Sunday, January 22, 2017

Knowing Mikhail Bazankov of Kostroma Russia

This River: An Epic Love Poem came out from Wild Embers Press in 2014. Still available for $14 ($15 plus tax, $18, plus mailing postage from Hogan, PO Box 253, Moncure, NC 27559.
Yesterday I spoke at the Southwest Regional Library on what it had been like to work with Mikhail Bazankov on literary exchanges betweeen the sister cities of Durham, NC and Kostroma, Russia, 1990-2001.

Here is the substance of my talk with others representing other sister cities: Arusha, Tanzania, Durham, England, Toyama, Japan, and Kavala, Greece.

***
TALK ON MIKHAIL BAZANKOV. Southwest Regional Library, Durham, Jan 21, 2017

1. Mikhail Bazankov was my friend and partner in arranging exchange visits and other projects between Kostroma region and Durham area writers.

2. I met Mayor Korobov in 1989, when he came to sign the Sister Cities agreement, a 5 minute contact. I gave him a book just pubished, Watering the Roots in a Democracy: A Manual on How to Combine Writing and Literature in the Public Library, and he gave it to Mikhail Bazankov, who wrote to me the next March, and invited me to start writer exchanges “Only with you.”

3. My son and I received invitations for first week of August 1990, went to Europe as planned, then from Finland into Moscow, and they met us at the train, and drove us to Kostroma. He knew no English, and I knew no Russian. We had an interpreter.

4. He wanted me to know about peasant life, and we visited many places that helped me understand it better: the Museum of Wooden Structures in Kostroma, the churches, the estate of the Russian playwright, Ostrovsky. Mikhail's belief was that the village was the best place for the human soul to grow.

5. In 1992 he took me to his wife’s native village, Gorka, in the Mezha District of the Kostroma Region, and I lived that life for 10 days; he also took me into the wild forest, taiga, where he had been born, and the Mezha District administrators got me drunk, though I resisted.

6. We worked well together; he wasn’t used to an equal relationship with a woman, but he adapted; and in U.S. I won the arguments, and in Russia, he did.  We communicated and arranged these visits by phone in my baby Russian, and he spoke as if to a child, simple Russian. I studied Russian from 1991 through the 90s. 

7. He came to the U.S. in May 1992, and I went there in July 1992, first to two writer houses of creativity (retreats) in Moscow and St. Petersburg through the Virginia Center for the Arts, and then I had a month with Mikhail, his wife Katya, and his family. 

8. He won an all-Soviet prize right before we met, with his novel: Memory Has Rights, Too, and then he was appointed the leader (secretary) of the Kostroma Writers Organization, and he wanted to develop local publishing in Kostroma. I had been publishing books here (33 altogether since 1976 as Carolina Wren Press), and that interested him, but we talked about many things. I kept surprising him in our conversations by speaking of things “women didn’t usually talk about.”

9. We had Mayor Korobov’s approval to do four exchanges. In 1993, he brought two other Russian writers from Kostroma: Yuri Lebedev, a professor on 19th Century Russian literature, and the author of many books, and Vyacheslav Shaposhnikov, a priest and writer. I had them here for 5 weeks. We had many programs for them, and we even took them to the beach (Kure, near Wilmington), thanks to Susan Broili.  She also was in Kostroma with me in 1992, for a week or so. A the first breakfast right after we go off the all-night trains she had to do a “vodka toast.”

10. When he came in 1992, he won over everybody, and he was publicized as saying: “Listen to your heart.” At the first party, Betty Hodges’ sister, about 60 years old, hit her head on my mantlepiece, and we were comforting her and bringing her ice. Mikhail sat down beside her and said, “It will stop hurting when you get married.” She loved that and became a fan on the spot.

I drove him to Mississippi, as he was a Faulkner fan, and as we drove down the Natchez Trace Parkway, he said, “If the car breaks down, what do we do?” In Russia, drivers have to be mechanics. I said we’d call AAA, trying to explain that. He said, “There’s not any telephones here.”  True. But we made there and back.

We visited a family whose son I had published, Amon Liner, and we talked about him with his mother and sister, and afterwards Mikhail asked me,”Where was Amon Liner?”  I didn’t know how to say that he was dead, so at the next rest stop, I got out the dictionary.

11. He was very good at reading people. He told me, after he met me, that I had a “kind” aura, and that you could tell mean people even at a distance. He surprised me by his insight and intuitive understanding of some women who tended to be rather quiet. He seemed to see into their souls, one in particular who was living with  a very rich man who was demanding and difficult. She had helped us get to Oxford. We had one speaker on one panel whom even I felt was arrogant and not really helping this discussion of Russian and Southern literature. Privately to me, Mikhail called him a “goat.” How we laughed.

12. I did fall in love with him, but he was married and very loyal to Katya, his family, and to Russia. Still that helped us work together, and it had me writing lots of poetry. He published Beaver Soul in Russian, and I later got it published here by Finishing Line Press. We did exchange publishing, too. I helped with some publishing of poetry in anthologies over there, and then we did an anthology of N.C. poetry, called: Earth and Soul, in both Russian and English, and it was distributed all over the Kostroma Region to libraries and schools.

13. I went back in 1995 to teach American poetry at Kostroma University in the English Dept, and at one point his son Aleksei wanted to get a computer, and his parents were resisting giving him money to do this.  I explained that Aleksei would be able to typeset the books they were publishing, and they got the computer, and it was used to typeset Earth and Soul.  He published 90 other books by Kostroma region writers. For the N.C. poetry anthology, we collected and arranged the poetry here. They translated it and got it produced. I went back in 2001 to celebrate its publication, and again in 2007 to give a paper to a literary conference on spirituality in the work of Anna Akhmatova. I made many dear friends in Russia, most in Kostroma. It was, all in all, the most important experience of my life, and I’ll be getting more writings about those years into print over the next five years. He died last December, 2015, of cancer, and I'll paste his obituary below. I didn’t even know how many books of his own were published, or how many writers there he put into print.  This was a passionate and very organized man. The two together were rare among the Russians I met.

***



The Administration of the City of Kostroma announces, with regret, the passing of Mikhail Fedorovich Bazankov.

December 14, 2015.  12:30 P.M.

Mikhail Fedorovich Bazankov, writer, man of letters, critic, publicist, editor, visual artist, and publisher, has departed from life.  He was a member of the board and secretary of the Writers Union of Russia, President of the board of the Kostroma Region Writers Organization of the Writers Union of Russia, recipient of the D.S. Likhachev Prize, winner of the Cultural Worker Award of the Russian Federation.
Mikhail Fedorovich was born October 5, 1937 in the village of Medvedki in the Mezha District of the Kostroma Region.  He was the author of several dozens of books, many publications in central and regional periodicals.  His novels The Right of Memory and [You Are] Free to Do As You Wish were best-sellers.  Some of his publications were translated into twelve international languages and published abroad.  Mikhail Fedorovich published more than ninety books, two anthologies, and he conducted the annual almanac Kostroma, thus preserving the very best literary tradition.
In 2007, when he turned seventy, he celebrated his Creativity Jubilee: fifty years of literary work.  This writer became the laureate of the all-union literary competition named after Vasili Shukshin with his single books published in one volume Remember The Way and Lofty Interest.  
Under the leadership of Mikhail Fedorovich, the Writers Organization doubled the number of its members and fittingly preserved the literary tradition of our region.  In recent years eight Kostroma writers were accepted into the Union of Russian Writers    He worked actively on programs of cultural exchange of Kostroma with Poland, Finland, and America.  In connection with the visits, he published anthologies.   Twelve of his published works won literary contests with well-known prizes, including the all-union Gold Laureate Medal, and the annual prize for the best work of art in the Volga periodical.    He won first and second prizes in Central Trade Association journals.  His creative contributions to culture were noticed with the M.A. Sholokhov and A.N. Ostrovsky memorial medals, many diplomas, and honors.  This writer is in the Kostroma encyclopedia, the publication Outstanding Russian People, the journal Bibliographies, the book KSU [Kostroma State University] Historical Pages.  He was awarded the regional prize from the administration for the best children’s book The Wonders of A Sieve, the Governor’s prize Recognition; he was the recipient of the Kostroma Regional medal for Work. Valor. Honor. the municipal prize named after D.S. Likhachev.
In 2008 M. F. Bazankov was awarded the right to be called Honorable Citizen of Kostroma.  
The administration of Kostroma expresses profound condolences to the relatives and close friends of M. F. Bazankov who are suffering this heavy loss.

The goodbye service for Mikhail Fedorovich Bazankov will be held on Wednesday, December 16, 2015, from 1-2 P.M. in the Ritual Hall Morgue on Nikitska Street (Official address: House 44, Voikov St.)

Sunday, January 15, 2017

How Do Miracles Happen?


Still life by Vera Belikh, my friend in St. Petersburg, Russia

***

Full Bloom 25 January 15, 2017

I’m learning on my own body and 
soul how miracles happen. I can
only do so much and give it my best,
but others keep rushing in to help.
If that’s not God, I don’t know what is.  – Full Bloom 12

Why do partitas soothe in spite of
their sadness? Bach conveys hope
when despair feels normal; order
when loss threatens, beauty after
the hurricane has whipped and torn
all the leaves. –Full Bloom 14

It is perhaps the best
gift we earth-dwellers can give each other
while we live, suffer, and win our way
past terror, doubt, feelings of inadequacy.
Such transformations are sufficiently common
to be recognized but rare enough to feel like
miracles.  As I lose some, if not all, of my
powers, these moments come more often,
and their wings lift me past my fear. – Full Bloom 15

I notice changes. I’m not the same, yet 
the deep I am is still there. The panic 
that corroded my confidence is in
abeyance. I forget, but memories return. 
My mind lulls me to sleep when I want 
to be bolt awake. I reach out to old friends, 
and they are glad. Why did I wait so long? 
My mind imitates the weather, playing 
one trick after another, yet I live, I enjoy 
people, I write and learn new tricks. 
They see an old woman, still lively.
I always did escape harm, crawl through 
hedges that kept everyone else out. 
So many people love me: what have they 
seen? Or did they simply feel seen, known,
valued? Is that my secret, and as I age,
it saves me? I live well, and people 
help me because I see? Am I like 
a Bach partita? Maybe so.

Sunday, January 8, 2017

The Soul Blooms


Backyard zinnias and cosmos in full bloom 2009

***
Full Bloom 24 January 8, 2017

If we listen to our deep wisdom and 
follow where it leads, after years, 
we reach full bloom. There’s no way
to evade this. The soul blooms, 
then the body. It’s that simple.
–Full Bloom 1

We live in difficult times, but we’re 
up to them if we keep hope alive, rev up 
our ingenuity, trust our deep places, and 
allow ourselves to reach full bloom.
–Full Bloom 9

Full bloom means we’re closer to death,
Part of life, yet it feels like the enemy.
If we’ve done our work, even death
need not disturb us. Many kind people
now have their eyes on me. I will be
alone but not abandoned. I have the
knack of letting people in if they want
to know how I do it, even though I
myself don’t know. Ultimately, the
things we most want to know elude us,
hide their treasures even when we
experience revelation. How do I even
make the walk to the hen house when
I am prone to falling? Slowly, one 
careful step at a time, holding on,
walking on unsullied snow, my mind
on the hens still in darkness. I let in
some light, leave the north-facing shutters
up until the sun is stronger. They stay in,
fear their now white yard. Later I’ll
scatter stale bread to coax them outside.
The neighborhood birds, feathers fluffed,
dart at the feeder. Sunflower seeds keep
them alive. I have the heat pump, the
woodstove and wood I cut or was given, 
blankets, warm clothes, hot tea, my inner
beacon leading me where I’m, for some
reason, determined to go.


Sunday, January 1, 2017

Formaldehyde, Rooster is out


Formaldehyde, Rooster: The Fourth Penny Weaver Mystery 


Penny Weaver, a post-menopausal poet, returns to her village of Riverdell, N.C. after a relaxing summer in Wales with her long-distance husband, Kenneth Morgan, a detective inspector with the Swansea police.  She learns that 1) her daughter, Sarah has left her husband and moved into Penny’s room; 2) Ralph Andrews, an unsavory politician, has taken over their community group, ActNow and 3) the local particle board plant, Sampson Pine, is a major polluter of formaldehyde, which is making people sick. After a forum with the Department of Air Quality and the Sampson Pine executives, Penny is roused from sleep with the news that Andrews had a heart attack and died on the way home from the meeting. The next evening Derek Hargrave questions Penny’s housemates who were at the ActNow meeting, and Penny learns Andrews was killed by a massive dose of digitalis administered in his coffee. Her dear friend Cathy is suspected because she gave out the coffee at the forum.

***

Formaldehyde, Rooster is a lovely mystery seasoned with a warm local community, love, family crisis, activism, and murder. Not only has the ActNow group been taken over by a car salesman, but Riverdell is dealing with serious air pollution. Penny Weaver shows us again the strength of the soft power of detection based on acute observation and deep understanding of the politics and culture of her community.  She reminds us that nicely drawn characters do not have to be dark and twisted creatures. Every new chapter has been a high point of my day.
 –Pete MacDowell, community organizer and poet

***

Hogan’s new mystery affirms that people who are self-serving and provoke conflict reap the consequences and good people don’t die although they may struggle.  Penny notes that the middle class life may seem more secure but security can’t be bought against things that hurt human beings so much.  Besides the actual murder, Shagbark people are slowly dying from formaldehyde emissions. Enjoy this mystery with a twist and many interesting turns.  
–Mary Susan Heath, Goldsboro writer and poet

***
Formaldehyde, Rooster came out December 1, 2016. $15 paper, $2.99 Kindle. Available on Amazon and at local Triangle area (NC) independent bookstores, or from Hoganvillaea Press, P.O. Box 253, Moncure, NC 27559. $16 (with tax) to pick up; $19 to have it signed and mailed. Checks to Judy Hogan.

Sunday, December 25, 2016



Judy at a reading in Goldsboro in 2015,
taken by Mary Susan Heath

***
Full Bloom 22  December 25, Christmas Day, 2016

Full bloom is sometimes heavy.
You can't go back. You've become
the person you wanted to be, but
not everyone likes it. You have
authority now as well as confidence,
and you're not hiding your light
under a bushel, but there are rebels,
critics, and scoffers. Even friends
can be jealous.
--- Full Bloom 4

***
 Over the door in Dante's Hell is written
"Abandon Hope, all ye who enter here."
Hope carries us forward when we feel
blind. It's obvious in plants. What gives
us hope? That second sight sees the
hidden yearnings, past the fear that
won't deter the seed. All we have to do
is let it rise, enjoy its blooming, dine
on its secret fruit.
---- Full Bloom 5

***
I might fail, but given who I am,
it's unlikely. I accomplish miracles
by moving one step at a time, one
task at a time,one day at a time,
and by trusting that fabric of 
connection I feel to all the people
around me and all the wisdom
stored in my depths.
----  Full Bloom 8

My life will be what I asked for.
I  may suffer, and I will lose strength,
wits, and power, but the Spirit of Love 
that lives  in me will live on, now and
afterwards.
----Full Bloom 18

----
Do we ever know what our life means
before it's over? I do. Not completely,
but I see where I've been and where
I'm headed. There are others also--lights
in whatever darkness falls. I'm one, but
each light-carrier, or, say, catalyst, is 
a gift the universe gave to humankind 
to guide its feet, as much as any Star
of Bethlehem. It's simple enough. We
listen. We see inside other hearts,
notice gestures of welcome, eyes that
speak of gratitude, recognize fear in
the body's stiffness, hear trust in the
whispered words "We won't go back."
We witness enemies transforming
themselves into friends; a few simple
words of welcome become a magic
wand. We are not alone though we
may be the only one within our four
walls. We are so small, one among
so many. The grand power of the Universe
accompanies us wherever we go, or 
to whomever we speak. If this is true,
you will recognize it  and be changed.

Sunday, December 18, 2016

WE MUST SUMMON COURAGE

My grandmother Grace Roys, Nanking, 1911

Full Bloom  21

This book is my tribute to my grandparents, 
a gift my maturity and sanity can give. I'll 
find the answers, and then my feet will return 
me into the light, with Grace, redeemed, beside me.
Full Bloom 10.

I did what felt impossible. I agonized:
so many computer tricks I could not do.
Yet I had a publisher. I could  not refuse. I 
must learn and seek help. I learned. Help 
came. Other women wanted to read this story 
of my grandmother Grace--gifted, lively, 
funny, and fragile. Even in doing this work 
of manuscript preparation, I proved I was
tough. I worked through my panic, gave
myself courage. I learned beyond what I
had believed myself able to learn. All the
pieces are in place but one. I long to
receive it, but someone else must provide
for this one piece, this last gift. Now come
two warm days into our winter life, with
more Arctic blasts to follow. We live
in perilous times; more storms, more
pollution, more hatred, more power
plays. It's tempting to turn away, throw 
up  our hands, say we're too busy, too old,
too scared. That way lie nightmares.
To turn those fearful ones around, we
must summon courage. It begins in terror,
inches slowly forward. We do the easy things 
first; ask help; move through one more
nightmare. People begin to follow, summon
their own strength and resilience, learn that
acting silences terror. There was once a
woman who danced on the way to the gas
chamber. We remember her. Here we may 
come to that last brave act. How many 
of us will dance? If we all dance, no one
will die. Dancing is more contagious than
submission to what we know is wrong.
Human beings know how to love. Isn't it
time we obeyed our inside law to love
our neighbors as ourselves?



Sunday, December 11, 2016

We Shall Overcome

A wise man said that we are in the midst
of a cultural revolution.  Once only white
men with property could vote. Then slaves
were freed, but there were poll taxes and many
ways their votes were suppressed. Women won
the vote nearly a hundred years ago, then those
with darker skin, then eighteen-year-olds. Some
old white men got scared When we with the
vote put a black man in the White House, they
got angry, and set out to take rights away
from all of us. So now they mimic the Nazis,
going after blacks, gays, women, even clean
air and water in a frenzy of freeing polluters
from restraint. It doesn't occur to them that 
they'll kill off their descendants. Meantime 
we are not idle. We who hold the majority of
the votes now are re-grouping, re-assessing,
teaching democracy. Remember our pledge?
"With liberty and justice for all"? We renew
our promises, take our stands, work quietly.
We are a democracy, not a Fascist state. We
form a circle, holding hands, standing firm.
We shall not be moved. Skin color shall not
separate us, nor sexual orientation. We know 
He or She has the whole world in Its hands.
We may suffer, but so have those who came
before us when they fought for freedom of
speech, freedom from having our homes
invaded, our lives discounted. We were raised
to believe in our human rights to life, liberty,
and the pursuit of happiness. Hold tight. 
Don't ever let go. We shall overcome.