Category Archives: people

A Portrait of Eric Whitacre

A poem inspired by Eric Whitacre, (and Virtual Choir). Last year, I wrote a lot about my experience taking the leap of faith with VC 3: Water Night, the worldwide connection, the confidence building. The experience expanded for me this year with VC 4: Bliss, now being assembled, to premier before Queen Elizabeth on July 11. I have never met Eric Whitacre, but I have listened to many interviews, read his blog and Facebook posts, soaked in his music. This poem is what I see, a word portrait of the man behind the curtain, as it were. Try reading it aloud.

4/5/12

Portrait of Eric Whitacre

He is a man
a man on a journey
a man with a gift on a path
he chose to follow.
To heed the call at some point
to deliver and not question
or question and do anyway
trusting he will be enough
or if not trusting entirely
willing to do what is asked.
All reflections mirror back to him
as he stays true to the core
willing to feel.
Grateful, thoughtful, honest, humble even
as far as can be seen from outside
and as consistent
as one might wish.
He is human.

How do you want to be
how do you want to be remembered?
(that is immortality).
To be a conduit
to let the music be what it is
without artifice
without artificiality.
To be influenced and let
it all stew in the melting pot, trusting.
A magnet for alignment
using modern tools to gather together
and stepping out of the way
to let it become connection.
Riding the wave
in evident contagious enjoyment.

Not unchanged by success
but still growing, still expanding
still the same central values
daring, risking everything
for the one thing.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2012

Who inspires you? Did you ever tell them? How do you want to be remembered?

Previous Virtual Choir posts:

Virtual Choir 4: Bliss
Inspiration and Creation
A Dream about Eric Whitacre
More poems Inspired by Virtual Choir 3: Water Night
Being More Fully Yourself

Bad and Good Day

The bad news:

Found out this morning that my Facebook account had been hacked, sending out bogus posts to all my friends. Most people noticed that these were weird and some let me know this was happening. The solution was to change my FB account password, which I had to figure out how to do. (Googled.) So far, that seems to have done the trick. Lesson learned.

The good news:

Found out an hour later in an email from the Global E-Book Awards that my latest book, Letting Go and New Beginnings: A Mother’s Poetic Journey, was awarded an Honorable Mention in the category Parenting / Family Non-fiction! Hooray! I am most grateful for the recognition. The book is sold by many online booksellers including Barnes & Noble, iTunes, and Smashwords.com (all popular formats). (This book was also a finalist for an International Book Award.)

Thank you to the team at Global E-books Awards and all the judges for all their work and support of independent publishing!

A Dream About Eric Whitacre

Fall at Chicago Botanic Garden Copyright MDMikus 2007

Context:

In a previous post I wrote about wanting to be in Virtual Choir 3, singing an alto part in “Water Night, a gorgeous and moving piece written and conducted (online) by Eric Whitacre. I did make it to submit a video with just enough voice to feel good about it (more later). Last Saturday, the “group photo” was posted of the 2945 people from 73 countries who submitted videos. After looking through all of the thumbnail photos and not finding mine, I remained calm. It was late (2AM), but I went back to the beginning, promising myself I would look again on Sunday. And there I was! third one down, fourth one over from the top left corner. I felt absurdly pleased and light-hearted. The launch of Virtual Choir 3 is April 2. I can’t wait!

Today though, I’d like to tell you about a dream that happened two months later. And the follow through…

Yes, composer Eric Whitacre, is a dreamy character (who gets a lot of comments about his perfect hair), but it was not that kind of dream. This was more to do with creative encouragement and wanting to express something deeply heartfelt and essential. To be bold. A challenge to be fully myself. Well, you’ll see…

3/3/12

In the Dream

which seemed real
I met Eric Whitacre
and I was not red-faced
and tongue-tied.

I handed him a paper
and said “I have written a poem”
and “Here, I have written some music.”
And he responded upon glancing

“This is a song” and
sang the music
which fit the poem perfectly
liking it enough on the spot

he decided to use it
for his next performance.
I was at that concert in rich detail
an informal setting

full complement of musicians
and singers and Eric
conducting the first half.
I awoke after the break

before they played one
note of mine.
And out of that dream
in that state neither dream nor waking

came the conviction
to give him
the perfect song, with my lines:
“I know that/ I am not my hair…”

and deeper
and more.

The shy voice says
step back while
the brave voice says
step forward

and be seen.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2012

So here is the song for you Eric Whitacre, in the spirit of the poem. I wrote it in 1996 when facing chemotherapy for breast cancer and loss of my own blonde hair (and also a loss of identity). I adapted the poem “I Know That” (which is now in my book, As Easy as Breathing).

I Know That:

I am not my hair,
I am not my eyebrows,
I am not my hunger,
I am not my tears.

I know that:

I am not my anger,
I am not my hopes,
I am not my scars,
I am not my fears.

I am not my mother,
or my mother’s mother,
I am not my aunt. I am not my sister
or my children or my husband.

I am not my past;

I am not my body;

I am the one inside,
along for the ride,
to get what there is
to get and to give
what I have to give.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 1996

Recorded the song on my CD, Full Blooming. (Track 19 on iTunes).

Let Us Remember

More natural disasters have come since the huge earthquake in Japan, so this poem could also apply, for example, to those in Joplin, Missouri, who suffered a huge tornado last week that wiped out most of their city (50,000 people), winds over 200 mph and many dead, wounded, or missing. Their Medical Center looks like a bomb hit it. So this poem below is for them too. On this Memorial weekend of remembering soldiers (and their families) who sacrificed, let us remember all the lost. And do what we can. We are all connected.

4/14/11

Remember Japan

post-earthquake

Now is the time to help
those who have been forgotten
whose earth swallowed
their homes and
whose sea washed their bodies away

And now who are off the front page
out of public consciousness
reduced to silence except for
radiation upgrades and occasional aftershocks
and back page human interest

Yet starving in masses, scanning rubble
that had been neighborhoods for anything familiar
Painful to imagine
But the stories, if any, buried where
few might read and be moved to action

Now is the time to help
put out a hand, a prayer, a dollar, a kindness
Anything…
Everything matters
to those who have nothing

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

Mini-Review of 2010, Part 1

I remember 2010 as a very difficult year. And in many ways, that is true. But when viewed from a bit of distance, it was mixed, really, with low and high points. I don’t want to spend too much time there, but I do want to wrap it up as a way of going forward. First: the challenges. Last: the delights.

Today’s topic: A Major Challenge.

In February, 2010, after many months of body-mind-spirit energy healing work, I had my third surgery for an abdominal hernia, repairing damage partly due to previous surgeries. There were unexpected post-surgery complications, pain, and a long recovery. Not much writing. For a while I was physically unable to write and mentally foggy. I also did not want to remember the details, which caused flashbacks. Here are two short poems and photos from that time.

2/11/10

Comfort

Sometimes the need for comfort is so acute,
the circumstances so dire and dark,
the vortex you are pulled into so nightmarish,

everything taken away: food, water, sleep, all the familiar,
that you can’t find yourself within yourself,
you are a skin filled with nothing in particular

and it seems you will always be lost.
Even if someone is there who knows you well,
whose voice is the tether to reality,

who casts the line, holds the rod that reels you in,
even then
the need for comfort is so great

that anything from home,
any ice chip or thoughtfulness,
any kindness or generous voice

calls you back to hopefulness.

2/24/10

Room on Cardiology Floor

I can still feel her surprisingly soft lips
pressing on my forehead,
a good bye and good luck kiss as she left.

My roommate, sweet Italian lady,
both of us not our best, faces pale,
hair tangled and matted.

Her husband, most kind, friendly
and hopeful. Full of stories with
ambulances and happy endings. How he’d

been recognized in the grocery store by the ambulance driver.
How she’d had a seizure maybe
and he’d carried her to the door

though he had a pacemaker and they were older.
And all her surgeries and still her spunk.
“Good bye,” she said, “It will be fine,”

or something like that in her gentle Italian accent,
pressed into my hopeless forehead.
Unexpected, spontaneous, natural, and welcome.

Three weeks later I feel the kiss still.
Her easy gesture, her faith,
her sweet kindness.

Of course she was right.

Tomorrow: the Delights

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