history. He was a surivor of a WW II German ‘work’ camp. I’d been scoffing about the quality of Paint by Number until I saw Mr. Grant’s art and was duly impressed as well as touched deeply by his story. A few weeks later, I wrote a poem titled ‘Pain by Numbers’ which I realized later was a reflection of Mr. Grant and how a photo of him had left an impression. I’ll enclose that poem so that you might reflect on where my mind was at because of Mr. Grant. Then, another writer friend of mine who lives in Montreal told me her Polish mother had also survived a work camp. This person went on to tell me about an elderly Jew who was dying but pleased he’d made it out of the holocaust alive. All of these stories had a huge impact on me.
I then came across a call for submissions from a publication who was seeking stories and poetry about ‘Dead Men (and Women) Walking. I considered all the usual ghouls like vampires and zombies but they didn’t grab me nearly as much as the true horrors so many real people have endured during ancient (and modern) history. I thought again of Adam Grant, the mother and the old Jew who lived each day with joy because he’d made it out alive. I thought about all of those who hadn’t. Not just Jews either. There were social misfits and agitators who also were subject to the misery of Hitler’s megalomania. I thought about all of those who followed him with gusto believing they were truly superior and entitled to obliterate humanity based on outrageous beliefs. I know they aren’t the only bunch who have done so and I thought about how frequently humans act this way. A super heated ego or character flaw that seems to afflict all of us given the right rarified atmosphere. My parents instilled equity beliefs in me from childhood and I’ve always reminded myself that it’s so easy to fall into the abyss of mass hysteria. I consider myself fortunate to have been raised by people who celebrated diversity rather than following blindly. I wonder what sort of a person I would be if I’d been brought up differently.
However, I’m getting off topic. Herma, when I read that submission call I contacted a woman who’s specialty is dark poetry and told her what sort of poem I had in mind and asked her if she’d ever come across anything similar. She was very enthusiastic about my idea and assured me it was an original one. She also offered to provide feedback while I was composing my poem which I appreciated. I told my other friend about my idea too and he was intrigued as well. I then began. Herma, normally when I write poetry (including Pain by Numbers) I dash it off in a day or even hours and rarely revisit it once finished. This time I went through several drafts before I was satisfied. I even spent hours on the title trying to find something that was ‘catchy’ while being respectful. I’m not a Jew, I don’t have any relatives who went through this nightmare. I don’t even have anyone close who fought in W.W.II yet I’m troubled by it often.
I don’t for a minute believe it’s because I am spiritually connected to a lost soul either. I never feel that profoundly tied to it. It’s just so gut wrenching that people can do such hideous things and feel justified doing so. The lay of the land may change, the race too but it seems part of our DNA. has a twisted helix. I don’t think women are any less evil either. When writing the poem I chose a real villain rather than a made up character. There is no reason to resort to fiction when there are so many true stories to pick from. My other reason for deciding upon this topic is because vampires and the like seem to attract young readers and some of the less savoury crowd too. I know for a fact that ‘skin heads’ are big fans of the macabre so I thought it would be a good way to tweak their neo-nazi mentality. However, this wasn’t a conscious decision and it was something I realized later. More karma. I believe deeply in such things and receiving your gift gave me quite a jolt. Not a bad thing at all but it required a long letter of response instead of a simple thank you. I believe you somehow knew that I’d composed this poem. I struggled with trying to remember if I’d written you about it and don’t believe I did. So, therefore it was more serendipity and you travel within the same circle as I from time to time without realizing it. So, I’m taking a break from my packing to write this because I simply can’t delay one more day.
Do you know about the lamp shades made of human skin? One of those details which I’d come across a long time ago. I can’t remember when but I was quite young. I thought about all the families torn apart and how they must have felt being separated without any knowledge about their loved ones. I purposely chose to have the character die from typhoid rather than be gassed because that’s what happened to many of them. Once I had the image of this man, his story began to fall into place. It took me just over a week to go from the first draft, which I’ve also enclosed to the finished poem. I then phoned my friend in Montreal and read it to her without revealing it’s contents. I wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be an insult to her mother and others. It’s such a sensitive topic. She was very moved by the poem and told me that she was sure her mother would approve. I also ran it by my other contacts and each of them found it to be suitable.
*
Then, and only then did I submit it to the publisher for consideration (via e-mail). A couple of hours later I got a reply from them and thought I’d screwed something up because, normally, submission take days or weeks to get a response. The publishers were so taken with the poem (even though it wasn’t about zombies) they accepted it immediately. This never ... ever .. happens. I was thrilled. This all happened in August 2005 and then I had to wait until the fall of 2006 before my poem came out in print. While I don’t receive any royalties, I was paid for this poem and also given a complimentary copy of the book. Once it was published it was circulated through the dark writing channels and a review was posted on the internet. Here is the link. I seem to remember you having internet connections.
http://www.theharrow.com/journal/index.php/journal/article/view/2001/468
The reviewer thought enough of my poem to mention it specifically by writing:
“"Bazaar Shades of Sorrow," a poem by Penelope Allen, combines memorable imagery with a sense of desperate melancholy.”
What a bonus! My first review and it’s right on the money! Herma, I was over the moon because Dru Pagliassotti, the reviewer, caught the mood of the poem perfectly.
My goodness, I’ve gone on about this for pages. I just couldn’t see how I could explain how profound your gift was without all of the background. Thank you so much Herma. I have not had time to read the book yet because I’m up to my ears in work and all the chores moving requires. I was very lucky with the house sale though. It was only on the market for four days and the accepted offer was more than I expected. Considering it was near Christmas I was delighted! Not only that but the house won’t be torn down or rented out. The buyers will be living in it! This is something very unusual for the older houses on my street. In the past few years every one which has been sold that’s around the same age (57 years) has been demolished. I think it’s a crime because they are so well constructed compared to what’s being built nowadays. It’s all good news as far as I’m concerned.
I had a quiet Christmas on the island. with my son and his wife. I’ll soon be moving in with them while we hash out what’s going to be the next move. There are a few scenarios to discuss. I don’t know if you know that my son Kevin and I bought my mom and dad’s house in Ladysmith. I therefore, own half of that property too. However, I consider it his and unless he and his wife are in agreement I will buy another place instead of investing my house sale proceeds in tearing down my folks home and building a new house there with attached living quarters for me. Kevin has a number of friends who are in the house building trade and he’s confident they won’t build anything tacky. I’m quite willing to spend more money to ensure only quality materials are used. Not only that, but I’m handy with laying tile and painting (I can even frame in a pinch) to offset some of the finishing costs.
Phew! Are you still reading?
I apologize for my lack of timely seasonal correspondence and thank you once again for your thought provoking gift. I hope you will share this letter with Jewelle as well. I think she might be as intrigued as I was.
I’m enclosing something I tatted last summer. I had meant to get it mailed to you prior to Christmas so you could hang it on your tree. No matter though, it’s not as if it has to wait until next December as it would be just as content in a window or even dangling from a rearview mirror. Whatever strikes your fancy is fine by me.
All the best to you and Paul in 2007!
Your friend
Pen
ps - I’ll write again once I’ve read the book.
[an]Herma, a recently retired postal worker who lives in Revelstoke BC, usually mails me a Christmas card along with a form letter. She totally astounded me by sending me a book written by Jewelle St. James titled JUDE - My Reincarnation From Auschwitz. The only time Herma, who is not a writer, and I swap correspondence is at Christmas and she's never sent me a gift before. A couple of LitOrg members are referred to in this letter and it's intentional to reflect my beliefs on how and where ideas come from.
Because this letter is mostly about writing I thought I'd post it here too. [/an]
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"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent" - Eleanor Roosevelt
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