Category Archives: Personal

My new podcast

I have a new podcast. I don’t know how it will evolve yet, but the first episode is a poem I wrote about the Johnstown flood. So far I have received good feedback on it.

If you feel like subscribing to the podcast, you can do so here:

http://joshuagray.podomatic.com

This site goes into more detail about each episode than iTunes. You can write comments, etc. But you can download through iTunes as well:

https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/joshua-grays-podcast/id685225118

Hope you enjoy it!

Three Summers of Poetry and Pathos: A Poet’s Ride With Cancer

Please note: this blog post was originally published by 32 Poems blog in the summer of 2011. I am not sure why they removed it, but they have been going through some restructuring over there…
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For the past three summers, cancer has shown up in my poetry. In 2009, my mother-in-law passed away after a short-lived battle with pancreatic cancer. Last year, I was diagnosed with stage IIIa Melanoma. And now, my father-law’s current wife has been told if she doesn’t do chemotherapy and radiation therapy, breast cancer will take her in 3-6 months.

 
The circumstances behind our respective diagnoses are all different. My mother-in-law was feeling nauseous and unable to eat for months before she was finally diagnosed several specialists later. I saw that a crumb-sized mole on my foot had mushroomed to the size and depth of a pea. But it’s my wife’s step-mother’s diagnosis that is truly incredible. Earlier this summer, she was in a head-on car crash in broad daylight that not only required surgery in her leg, but also cracked five of her ribs. If it hadn’t been for the other driver, uninsured and reckless, she wouldn’t have cracked those ribs, and there never would have been a reason for the chest X-Ray that found the mass.
 
When my mother-in-law passed away, the poem I wrote for her was an easy one, in terms of topic and structure. Before she passed, I had actually been thinking of the poem that would need to be written if her fight didn’t end well, so by the time the service arrived it had basically written itself.
 
When I was diagnosed, that was an entirely different story. They say in times like this a lot of bad poetry is written for every good one, and the case was certainly true for me. I wrote a lot. I do have a couple of instant keepers that came out of it, but I don’t believe in throwing the others away. Revising, I told my eldest son the other day, can take years. I didn’t listen to my golden rule of writing poetry: resist the urge to write. Instead, I wrote when it came to me, with no regard for patience or rationality. Very little good comes to my poetry when I write this way; I don’t know if the bad poems came from this refusal to follow my golden rule, or because it was the saying that a lot of bad poems come out of experiences like this, or if the two are somehow intertwined and really the same thing. But regardless of the reason, the poems need to be worked on, however long it takes, until they are ready.
 
It was poor timing in another way, as well. I had just clued myself in on the great powers of social media for writers that Spring, and while I had begun to come out of my introverted shell like a lone poet wallowing in the corner at a party, I had at least attended the party.  Social media networking had also grown a sprout for me to actually network in the real world. My first real chance at doing this (outside of an on-line poetry class, which is suspect) was attending the Sotto Voce Poetry Festival that October in Sheperdstown, WV. I had actually signed up for a couple events there, but ultimately I was still too weak to go. It would have been an all-day event for me, and I just didn’t have the energy after having two major surgeries that summer. I distinctly remember “meeting” Deborah Ager of 32 Poems on Twitter, knowing she was already there, and thought there was someone I could actually meet and greet. It was this sort of social process for poets that had come to mean so much to me in the past six months, and I blamed cancer for stalling it.
 
This year, I don’t know what the creative process has in store for me. The cancer diagnosis came a few weeks ago, but it looked like surgery could remove the mass and the survival chance was high; now that we now how far its spread, we are looking at a new prognosis altogether. The wonderful woman the cancer is attached to is full of energy, very entertaining, a wonderful cook, and a good wife and mother. But in the 15 years I’ve known her, I’ve spent relatively very little time with her. I am not as close to my step-mother-in-law the way I was my mother-in-law. So I don’t know what poem will come out of this experience. It’s not easy to think about the potential poem the way it was in 2009. And in some ways perhaps it will be harder to get it right than it was in 2010. All I know is that four years ago I knew no one who fought the cancer battle; now, I know too many. This is the kind of thing poets dream of, in a way, topics that are in your face and challenging to the soul, but ultimately I would rather have the people in my life than the poems for whom they are written.

A Look Back at the Last Four Years

First of all, titling my posts drive me crazy. I learned to title things as I did here, where words such as “at” and “the” are lower-case, but everything else is upper-case; however, I spent two years as the DC Poetry Examiner for Examiner.com, where the rule is only the first word is capitalized. It has made me a little crazy, I must say. I’m OCD like that. But I digress.

With Obama’s recent inauguration for a second term in office, I have been thinking a bit about my life in the last four years. It seems a bit interesting that Obama won his first term with messages of change and hope, because while politically for Obama I am not sure how much that message has made a difference, I realize that personally for me it has been spot on.

What has happened in the last four years?

  • The first African-American was elected to the U.S. Presidency. From an American history perspective, there may be nothing more significant; however, in present day America, I believe it may be more significant that he is really the first mixed-race President.
  • My family dealt with a cancer scare three years in a row, with three different people (including me) with different results.
  • My wife went from being a stay-at-home mom to working full-time at a dysfunctional workplace to quitting and going back to being at home.
  • My wife and I took the children to Kolkata, India for the first time to meet their extended family. We also went to Nepal — a first for all of us.
  • I went from having no social experience in the world of poetry to finding social media and having a whole lot more of a social experience in poetry than I ever thought possible. Thank you social media, thank you guys.
  • My family left the life it has known for fifteen years and moved to India. Life here is not without its issues, but it’s so much better.
  • I published my children’s adaptation of Beowulf as a children’s book, which I wrote for my son when he was seven.
  • I was elected to the Board of a publishing company, was considered to be Poet Laureate of my city, applied and was accepted as a member of my local arts and humanities commission.
  • An uncle by marriage passed away way too soon; I read his poetry and decided to edit it and publish it posthumously.
  • I founded an organization for poetry advocacy, which is having a hard time getting going, but it’s at least there, with a Board.
  • My wife has gone through a good amount of health issues herself that have never been solved, until perhaps now.
  • I was guest editor for an issue of MiPOesias, a poetry magazine — one of my favorites!

It seems to me my wife Ketaki and I have had our trials, we have had to hope — which includes cancer scares and getting published — and we had to be intentional and committed to change. Our lives did what Obama preached, for good or bad. And there was a lot of it.

Musical Interlude

And now for an issue of “Proud Papa.”

My son Noah has been playing clarinet for 1 1/2 years now. He didn’t play it much last year, but this year he has picked it up. I think it gives him some positive attention as well as some purpose, especially now when he is searching for ways to have fun as he tries to enjoy life like he used to. (He didn’t want to move, much less move to India, and has had a hard time with it. He keeps making huge strides in the process of adjustment. Maybe his clarinet is another piece to that.)

Yesterday we took time out of our routine schedule for a very important purpose: it was his first band concert. And after a wardrobe issue

(we bought new black pants for the occasion because that was what he needed to wear, but we discovered the zipper had no zipper pull, and an hour before the concert we were trying staples and going to shops looking for safety pins — luckily someone we were sure had safety pins didn’t live far from the concert venue. That’s one hair-raising issue avoided.),

all was calm. We took our seats. But I realized that the music stands were preventing good photo and video opportunities, so I settled on recording just the audio. He played the Mickey Mouse theme song, Freddie Freeloader by Miles Davis and The End by Linkin Park.

Pretty cool.

Make sure your speakers are on and turned up.

Behaving as if the god in all life matters

I promised I’d do it – I wrote a poem about Gaurs. It ended up being not a nature poem but an environmental one, with long end stop lines to reflect some emotion and encourage slow reading. Once it is published, I will share it.

My son Zach went on a walk in the early morning a couple weeks ago. A little while later we got a call from the school dispensary. Apparently, he saw a bison and the bison saw him. Zach’s story, which is often exaggerated, was that a bison went after him and Zach went to hide in the bushes – in doing so he got a scrape on his hand.

These bison are intimidating. And they can get startled. Chances are, neither one was expecting the other. Did it really chase Zach? Yes, it’s possible. He has recently been worried about them. He tried to convince me there was a killer bison murdering people daily. All because a rogue bull bison somewhere at sometime has attacked and fatally wounded someone. “Zach,” I said, “do you really think this school would exist if bison were murdering the students? Would parents allow their kids here? Would the school allow the bison to roam here?”

As I was writing my poem, revising actually, five bison came into our yard. One of them looked at me, unsure. My aya was drying her sweater in the yard, so she quickly went to get it and quickly got back on the porch. Apparently running from them is the worst thing one can do. As she quickly walked back up the steps, one bison lifted its leg, trying to decide whether to charge. I looked at it, my hands locked behind my back. “I’m not going anywhere, “ I gently said, “it’s okay.” It put its leg down and continued eating.

The day before the bison visited, there were monkeys eating from our tree and bush branches. I did the same thing. Zach was chanting to them, doing a monkey puja, and I came out of the house and walked towards them.

“Dad, their teeth,” he said, “they can bite.”
“I know,” I answered, matter-of-factly, “but I’m not worried.”
“Dad, they can attack you and steal things.”
“Zach, I’m not worried.” I wasn’t. I walked up to them, not super close, enough to respect boundaries. They watched me for a bit, my hands behind my back, and then continued with their breakfast. I watched them for a long time, until a neighborhood dog came and barked at them.

Who says we can’t live among animals? We can’t, if we treat them poorly. Security guards – and Indians in general — are making things worse, as I have said before, by chasing them and throwing stones at them.

As I tell Zach all the time, we need to behave as if the god in all life matters. But we also need to be careful, as danger exists. Don’t run from bison. If you are uncomfortable, walk away. Don’t stop too long with something in your hand and watch monkeys. Close the screen door so they won’t get in the house.. But also enjoy animals, let them know you respect them. There is a balance, one just needs to find it.