Category Archives: music

Inspired by David Bowie: Poems– Part 2

Piccadilly, London, England by MDMikus, Copyright 2005

These are the remaining poems (with one exception) that I wrote related to the passing of David Bowie nee David Robert Jones. As time passed I consciously stepped back. I read less and listened less to the songs and interviews, trying to overcome what had become a small obsession. I had wanted to drain all the juice out of this experience, know all that could be known. Put it in all into the bubbling stew pot of my creativity and see what came of it. What insights, what counsel on how to be an artist, how to live fearlessly, how to love whole-heartedly, how to die with grace. I wondered if what seemed to me to be essential questions might not be understood by anyone else. And then Nancy on LinkedIn responded with a comment that showed she got exactly what I was after in the first set of poems. Thank you!

I should say this is not a game to see if you can guess what I was going for. Any poem clearly has many interpretations. What I originally had in mind was one intention at one specific time. Later I may or may not even remember what I was thinking before. Sometimes when I read a poem after time has passed I am snapped back to exactly where I was when I wrote it, what I felt, all the details. And sometimes I read it fresh and see in the lines what I did not see when I was too close. I love hearing about other experiences of the poems. Part of the process seems to me to be co-creative, what you bring to the reading matters to the whole…right now.

Worldwide the death of David Bowie affected many people. Most of us did not know him, meet him, or even see him on a concert stage. Did he represent–through his songs and performances–a part of our lives when his music was the soundtrack to growing up? Did his reinventions open some door or make you feel less alone? Or perhaps some part of his story you did not know until now moved you or inspired you. Maybe he allowed you to see into the process of creation and urged you to make something of your own creative impulses. What will you make?

1/20/16

Bowie Transitions

To slump down
in mid-stride
last breath breathed
with family around

no torment or regret
a longing for more yet
opening the beckoning door
not a fight or fear

but gentle release into
whatever there is.
Smile intact and grace
returning to this paradise.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

1/20/16

David Bowie and More

Without a doubt
any telling of the story
selects and leaves out.
The final tale depends
on the point of view, the filter
of the one telling
telling it to whom.

Snippets taken out of context
what you see is what you get
unless time taken to expand
time stolen in reflection
dreaming with intention
intent on paying attention.

What is the meaning of any one life?
What was made of the moments
stacked up, always numbered
while seeming endless.
Not whether death was cheated but
whether life was served
whether radiant love expanded until
it overcame every earthly thing.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

Man on a Horse, Granada, Spain by MDMikus (c) 2005

1/21/16

Nature of the Artist

The artist is by nature
different
sees and feels what isn’t there
yet
compelled to create
by forces benign and malignant
without regard to balance
to personal cost
To survive then is to find
the narrow path
where the voices are fed
the body sustained
and the mind remains
an open container from which
the jumble is untangled
A feather brush is all it takes
to encourage new creation and
a feather brush is all it takes
to tip over into destruction

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

2/3/16

David Bowie Reflection in 3 Parts

1. After

People can say whatever they want
and some of it may be true
or true once when I knew you
true from a certain slant or
through a particular filter

From wherever I am
I will know everything then
and control nothing
nothing to forgive or regret
while bathed in that luminous ever-present

And if it is all quiet
no one speaking of me or
remembering even a little
or reading something I left
splashed all over the place

Well, I would hope I left enough
worthy of finding again
enough to turn up in
some future excavation
and I could speak or
sing from the heart again

Amen

2. Before

In the contract you signed
but do not remember
you agreed to the concept
of limitation and loss
with no understanding from experience
what that would mean, the inevitable pain
that would bring, at what cost.
The end of breath, of connection, of touch
not the end of love, of kindness
but how it feels is what you came for
expansion to learn from…to become.

3. Right Now

Dozing in my simple boat
securely tied to a sturdy dock
by a thick nautical rope

yet cut adrift by some hand
not rope undone, but severed by someone
and I am here now out of sight of land

never good at distance swimming
nor even floating with or against a current.
I have to find a way out of no way

starting here, with what I have
or can imagine, drawing what allies I can
opening…breathing…remembering kindness

to gentle anxiety over what I can’t see.
Against all evidence, the possibility
of a potentially friendly Universe.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

Reflection Above Theatre, London, by MDMikus (c) 2005

2/7/16

Usually…Sometimes…Later

Usually
not suddenly gone
first preparation
for leave-taking
then final breath
essence left

Sometimes
it is blink fast
from living breath
then last
Everything
led to this moment
this choice
this rippling out
of a life snuffed

Later
transparent clarity or
impenetrable mystery,
the mist resolves
or never lifts,
epiphany
or unending stasis,
a choice where
not choosing is
still choosing

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

Unexpected Obituary

My husband and I belong to Folkstage on WFMT radio in Chicago. With other donor/ folk music enthusiasts we see up to 26 folk concerts a year, in an intimate setting. This group has become our main social connection. Recently a long-time Folkstage member passed away unexpectedly. For several days afterward I woke with this image in my head—a poem insisting on being written. I resisted. I did not really want to write more about loss, but in the end I trusted that impulse. This poem is about how those in our lives affect us in very real ways, even if we are unaware of it until they are gone. “This is the moment we have…”

6/7/15

Unexpected Obituary

Folkstage Family

Peter Clark
seems to be still standing
steadfast at the back
doing anything that was asked.

Or sitting in the front row
listening and taking photos,
next to him, Nancy, his wife,
partners in all their wide life.

I should tell you one small thing
that is, to me, revealing.
He was selling CDs as usual,
I was buying CDs to be signed.

I had not known him long,
we were not particular friends,
but he saw me struggling to open them
and immediately offered a solution—

a CD opener—he had more than one
from a Folk Alliance he’d just come from.
Not just to use once, but to keep,
a useful gift easily given.

We did not become close friends,
just many brief talks over the years
when I bought CDs or had a new book out
and he might tell me of his books, his travels,

not bragging, but justly proud of a job well done
that might be of use to someone.
And maybe now I’ve told you this
I can lay his ghost to rest.

I did not know so many things, like
how we shared the same birthday;
I learned more afterward on his Facebook page
than ever he said to me.

Now the stories are coming out
of generosity and thoughtful kindness,
a full life well-lived, a good man,
he will be missed.

And maybe now I’ve told you this
I can lay his ghost to rest.

Peter Clark at 73
as old as he will ever be
10 years ahead of me
as day by day inevitably
we all face our eternity.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2015

Portrait of Michael Smith

On a humid, 86 degree day like today in Chicago, it may be hard to remember what a long and cold and snowy winter it was. After having major surgery in December, my first big outing was to a concert by Michael Smith with my husband, Stephen, and friends, Randy and Wendie. It was a big deal even cautiously walking on the icy asphalt of the parking lot.

Our seats were in the second row. I felt like I could see Michael Smith very clearly, inside and out. The show was both deeply moving and hilarious. Because I did not get to talk with him after the show, an insistent poem percolated all the way driving home. I did not write this as a “fan” poem, but rather what I saw as true. Parts of myself perhaps, reflected back from him.

I read this to a few people and they urged me to send it to him. In tracking down an email address, I learned more about his life and accomplishments. I felt a bit intimidated, but sent it anyway. He graciously responded right away: “Thank you, Margaret. I love the poem.” What a gift! Lit me up for days….

What has someone done for you that warmed your heart unexpectedly?

1/19/14

Portrait of Michael Smith
Concert at Lake County Folk Club

He was not old
but old enough
to be comfortable
exposing bits of his humanness,
to be felt and heard and seen
without disguise sometimes, to be
clever and mischievous, gracious and generous.

To be naked enough
to make us cry or laugh,
you have to put in the years,
put in your time as apprentice,
to gather the stories, weave or live them,
to know what is what,
to see the risks and still be willing

enough so some pieces fit,
and brave enough or fearless
to go out and let out some
of the accumulated multitudes of children,
all the practice paying off, the determination
to deliver the songs yet again.
Amen.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2014

From Thrown Again into the Frazzle Machine: Poems of Grace, Hope, and Healing, coming in summer 2014. Check FullBlooming.com for more details.

Here is my reading, in my fourth video.

My Tribute to Pete Seeger

My family lived in a working-class suburb of Detroit. Mom took care of us (eventually seven kids) and also worked sometimes as a registered nurse. Dad worked in the same factory all his life, mostly midnight shift. He was a card-carrying union man. Our house was originally a two-bedroom bungalow and my Dad partially finished the attic into two more bedrooms (but still only one bathroom). We all had chores and were expected to pitch in. We always had food, shelter, and clothes and did not consider ourselves poor, but hard-working, not many frills, as were most of the people we knew.

I grew up in the 1950’s and 60’s, a singer in church choir and Catholic school chorus. I never met Pete Seeger, nor saw him perform in person, but I was deeply shaped by the Folk Revival he helped spearhead and by his songs. We moved across town in 1965 for us to attend the new Bishop Gallagher High School. Around that time were the Detroit riots and the protest movements were catching fire: against the Vietnam war, against segregation, for peace and equality of race and sex. I sang in the Folk Mass group at church and at some point I learned If I Had a Hammer, Where Have All the Flowers Gone, Turn, Turn, Turn, etc. The music just soaked right into me, in part shaping the clay of who I was becoming.

Shore Rocks in Calm Water MDMikus Copyright 2013

Since his death this week I’ve read so many stories posted online of those who knew Pete Seeger and are saddened by his loss. I too wanted to say something about his effect on my life and this poem/song came to me. A unique process from my other writing, and the music still has to be worked out (easy to sing along). But here is the poem/lyrics, my attempt to “catch something of the man.”

1/28/14

My Own Tribute
Pete Seeger, 1919-2014

Although Pete Seeger
traveled here and there,
now he is everywhere.

Though there are those
who would make him saint (or sinner)
he doesn’t care, if he ever did,

for he knows best what we all know
how the days are numbered rare,
now Pete Seeger is everywhere.

Not up on a pedestal I’m sure he’d say,
he was an honest man with a mission,
not down in the gutter either, nor scared,
now Pete Seeger is everywhere.

Singing in his confident voice
inviting us to sing along,
songs that we all know and share,
now Pete Seeger is everywhere.

Not in charge of anything big,
working day to day for the voiceless ones,
a determined “ordinary” man who cared,
now Pete Seeger is everywhere.

All the stories of something kind he said,
from everyone who met him or wished they did,
but when Toshi died last year, he died a bit I swear,
now Pete Seeger is everywhere.

His energy released from form now joins us,
not buried in the ground nor ashes spread,
not in some fancy world “up there,”
now Pete Seeger is everywhere…

singing, playing, chopping wood,
encouraging, traveling, doing good,
planting seeds, making a better place,
playing banjo, eye to eye, face to face,
exhorting us to care, I swear

now Pete Seeger is everywhere.

Update: A few days later I emailed the poem to Rich Warren, who is the host of Folkstage (and The Midnight Special) on WFMT, where Stephen and I are members. I knew Rich would be working on his radio tribute to Pete Seeger and thought he might like it. He said I could read my poem to the audience before Folkstage went on the air. It took me only minutes to agree. In the “spirit of Pete,” the group said the repeating line with me. It was awesome! Thanks, Rich, for the opportunity!

Me at WFMT-- Photo by Stephen Mikus, Copyright 2014

Update: Finally, a video of my reading this poem.

Inspired by Instrumental “Water Night” by Eric Whitacre

5/15/13

Hope and Directions
Listening Again to Instrumental Water Night

Calm, a sliver
away from sorrow,
but the body
the mind
knows rest in one

Shadows may be
respite…or darkness
lurking to jump out
no matter the security
of the neighborhood

How to follow a line
back to peace
from grief expressed
I wish I could tell you,
but know

there is a lifeline
to pull to shore
or crumbs you left behind
or someone nearby to
hold the vision of safety

And you will…and I will…
walk that line,
not together probably
but sometime…
and return…

And if death overtakes
someone close in the meantime
it is not their grim failure to outrun
but inevitable close of a chapter
however grace-filled and long

And if you believe or consider
we all circle back in some mystery
then, as a circle has no end,
it is not over yet…

And if something stirs up
the mud from the bed of the river
then time will settle every large or small particle
gently to the bottom again
and clarity and calm will rule the realm.

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Category Archives: music

Inspired by David Bowie: Poems– Part 2

Unexpected Obituary

Unexpected Obituary

Folkstage Family

Portrait of Michael Smith

My Tribute to Pete Seeger

Inspired by Instrumental “Water Night” by Eric Whitacre