STEVEN WILBUR

Look at the post below this. In that picture, Grace is still pregnant. Right now, Curtis and Grace’s daughter is more than two months old. If my math degree serves me correctly, this means that I haven’t posted in over two months. Perhaps I should put up blank post-it notes for when I have an idea. They will remind to post it.

Eh? *nudge nudge*

This week, I went to the slam for the first time in a month to see friend and recent-road-dweller Dain Michael Down. Last night, the Richard Hugo House Writers-In-Residence performed a farewell show that was riveting.

I’ve been thinking about how words seem to change us, even when we speak them. We are reinforced in our beliefs, or made to challenge them when others do. What is it about words, these arrangements of letters, that seem to cut deeper than anything else in this world? I want to know your thoughts, and I’m including a poem I wrote two winters ago and haven’t looked at in a long time. Please respond with your thoughts about language! I’m putting together a short essay and would love your input as part of the discussion.

Backwoods Words

The time 3:34 is not a palindrome,
but it takes no clock to tell me it’d be backwards to
stay up for 59 more minutes with work in the morning.
My pen laced pensive eye lids and I
submissively head to bed with hopes of a dream
meeting with some of those backwoods words.
You know, those lofty words that people watch documentaries about
but live too scared to steal away to the pages themselves.
Those words that help me know you better, like your personality
is on a 1989 IBM computer screen blue jeopardy square and without
these hillbilly dictionary dwellers, I’ll never be able to tell you how you’re so…
…you know…
that I’ve missed you like a war-torn letter
like before you how did I ever?

So when I shut my eyes, I toast to torn tethers

to find those backwoods words.
The kind you find in a campfire glow,
roasting marshmallows over mediocrity’s slow justice,
inquiring of each other if they can trust us.
Amidst their debates, on the wings of sleep
I can step out from the listening trees and say,
“H
ey, can I get in on that?”
and on a good night,
Grace makes room on her bark-skinned bench,
Antiquated gets the graham crackers.
Lovely unwraps the chocolate.
Aloof holds his marshmallow tipped tree limb with resolve.
and I unroll the parchment of my problems.
the counseling session begins.

My secrets and defenses are melting
carving ice arteries in the dirt that pump life through my tightly closed fists,
I know it is these that must be shattered.
Provision fills their cups with my justifications,
and they drink to deeper meaning.
I wonder if this is what I’d been trying to do all along -

Drink in all that is wrong, to taste it for its mistakes and cough it up that I might be free.
With dimly lit dancing faces, the page sages smirk “you’ll learn.”

Shackled – “who is she?”
“She is a false river crossing and I am a wanderer.”
Contempt – “What did he ever do to you?”
“His recklessness was almost my death.”
Grace – “Throw it in the fire.”
Luxury – “Was I your delight?”
“For a time, you were pleasant, but vacuous.”
Vacuous – “I’m a best kept secret.”
Aloof – “These marshmallows taste like lies.”
The mundane is being burned out, and of this I want
s’more.

I am mountain and valley falling in on each other
crashing in a marshmallow taste
like the backward notions of 58 minutes ago,
a wayward spark meets my eye and I see it.

Under the guise of service they are being sustained,
relying on us for the complexity of their meaning,
make no mistake, these words are ants carrying home monuments,
but our lives are the stiff in their legs,
our pasts the steady in their next step.
they are balls hurling headlong around our hearts’ optic nerves on the time-space playground,
dreaming with school children about all day recess
their call is often lost in the whirr
“We will grace your pages.
We will be laid out by your pens, pencils, chisels, and marquis
We will bear the weight of your speechless longings.
of your conquests, fantasies, law, journeys, love notes, whispers,

if you will feed us.”

On heavier feet and winged thoughts I return to my dream
forest thicket of future pages, knowing exactly what they will say.
And there’s 60 seconds before my nightly clock
mocking, “backwards”.

This coming Sunday, April 25 is the momentous day of the Seattle 2010 Grand Slam at Town Hall. The Grand Slam is held to determine which poets will represent the fine city of Seattle in Minnesota this summer at the National Poetry Slam, and my, is it going to be a show. Not only will you get to see Karen Finneyfrock, Greg Bee, Tara Hardy, Maya Hersh, Ela Barton, Jodie Knowles, Roberto Ascalon, and Rachel Rocky Bernstein, (!), but you can also see me in the showcase AND you can see Jubilee! That’s right, folks, some of the best spoken word Seattle has to offer paired with the sweet folky sounds of Jubilee in one evening. You might have other plans this Sunday evening, but I suggest you find a way to be at Town Hall. You can purchase tickets here at Brown Paper Tickets.

Now for the more:

This month has been a little like last month, in that it’s had days, and that it’s been full of exciting events.
First of all, Jeanne Damoff featured me in a post about spoken word art on her collective blog, The Master’s Artist. Jeanne is mother of Grace Romjue (Jubilee), one of my close friends here, and a talented, sincere Christian author. I’ve been so encouraged by her writing and support, so it was an honor to have my poetry featured by her on The Master’s Artist. Thanks again, Jeanne!
Also this month was my birthday.

Curtis and Grace Romjue, dear friends (and members of Jubilee) made me this delicious lemon cake with my new age written in a mathematical way with red hots. Puzzle! Look up ‘factorials’ to figure out how old I am. This cake is the only clue you’ll need. We had a joyous time jamming, laughing, and discussing the finer things in life.

Lastly, I got to hang out with my friends of Mount Righteous from Grapevine, TX as they came through the Northwest on tour. They even invited me to go with them to their show in Eugene, OR, and we had a grand time all the way until Joey Kendall took me to the train station. I mentioned Joey  in a post back in December of this year. It was so good to catch up, hang out, and see their awesome band play again. Check them out if you haven’t. They’re better than ever these days. Here’s a picture of Joey and I, which  demonstrates why you should have a lens wider than 50mm if there’s no one to take your picture.

See you on Sunday at Town Hall!

(BONUS: a picture of Mount Righteous playing at the historic Comet Tavern on Saturday night. Click to see larger image.)

and April…is National Poetry Month.

I realize that this post will right-bookend a whole month without posting. This is not preferable by any means, nor planned. I feel more like my life has become a hurricane of joyous things, that nonetheless spin me right round baby right round.

Highlights from March:

• Visiting my treasured family and friends in Texas for friends Ben and Jade’s wedding.
• Recording the majority of drum tracks for JUBILEE’s full length album (to be released in late summer)
• Traveling to Moscow, ID with JUBILEE to play music and hang out with wonderful, smiling people, eating the best bagels in the world. My band is so awesome.
• Conducting The Northwest School’s Middle School Jazz Band in their spring concert. Their talented director, Jim Sisko, due to an immovable conflict that night (from months back), asked me to sub, and I jumped at the chance! I’ve gotten to sub for their rehearsals a number of times, but this was my first time conducting at any kind of concert – and I loved it! Several of the students in the band are also in my math classes, so it was especially fun for me. They gave a truly impressive performance.
• TEACHING. Wow. I love teaching. The Northwest School has been more than welcoming to me. I am learning so much, and can’t wait to continue my time there through June.
• Karen Finneyfrock’s release of her newest poetry book with Write Bloody, Ceremony for the Choking Ghost. Karen is one of the most talented writers I know. From very early in my slam-involvement, she has made me dinners, helped me with my writing, and given me great feedback on my performance. It’s exciting to see her writing career blossoming (is there a Seattle arts magazine she hasn’t been featured in yet?).
• This may not have much to do with March, but I am deeply looking forward to celebrating Easter this year. One of my favorite Bible verses comes to mind  -  “Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” – Romans 5:7-8
• Seattle Rock Orchestra (with The Kindness Kind) doing David Bowie’s music at the Moore Theater. JUBILEE’s loved cello player, Emily Ann Peterson is in SRC. I remember smiling the whole time. Such a good show!
• Sending off Dain Michael Down on his nation-wide tour, performing at slam venues and teaching workshops. I’m really thankful for Dain’s friendship since he moved to Seattle from New Jersey.

In reviewing this list, I feel a little indulgent writing even more things. Perhaps this will balance it out.

This month I’ve been learning (even more) how to fail. Failing well is an excellent skill. Failure, on the micro-scale, is inevitable, all the way down to running a red light, being late for work, or forgetting about something you planned with someone. But it’s nothing to cause us fear. Learning from mistakes is one of the most valuable resources for improvement. Any criticism or unwanted outcome is a chance to re-examine yourself and find what could have been done better. In the end, you may find that the criticism is unfounded, but if you’re anything like me, most often you’ll find there are priceless nuggets of opportunity in there to help you grow. This month I’ve been learning a lot from young mistakes as a teacher, but in many cases, I’ve been able to avoid making those mistakes every single day afterward as a result of recognizing the small failure up front. Other teachers have helped with this, too. Perhaps this was a long and cliche way of saying, don’t be afraid of failure. You’ll never know what that the end of the branch is like without taking a step off of it.

I’m not so much afraid of the cliche though. It’s just, true.

This February afternoon, I walked to Cal Anderson Park wearing sandals on sidewalks shadowed by the full pink and white of cherry blossoms along the way. It should be said that snow will never lose its fond place in my heart, but I’m quite content to trade weathers with the south for a winter.

This month has felt like a tornado of really good dirt. To begin, I’ll briefly share a few of the events. Imagine these to be barbecues, garden gnomes, and perhaps even livestock flying around with the dust.

1. I’ll share this because it bears repeating: I’ve recently started as a math teacher at The Northwest School. The process of acquainting myself with the new rhythm and responsibilities during these first days of class has made me nothing short of grateful for this opportunity. Also nothing short of busy .

2. JUBILEE returned last Saturday from the great state of North Carolina playing at Elon University. Getting out of Seattle for a few days to the big skies and barbecued beef to share music and poetry with new friends was its own wonderful kind of break. The folks at Elon made us feel right at home. Curtis, Grace, Jonny, Emily, and I got to enjoy each other’s company at southern culinary favorites like Chick Fil-A, Waffle House, and Steak-and-Shake. I miss Chick Fil-A and Waffle House so much. The people serving us were lovely, but I don’t miss Steak-and-Shake so much.

3. Lastly, I went down to Tacoma with John Teske, Seattle composer and double bassist, to do some recordings yesterday with The Hungry Bard Foundation. John and I have been writing an electro-opera since December and were recording preliminary sound ideas and poems. On that note, I’m joining him for a show with other great experimental improv artists at Gallery 1412 next month on the 11th (see date below), and I strongly encourage you to join us.
The Hungry Bard guys were great hosts, and not only know how to make sweet sounding recordings (for free. yeah. what?) with nice gear, but they’re doing something generous for the artist community. I recommend them if you need any recordings done. Check them out on their facebook page.

OK. Be sure to get Karen Finneyfrock’s book release on March 18 at the Richard Hugo House penned on your calendars, and here’s a few times in the next month that you can see me perform!

3/5 The Nuart Theatre of Moscow, Idaho.
performing with JUBILEE

3/11 Gallery 1412 of Capitol Hill/Central District, Seattle.
performing with John Teske.

3/24 The High Dive of Fremont, Seattle.
performing with JUBILEE

Stay hydrated! I hope to see you soon!

Faithful readers, regardless of how this blog has looked since New Years, I don’t live in a cave. Promise.

I didn’t want to speak too soon, but as of this week, I’ve joined the faculty at The Northwest School to teach mathematics through the end of June! I’m so thankful and excited about this opportunity, and have felt an incredibly warm welcome from the faculty and students this week. Ever since my first days as a substitute teacher at Northwest, I’ve loved this dynamic community, and can’t wait to work more closely with such excellent educators.

This Wednesday, JUBILEE braves the skies to visit our friends at Elon University in North Carolina, play some music, and raise awareness about modern day slavery. I can speak for myself to express our excitement about the trip. This is a place I’ve never been, but I’ve heard offers a beauty altogether different from our gorgeous northwest. A longer post about poetry is to come!

We had a good time hollerin’ at Kerry Park last night. I hope you’re as glad to be alive as I am.

Can’t wait to see what this year has in it.

Love,
Steven

What a wonderful December this has been, and in reflection, a wonderful year too.

Just two days ago I returned from some much welcomed time with my family in the Dallas area. I’m so grateful for the last two weeks. Growing up, I always knew I had a good family, but I don’t think it had ever clicked just how awesome my family is, and how blessed I am to be a son of Jeff and Lynda Wilbur. They had planned out so many fun things to do together, with enough free time to hang out more casually with my brothers and see some dear friends from high school and college. Man. It was such a treat.

David giving me sass.

David attacked by our dog Beign (“Ben”) on the monkey bars!

My debate-slinging, hand-lending, always-chill brother John.

Some highlights:

• Curling. Yes – where you slide the big rock (42 pounds!) across the ice and sweep fervently to help it stop near the bulls eye. SO FUN.
• Having a white Christmas! How ironic it was to leave a snow-less Seattle and get 3 inches of snow in Texas.
• Spending uninterrupted time joking around with my brothers and parents, including late night runs to Whataburger (Washington still hasn’t caught up to its, or Waffle House’s, sheer greatness) and nearly every day trips to the park to throw the frisbee. My brothers are hilarious. You would like them.
• Getting to hang out and go see Rondo with Joey Kendall (of Dallas band, Mount Righteous – check them out). Joey and I both played in bands based in Grapevine, TX when I was in high school and college. He has been a huge influence in my progression as a writer and musician, as well as a great friend.
• On the same note, having lunch with my best friend Andrew McKinney (Darcy). Some things are so good that time doesn’t change them much. I’m so thankful for the friendships God’s given me back in Texas. Seeing the friends that I got to see was a gift impossible to quantify.
• Most of all, celebrating the birth of Jesus, the greatest gift ever, with people I love. I was reading in 1 Peter 2 today about how “When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to Him who judges justly. He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness.” I am most thankful that God, in His infinite love, proactively made a way for our sins to be cleared, and all that’s left for us to do is to turn from our ways in receiving God’s free gift.

I could keep going for a long time about the great parts of this trip. Family has a role in our lives that no other people get to play. We are born with those bonds already formed. The commonalities by which we find, or are found by, our friends don’t exist there. My father is my father. My mother is my mother. Even with the most amazing family, it’s in this arena that we have the opportunity to learn long-suffering, patient love like no other relationship because as people, within a certain radius of intimacy, conflict and hurt is inevitable.  However, with that pain comes the chance to forgive, to endure, and to move forward, believing the best, with fuller knowledge of each other’s shortcomings. What’s more beautiful than that kind of love? I can’t think of anything, because this is even more so how God loves us: faithfully, relentlessly, with our best in mind.

The year 2009 has been so full of new life it’s hard to see everything there is to celebrate in the rear view mirror at once. You never can see everything behind you without taking some trips back to visit those places. Maybe I’ll have to say more later. One thing I know is, it is good to be alive. If we’re friends, or even acquaintances, I’m grateful to know you. I hope you can reflect on the goodness and struggles of the last year and take a moment to be thankful before kicking off another sweet 365 days, each one of them a privilege.

I left work today to find the sun making final points through the clouds’ fingers as their hand pushed to cover the sun’s mouth. It was 3:30 in the afternoon, and bed-time felt close. I could have greeted it with a smile and still been satisfied with the day.

Recently I’ve been working as an after-school teacher at the Giddens School (after a year of subbing there). For today’s teacher in-service day, while the teachers got things done, we took the kids to the historical Moore Theatre for an event called “Global Dance Party”.  Skilled dancers from all over the northwest (but originally from all over the world) did tightly choreographed and executed dances in styles ranging from hip-hop to Irish fiddle and dance to Odissi Classical Indian to Mexican Folk and a whole lot in between. What a phenomenal event! I felt so lucky to go with my after-school group to this amazing show and share with them in their enjoyment of it.

My favorite dance was probably the Odissi Classical Indian dance done by the Urvasi Dance Ensemble. When one of my students asked me which I liked best, after saying he liked hip hop the most (with good reason) and I told him, he replied with a pause, “yeah, I mean, it’s good to know how other people dance.”

While at North Texas, I took a semester of South Indian classical rhythm/percussion and participated in the Advanced Cross Cultural Indian Ensemble for another semester, both with the Grammy-nominated mridangist Poovalur Sriji. We took these ideas and played music in the style of classical South Indian with both classically used instruments, like pandiero (in place of kanjira), khol, and violin, as well as more modern instruments, like drumset, Chapman stick, and steel drum. These two courses deconstructed and reshaped my concepts of rhythm in ways that nothing else has to date. As the Urvasi ensemble danced to tabla music, a lot of what I got to study with Sriji came back, and with this new hindsight, I was amazed to see how closely the dance accompanied the music. Each girl dancing had bells on her ankles, and when they stomped the ground, the sound imitated a kanjira. Their hand motions followed the complex rhythm patterns being played by the tabla. Many classical Indian rhythmic arrangements follow ‘hourglass’ or ‘diamond’ shapes, where for instance you have a series of 5 notes followed by 3 notes followed by 1 note, and back again (5-3-1-1-3-5), or in reverse and back again (1-3-5-5-3-1), or some variation on that. I felt like I could even see this sense of quickening and slowing in the choreography. Remarkable!

Watching a fair amount of performance poets on a regular basis, this idea of the body as an instrument has been developing in my mind more and more recently. When on stage, a poet has their whole self as a medium to perform a piece. The constraints that playing an instrument provides are not there. You have nothing to do but speak on the wings of approximately 80% of nonverbal communication with your limbs, posture, face, and tone. It’s amazing how much more is heard with the right inflection, and how difficult it can be to say what we want to say.

And then I think about how we are instruments. Resonant and clapping, our breaths weave into words, back into emotion and thought behind the pretty veil of a face, and I wonder if I am ever understood. When the very teachers of the air in my lungs can’t make up their minds, making most sentences photographs at best, will anyone interpret them how I intend? I spend a lot of conversation time apologizing, clarifying, and doing my best to replace these pictures on memory’s walls with new, more accurate, images, and I wonder if conversely the positive prints I hope to leave in people’s minds will look anything like the way they were taken.

And a video for your contextual awareness:

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Remember that show America’s Funniest Home Videos? As a kid, Bob Saget (the trustworthy father from Full House), brightly colored balloons, and tapes of unexpected events that, at times, couldn’t have been anything but staged kept me glued to the TV most weeks. Why was this show so successful?

One reason seeing yourself on video, especially home videos, can be hilarious is the error we make naturally walking through life. The talent show when you fall off the stage. The bride falling in the pool. The dog biting some guy’s crotch. You hitting yourself with a shovel. Me putting a candle out with my fingers at my 1st birthday. And on.

Life is like this. Looking back at myself and recognizing the inconsistencies, poor judgments, errors… it’s painful. Some of them are already stories for laughing – like at 16 years old, doing a 540 spin on I-30 during rush hour at 65 mph over-reacting to a fast sportscar who cut me off,  or at 19, asking a cute girl at a ski-resort for her e-mail address as an expression of interest before asking to know her name (one of my most awkward introductions to date). But the recent videos, the ones that haven’t made the attic yet, those are the ones gnawing at whatever pride I had left. I recognize that I am, and will always be, growing. I am still taking shape, pushing out the glass shards still stuck in my hands, touching and embracing others along the way, apologizing, never having enough bandages.