The Sublime Experience of Poetry

Kathleen Lujan
KATHLEEN LUJAN

Poet Kathleen Lujan has carried her passion for the written word with her from childhood. It was where she focused her education and career trajectory.

Lujan has a Bachelor’s Degree in English and History, a Master’s Degree in American Studies (Southwest History and Literature) from NMHU, where she taught for four years. She also taught for 10 years at West Texas A&M University, where she received a Teaching Excellence Award in 1998-1990.

Lujan developed a writing and reading process called the ARQ (Active Reading Quest), which she presented at a seminar at the University of Edinburgh, Scotland and presented to teachers during two-day seminars in New Mexico. She taught Language Arts at Coronado High School for two years and then five years at Lybrook School as the project coordinator for literacy for Alaskan and Native American children.

She is an awarding-winning educator who has conducted studies and seminars in India, England, Scotland and Italy, and served as adjunct faculty for Navajo Technical University to teach AP composition class at Alamo Community. She has always made time for writing with a focus on poetry. Her recently release chap book of poetry, Puddles of Years, is available from the author. Email her at katlujan62@gmail.com for details.

Lujan will be the featured writer at a Zoom Las Vegas Literary Salon event on Sunday, Aug. 23, at 4 p.m. The Zoom link for the event is here.

Q: What writers did you enjoy reading as a child?
Lujan: My father taught me to read at the age of five and I developed a passion for reading. I loved Greek and Roman Mythology. I had two red, cloth-bound books of mythology, which were at least five pounds apiece, and read them from front to back. I loved Homer, Hawthorne, Austen, Bronte, du Maurier, Dickinson, Keene… among so many others. I was a voracious reader. Even today, I usually have three novels going at the same time.

 Q: Did you write as a child?
Lujan:
I started writing poetry when I was about 12. I loved the rhythm and sounds of words and saying so much with so little.

Q: How did you get started as a poet?
Lujan:
At age 12, because of Emily Dickinson and her lyric poem: ​Success​.

Q: Do you find writing easy?
Lujan:
The only time writing is easy is to be totally in the present moment and letting the words come; not forcing the words to appear. And that’s not easy!

Q: How did you manage to fit writing in with other demands on your time? Are you good at managing your time?
Lujan:
Teaching, consulting, and traveling consumed large portions of my time, but I would always carry paper and a pen or find a napkin if a line or idea hit me in a restaurant, at a seminar, or during a class. I had pieces of candy bar wrappers and cocktail napkins that would have my scratches on them. I would empty out my purse on a Sunday, usually, and write poems from the lines I had scribbled down.

Q: Who are your favorite living poets?
Lujan:
My absolute favorite poem is on my refrigerator door held up by a portrait magnet of Frida Kahlo. The Everlasting Self, by Tracy K. Smith. You can find it on poets.org.

Pubbles of Years
PUDDLES OF YEARS

Q: How do you prepare yourself for writing?
Lujan:
P.P.P. (Prior Proper Planning). I never know when an emotion or a tanager or a kiss will inspire a poem, so trying to always have pen, paper, or now, a phone, to jot down the initial true thought or feeling is essential.

Q: What do well-written poems have in common?
Lujan:
I can only speak for myself and what calls me to read and reread what I believe is a well written poem. The “show me don’t tell me” aspect, a rhythm, which matches the image, idea, or emotion being expressed, and a required quiet to read and reread slowly to savor the words.

Q: Talk about your recently published chap book of poetry, Puddles of Years.
Lujan:
Puddles of Years ​is a compilation of poems which have been previously published and written over a twenty-year period. My sister kept after me to publish, and after my sister died last September, I was encouraged to retire and do what she asked me to do: finish the chapbook. I also received, from my brother, a folder kept by my father of all the poems I had written since I was twelve. No one in the family knew about the folder, myself included, until Dad died. When my brother went through his desk, he found it. He sent it to me and encouraged me to keep writing and complete the chapbook. Thus, the dedication to my Dad. I suggest the reader read the poems, enjoy, and take with you the sublime experience of poetry!

Zoom in for the Las Vegas Literary Salon interview with Kathleen Lujan, with Patti Romero as host.


Sharon Vander Meer is an indie author of six books and two chap books of poetry. Check the BOOKS tab to find out more. Follow her at www.vandermeerbooks.com, https://www.facebook.com/vandermeerbooks, Amazon Author Central. Please like, share, or comment – or all three!


 

Light

Hope

Whenever I’m afraid, I put my trust in you… Psalm 56:3

When fear becomes a driving force
I sometimes seek dark places
and avoid the Light,
places where it is close, confining.
Places where the voices I hear
are the voices of

Gloom.

Doom.

There is Light all around,
but fear hustles me
into that dark space.
There I will be hidden,

safe.

It is the great deceit.
In that dark space,
the voice of fear gets louder,
faith gets smaller.
Only in the Light
can the deceiver be exposed;
only in the Light can I find
hope and healing, faith and renewal.


I am an indie author of six books and two chap books of poetry. Check the BOOKS tab to find out more. Follow me at www.vandermeerbooks.com, https://www.facebook.com/vandermeerbooks, Amazon Author Central. Please like, share, or comment – or all three!


 

TIME TWO

Time and Change

Time can build a mountain
or turn one into sand.
Time can take a small boy
and change him to a man.
Time can take a second
and end up with a day,
or take a week in January
and March it into May.
Time is always present;
it is here to stay.
Do all you can to make
the most of every day.


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TIME

Time

Sunrise,
daylight,
the shimmer
of today.
On again,
off again,
the flood of Time.
Too new,
who knew
what today
might bring?
Days of memory,
emergence,
resurgence,
once,
and then again.


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My Town – Las Vegas, NM

Eighth Street - Las Vegas, NM

So, what would you like to share about Las Vegas – NM that is? I’ve decided to be more intentional about posting information about my home town, a little community with amazing potential. In the middle of a pandemic, people stepped up to help each other, to make masks, to encourage one another, to make the most of a bad situation. Now we’re getting back to business and hopefully on the road to normal as defined post-COVID-19. I’m a one-person operation, so I rely on you to contact me if you would like your story posted here.

Here are links to articles posted so far:

The Las Vegas Economy: MSLV Initiatives Attack the Virus
Tortillas, donuts and more, Oh My!
Skillet Casting its Culinary Magic
Las Vegas NM Community Foundation
Small business, big heart: Unikat Fine Jewelry
Semilla Natural Foods, a nurturing environment

I welcome you to be a part of this series. Articles will be posted as responses to questions are received. Reserve your spot now. I’m looking forward to sharing news about you and your business, nonprofit or organization.

There is a mix of content on this site. I am, after all, a writer, so you will continue to see poetry, essays, short stories and whatever else I decide to post. If you have a Las Vegas, NM, article idea, share it with me at fsharon@msn.com and I will follow up.


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KINDNESS

Be Kind

 

In an unsettled and unsettling time,
when life’s surprises can turn on a dime,
we look to each other for reasons to smile,
to leave fretting and worry behind for a while.

Tomorrow has never been certain;
it hides behind Future’s opaque curtain.
Be thankful you have this day,
to be kind to others along life’s way.

Give when you can in this murky rift,
to help those who are suddenly adrift,
cast into the darkness of what’s next,
their hearts and minds equally vexed.

Kindness does not resolve fears;
it can wipe away worried tears,
giving for a moment, a little relief,
restoring, hope, trust and belief.

In an unsettled and unsettling time,
when life’s surprises can turn on a dime,
we look to each other for reasons to smile,
to leave fretting and worry behind for a while.


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TRUST

Trust

 

Bring peace and justice
in equal measure.
Give hope to hearts
broken by hate and fear
so we become alike it this:
we are equal,
we are the same.
Trust sets the standard
for how we live,
giving feet to faith,
hands to helping,
bringing joy to hearts.
In all and with all
we see His promise,
taking us from fear to clarity,
from fury to assurance.
Trust opens doors to possibility.
Break the barriers between us
so we see each other
for who we are,
not the color of our skin –
equal, the same.


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NAVY BLUE

American Flag

 

You went to war,
at seventeen,
boarding a Navy ship
to unknown waters,
tearful and fearful,
yet brave for all that,
knowing not
what to expect,
but ready
– you prayed –
for what lay ahead.
You spoke only once
of the horror you saw,
but you lived it
in moments quiet,
when you withdrew
to think about
what you’d been through.
Grieving and baffled,
by innocence lost,
you served with pride,
to keep freedom alive.

In tribute to my father, Tommy Conkle, who proudly served in the U.S. Navy during WWII.


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Homeward Bound

Yellow Roses

Hat and yellow roses
on a bale of hay,
handmade cards on a table
ready to be signed and sent.
Homeward bound,
their work is done.

A small tribute to our friends, Kathy and Fred Allen.
Passed from this life into the next, February 21, 2020

Remix

Awakening

This was originally written as a short story. It is recreated here as a prose poem. For every dreamer who wants to fly.

THE GIRL WHO DREAMED

She stood on the very peak of the roof,
finding it not at all odd to be there.
She couldn’t wait
to ride the wind.
It was wonderful. Beautiful.
The sky dark indigo,
dotted wildly
with brilliant stars.
Fear did not touch her.
So much to feel!
A warm breeze fluffed her hair.
A kiss of fragrance,
the honeysuckle vine at the corner.
In this moment, she was sun and moon,
no one to tell her what to do
or how to do it
or when to do it.
She was the power of now,
calm and assured,
not at all like her real self,
fear-filled, tender of heart,
shy, leggy and thin, no one special.
She shook away the thoughts.
Let there be no intrusion.
Peace. Quiet.
Her heartbeat accelerated!
What brought about the change
sweeping over her!
Her victory over mediocrity,
snatched away, robbing her of serenity.
Tranquility fled.
Her heart raced!
The moaning wind
whipped her hair
around her angular face;
it pressed her gown
against her legs.
“Jump,” the wind said. “Jump!”
“I can’t! I can’t!”
“Jump, jump, jump,” the wind wailed.
“I can’t! I can’t!”
“You can, you must!
You cannot know who you are until you try!”
She leaned into the wind and jumped
taking in the arc of the sky,
the distant horizon.
The wind caught the sleeves of her gown,
lifted her gently, softened her descent.
She awoke, safely in her bed,
but the words echoed in her mind:
You cannot know who you are
until you try.
For the girl,
it was the beginning
of who she would become.


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