Julie Unplugged: Reflection

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April 20, 2006

Discovery of Fibonacci Poetry Witnessing the Moment with Words - from the 2006 archives

Note from Julie in 2012:

It is always a bit.... awkward to read my words from long ago. In this particular post I think, "What funky formatting. Should I change it? I decided no, except I centered the poetry and added some visuals.

Now, from April, 2006

I think this is the longest I have
ever gone between posts. Wow. Nine
days, practically an eternity for me.

I also notice the sheer perfection
in the topic I have chosen to write
upon today, as well as some of the
content WITHIN this topic... it all
spirals into that perfect symbol, infinity.

I am blessed in so many ways.

I remember in the days before I admitted to being
an artist I was pretty darn lonely. I didn’t think there
was anyone around Bakersfield that was remotely
like me, so instead I buried myself in bad habits,
recluse behavior or its counterpart, pretending
to be someone I wasn’t.

My life is so different now. I am surrounded
by artists every day.

This week has been very poetry rich. I have
felt the call to compose almost everything I
experience. I call this “witnessing the moment
with words.”

I was driving next to the Haberfelde Building
yesterday and I saw a woman standing beside
her mini-van. I held her image in my mind
until later in the day, when I sat in a restaurant
with pen in hand and wrote:

I saw a woman today, a young woman
Whose hairstyle looked like a
Triangular helmet and I remembered
Fourteen years ago when I
Wore triangular helmet hair, too…. hair
That protected me from seeing my
Foolishly cagey choices that
Neglected my psyche….
I wondered if
She hurts
Too

I didn’t realize at the time that the poem
had actually taken on the shape of a triangle.

I sat in the restaurant and my eyes fell upon
another young woman who happened to be
speaking on her cell phone at the time. She
was explaining to someone that she was calling
from Bakersfield right now, and from her
appearance, I guessed she was in outside
sales of some sort, traveling her territory.

I remembered, again, a chapter from my past
before I embraced my artist self. I wrote:

I wonder what she sells?
Maps, cell phone, ledger rested
Upon the J-I-T-B table
“I’m in Bakersfield” she told
The unseen party
Gently highlighted, expensive hair
Hides her face from my
Sideways view I wonder
What she thought when
She bought those shoes?
Her breath is steadily
Shallow as she studies the
Small print report
Her now moved hair shows she is
So young
And I wonder….
I just plain wonder

Last night I went to the poetry group at Russo’s at the
Marketplace. I haven’t been there a lot – I don’t consider
myself a regular – but I am beginning to know some
of the faces, voices and their quirks and personality traits.

We were introduced to a new form of poetry, the
Fibonacci Poem.

Like Haiku, it connects poetry to a numerical form. Some
poets balk at such a structure. Here is my take. As free flowing
and “there are no rules, there are no wrongs” as I am, I
completely relish the joyful, free, clarifying sense of
peace that comes from embracing a poetic form.

It is an example of joyful discipline, free practice,
constricted abundance. Ah, the glee of paradox.

This new form of poetry is based on a formula where the
length of each subsequent line of the poem is based
upon the length of the two preceding lines of the poem.

The first line is O + 1 which equals, 1. Therefore,
the first two lines each have one syllable. The third
line is the addition of the first and second line, so it is
2 syllables. The third line has three, the fourth five, the
fifth, eight and so on. The standard, if there is one, for
now is five lines of twenty syllables.

It is conceivable one could go much further, stretching
single lines out infinitely. Remember, there are no rules,
there are no rights or wrongs in
the Julie-book-of-creativity.

I sat in the midst of my fellow poets and wrote a
few “Fibs” (Fibonacci’s abbreviated name.)

Fib #1
She
Draws
A quick
About face
I won’t surrender!
She cries as she runs away fast…..

Fib #2
“Must
I
Listen?”
She wonders
“I would rather not.”
She curls up and falls fast asleep.

I actually presented those Fibs as a part of the
poetry group last night, being the ultimate teacher’s
pet that I am. Jenn gave us an assignment to write
a Fib as homework. I did it as Circle Work.

This morning during my writing practice,
more Fibs popped.

Fib #4
Have
You
Ever
Felt when shoes
Really hug your feet?
I savor their loving support

Fib #5

You
Say
She is
Teacher’s Pet
Instead I say this:
She loves learning with great passion

Now, a bit more spiritual and deep:

Fib #6

I
Said
“Fill me”
And he did
That sacred moment
Forever felt in memory

This next one is based on multiple conversations I have
had about “Cleansed”, a play that is stirring up
controversy here in Bakersfield. I moved to a longer
form of Fib in order to say all that needed to be said.

Fib #7
Why?
Why?
Do we
Give to it?
Negative forces…….
Our strength may need its brutal pull….
Internal resurrection one soul finds her answer

To think some people insist they don’t “get” or
“like” poetry. I say, let’s keep it alive. Maybe that
means we need to use new forms to bring their
heartbeat into alignment with the joy of poetry,
the simplicity of poetry, the delight of words
breathed onto paper in a form which
is not our norm.