Sunday, February 18, 2018

Harold Taylor A Flower of the Heart


Coal Ash Mountains. We have these now in our community

***

Flowers of the Heart Twenty-One  February 18, 2018

For Harold Taylor

Harold was the first person in Moncure to welcome me.
I had searched for a small house and land I could afford,
and the only one was here, and he was a neighbor. I had
learned this community was fighting against a low-level
nuclear dump, and I decided to buy the house and join
the fight. I went to the next meeting, which was held
next door in the Celestial Mason Lodge. He welcomed
me. They’d fought for ten years, and their numbers
had dwindled, but he and Mary MacDowell were still
fighting, and I helped. Mary told us that CP&L also
planned to store more nuclear waste at Shearon Harris
in their pools. That became the next battle once the dump
was given up. The trains carrying the waste came
through Moncure. Harold got me to work for Margaret
Pollard at the election in 2000. She was on the board
when we pushed to have the commissioners write to the
Attorney General to stop the waste trains coming
through Moncure. Margaret was wavering. Harold pressed
her on the phone. I spoke at the meeting and told how
our fire department had no idea what to do if a train
wrecked in Moncure. Our resolution passed. Then
we worked on air pollution, again with North Carolina 
WARN to stop it. At first we hit a lot of resistance
in the community, but eventually we got through
when some North Carolina State students and their
professor came to Moncure to speak to the new
community group, Southeast Chatham Citizens
Advisory Council. A large community audience,
including several commissioner and sheriff 
candidates, came to the meeting, and the statistics
were staggering. Our plant put in the air more
formaldehyde than any similar plant in the country.
People who lived near this Sierra Pine plant
were having more breathing illnesses than usual. 
Our commissioners sent for the Department of
Air Quality to solve this. We also had help from 
two experts on air quality: George Lucier and
Jane Gallagher. I remember the Sierra Pine Vice 
President told me that formaldehyde dissipates
in the air so was not a problem. I began to learn
how corporate polluters defended themselves.
Harold and I attended SCCAC meetings, but
were given no real power. There were always
these fights against pollution. Over the years
Harold and I didn’t always agree, but as my
neighbor he often helped me, and once he
told me I was a leading citizen. He has been
in his quiet way from the beginning. The
black community listened to him. He pulled 
my truck out of a ditch once, and to this day
he will help me if I ask. Sometimes he simply
mows along the front on or on the land i own
between my house and the lodge. After a 
car accident in 2015, when a speeding car
rammed me from behind, my old truck
took the jolt better than I did. I got a ride
home with Chloe next door and called
Harold to help me retrieve the truck.
I had refused the rescue squad. He said,
Judy, you’d better go in and have it checked 
out. I did. I was fine, but it was wise to find 
out. The other driver’s insurance paid the 
hospital bill. Sometimes, as now, when we
fight the coal ash dumping, life in our 
community is not easy, and we get 
discouraged, but I know Harold is there, 
with a clear mind and a good heart.


Sunday, February 11, 2018

Joanie McLean A Flower of the Heart


Spider lilies, or Naked Ladies, among the bamboo grasses

***
Flowers of the Heart Twenty February 11, 2018

For Joanie McLean

Joanie is fragile some way, but tough
underneath. She came to me for help
with her poetry. She has worked at it 
steadily for years–maybe ten years now.
She took my Proust class and was very
conscientious about reading and studying
the material each week. She has been
in many poetry groups, and last fall joined
my class on Monday night, which I do by
Skype. She has brought me kindling
off and on, and dried grasses in a vase.
She has changed her life in major ways,
left a more conservative back story, and
lives at a wetlands farm where she slides
as close to the natural world as she can
get, fearless where coyotes and other
prey-seeking creatures roam at night.
Then she takes them into poems, pushing
at that mysterious edge few of us dare
to encounter, between realities–animal
and spiritual. I find her cheerful and
accepting of human foibles, clear-eyed 
when many people stagger as if blind-
folded. I asked her to comment on my 
new poetry book, and she said what
I would have wanted her to say if I’d
known what it was. I didn’t know I 
was facing my death there, but she did.
If you’ve ever been afraid to die, read
Judy Hogan’s "Those Eternally Linked 
Lives." Here, in 30 deft poems, we are
carried along with Hogan as she 
encounters loss, aging, and illness. 
But she comes through it all with 
such grace and humility, we are left 
breathless with delight and hope. 
Hogan clearly believes in poetry as 
revelation: “The human spirit has 
been here before. We know how
 to die if we have to.” That was the
corner I turned, but I didn’t see it
until she named it. That’s what true
poets do. Like a will-o’-the-wisp,     
she’s there, then gone, but something
evocative tells me she’ll be back,
maybe when I least expect it.


Sunday, February 4, 2018

Pete MacDowell A Flower of the Heart


Snow goose image borrowed from the Cornell website on birds. See those black wingtips? I saw them on the Haw in the early 90s.

***

Flowers of the Heart Nineteen  February 4, 2018

For Pete MacDowell

I knew Mary first. She worked for Chatham 
County back in 1998, when we were still fighting 
the low level nuclear dump. She brought Pete 
to a party I had here, but it was when he took 
my poetry class that I got to know him better. 
About that time, in 2014, I published my 
love song This River: An Epic Love Poem.
He was very enthusiastic and bought it for his
friends, one of whom was a Taoist, and wrote:
“This epic poem is a page turner. Think Romeo and 
Juliet in the US and Russia in their 50s talking 
through a translator. If you love the interior dialog 
of Jane Austen, intense feelings searching for 
clues from the other, with all that hope and 
fear, this is it. But it is also a deep meditation on 
our nature as a human species  and our fundamental 
relationship with other species. The two rivers,
at one level at least, are the Haw and the Volga. 
Judy did most of her writing from the banks of 
the Haw. Her feel for nature is transformative. 
She has a deep Taoist understanding of  our
link with nature.” Those words sang in my heart.
Not long after that, Pete retired from being a 
strategist with North Carolina WARN, and
they moved to Alexandria, Virginia, to be near
their daughter and grandchild. Pete returned
to the poetry class, which we then did by 
Skype. He led the way. Skype worked most
of the time, and we kept going, and pulled
in a few more poets: Katherine, Tracey, Joanie,
Clare. Pete wrote new poems every week, 
lampooning Trump and other politicians’
reckless behavior in a democracy. He also
described the geese and ducks which came
to the pond behind his ground-floor apartment,
and his grandson’s antics. Sometimes he sang
of other loners he met in his neighborhood.
Once his mind had ranged wide, plotting
strategy that would teach Duke Energy 
better manners. He’d always send me notes
of praise when I’d write caustic letters
to the editor. This year my newest poetry
book emerged. Pete waxed enthusiastic
 again. “Judy, I am absolutely loving 
Those Eternally Linked Lives. Please
send me three more. Thanks so much
for your guidance in poetry and life.”
Out of my love and the suffering
which accompanied it, I somehow
spoke to Pete and others, too. A
writer lives for such words. They
reassure and heal. They carve themselves
deep in the mind. So many risks, not
to mention agonies of doubt have their

confirmation: you did the right thing.

***