MOM— by CRAIG COTTER

2.5 cups of rice
water up two and a half knuckle points
boil, when boiling, let boiling open-lidded until water is gone
then ten minutes reduced heat
--Mom's recipe for making rice outside of the ubiquitous rice-cooker

 

This is another Poems-For-All booklet from the generous gift of curator Richard Hansen! This 1.75" X 2” mini-book features a poem, “mom—“ by Craig Cotter:

As you can see by the above cover, it’s an image of rice and then the red band with the title and byline.  This design is seemingly simple, but has more depth after one has read the poem (below).  Seemingly simple, too, because the interior is just one folded page to show a title page and the poem:

Here is the text of the poem:

mom—

the boy

doesn't want

another spoonful of steamed

buddha brand jasmine rice—

he reaches for a chopstick

propped on a bowl of tom yum instead.

     now

tapping the stick everywhere

and waving it in the air

he accepts a spoonful of red fish.

Reading the poem, one understands the cover design: the preferred red (of the “red fish”) in the foreground with the rice in the background.

The synchronistic reference to rice, and thus its cover image, works nicely on the back cover because of Poems-For-All’s featured slogan, “SCATTER LIKE SEEDS.”  The rice, then, becomes a visual metaphor for poems which PFA wishes to scatter “like seeds” throughout the universe.

Nicely done!  And where shall we “shelve” this book?  Well, as befits the Filipino tradition of having white rice with each and every meal, Mom used to cook rice for the household.  So, I immediately thought of shelving this book on the mini sewing chair I associate with Mom.  It already has a book shelved on it, “I’M NOBODY! WHO ARE YOU?” by Emily Dickinson.  But I thought Craig Cotter’s “mom—“ might be a nice companion for Emily (that poem sounds like Emily needs it), might even provide some comic relief.  Entonces:

MY FIRST BOOK by E.R. TABIOS

The following untitled piece is my first piece of writing.  I’m not sure but I think I wrote it when I was about  two years old.  With this blog post, I am humbled to offer the world release of this historic work:

The grass is green.

The sun is out shining.

The sun burnt the grass.

I know—so young, and already I had a dark side!  Anyway, this piece of writing is also the text to my first book!  Entonces, I thought  to make a mini-book replicating this first book, a 1/1 edition which I’m sure no longer exists—it was left behind in Baguio City, Philippines where I grew up as a youngster.

By the way, I know of my first book not because I remember writing it.  I just grew up hearing my mom’s recollection of the incident.  After I read my words to her, my mother apparently played along with much enthusiastic encouragement.  She even helped me fashion bookshelves from shoe boxes for more books!

So, this mini-book, My First Book, is the first replication of what I created when I was a toddler.  When I began SitWithMoi, I thought I would create such a book, but only was moved finally to do so when I received a card announcement of an exhibition of Larry Poons paintings at Danese, New York.  I thought the reproduced painting was so gorgeous that I wanted to use it as the cover to My First Book:

The card was large enough to be folded into front and back covers as well as the verso cover pages to a 2” x 1.5” book:

You would open the book to see the title page

You then would turn the page to a page with a green highlighter scrawl (I didn't have crayons around so used highlighters instead) at the bottom of the page.  That’s right—I didn’t use words to write my first book.  I don’t think I knew how to write then.  But I obviously could conceptualize.  So I scribbled green across the page and would interpret it to Mom as “The grass is green”

You’d turn the page to see similar treatment—yellow highlighter blob atop page—that I would interpret as “The sun is out shining”

And you’d turn the page to see brown crayola (I did find a brown crayon) on the bottom of the page for my interpretation, “The sun burnt the grass”

The colors unfortunately bleed through the slim pages – but that’s okay as that allowed me to create a summary of the story:

Having gotten this far in making this book, I was feeling so pleased with it that I decided it deserves an author photo!  And so I went through my mother’s stuff because I knew she had childhood photos of me.  I decided on this one—I was at elementary school:

I chose that photo because of what Mom wrote on its back, which so displayed the love and pride she felt for me … not just for me but for all her children; she was a very encouraging parent:

Eileen, on their promotional program. The little rolled paper is her “diploma”.  It is a paper with 3 sentences bearing the best wishes of her teachers and the principal. I think she is almost 5 feet tall now.

I remember those white shoes in the photo (white shoes! How retro!). I was so happy Mom got me the pair, and so pleased with moiself for having them J

Anyway, as I would say in an Author's Note in the book, I dedicate the book to my mother, Beatriz Tilan Tabios, for all of her encouragement to me.

So, where shall we “shelve” my first book?  I think on a white chair to match those white shoes!  Let’s shelve it on Eero Saarinen’s “Pedestal Chair”! Place it on a pedestal, indeed!

I’m delighted I can share this project now.  I’ve been relatively silent on blogs recently as I got caught up in both an autobiography-in-progress as well as finishing a new short story that, respectively, are on and inspired by Mom.  I really miss her. 

I'M NOBODY! WHO ARE YOU? by EMILY DICKINSON

[Related Post: 39 POEM SEEDS FROM POEMS-FOR-ALL]


And this is about another Poems-For-All booklet from the generous gift of curator Richard Hansen! This is I'M NOBODY! WHO ARE YOU?, one of the most famous poems by Emily Dickinson.

Here is the front cover:

This is an effectively-designed book, in part because the partially blinded women extend to the back cover:

You open to the title page:

You turn the page to the poem:

I'm Nobody! Who are you?

Are you--Nobody--too?

Then there's a pair of us?

Don't tell! they'd advertise--you know!

How dreary--to be--Somebody!

How public--like a Frog--

To tell one's name--the livelong June--

To an admiring Bog!

You turn the page to some background information as to how this booklet was created:

In case you can't read the above image, it says that the booklet was

"Published on the occasion of the Academy of American Poets' Poem in your Pocket Day, April 17th, 2009.  The idea is simple: select a poem you love during National Poetry Month then carry it with you to share with co-workers, family, and friends on April 17th."

Much has been said about this poem, one of the most popular by Emily Dickinson (for example, HERE).  I don't need to add to the analysis per se -- but for purpose of "shelving" the booklet on a mini-chair, I choose to focus on its very compelling first line: I'm Nobody! Who are you?

I focus on that line because I will "shelve" this booklet on the Sewing Chair.  If you recall from this post, I associate this chair with Mom who often stitched various items for me (I have one memory of her on her knees with pins in her mouth stitching a hem on my very first long dress for a high school dance; I remember looking down on her and noticing how her hair was thinning -- a detail that unnerved me as it may be my first consciousness that Mom was aging, thus mortal ... a detail so unnerving that it would pop up unexpectedly in a poem I'd write decades later...but I digress).

Anyway, when my father died, Mom moved into our house and I was blessed to live with her for six years.  During that time, she witnessed my daily lifestyle as a writer.  She was so proud of me ... such that she often described herself to friends and acquaintances as "Eileen's Mom -- the goose who laid the Golden Egg."

While appreciating her support, I was always a tad disturbed (though never told her) about her description of herself.  I thought Mom was more than just my mother and deserved respect as such: she was an effective teacher (just the other week I heard yet again from one of her students about 50 years ago about what a great teacher she was), a beloved member of her church and community, a well-respected elder in the clan ... I could go on. But within my household, it seemed that she was just a retired woman who loved her family (which by itself is a lot since I know the hard way that loving one's family can't be taken for granted).

Fortunately, we were able to see Mom's book, DAWAC, released before her death (it came out two months before she died).  That's yet another major achievement by Mom: a first book at age 82!  And so in one of our last phone conversations together, I was able to tell her -- in a way that she understood deeply -- how proud I was of her but specifically articulate my pride by saying:

"Mom, you know how you always say you're the goose who laid the Golden Egg?  What I want to say to you, Mom, is that YOU are the Golden Egg."

It was a moment -- a way of articulation -- whose significance only she and I could really understand.  I believe she was crying (happy tears!) as she replied simply on the phone, "Yes. I hear you."

Here is the book I am recalling

even as I shelve Emily Dickinson's I'M NOBODY! WHO ARE YOU? on Mom's mini-sewing chair:

We opened our eyes, Mom. You, were, the Golden Egg ...

STITCH ALONG WITH MOI!

And another chair from the "Ebay 30" acquisition is a sewing chair!  I love it for reminding me of moi Mama.  And because I often think that, as a poet, I don't write words so much as stitch them together ...

Welcome, Little Sewing Chair!  Whenever I see you, I think of Mom stitching many a hem for me.  As she was doing in this photo ... before I interrupted her to inflict one of moi books on her:

[Prov.: "Ebay 30." Size: 8" height, 3.5" width, 3" depth]

L by GENARA TILAN

My recently-received Blue Chair was an impetus for this mini-book, L by Genara Tilan.  As I said in the prior post, the Blue Chair is much smaller than I expected due to a typo in its description from the Etsy bookseller.  In looking at the chair, I realized that if one was to accommodate its scale, the mini-book that would be "shelved" by sitting on it would have to be about half an inch long and wide.  So I decided to make the book moiself since I didn't know if I could get a mini-book that small (the lovely E-Peeps sending me mini-books seem to tend towards even slightly larger than the targeted 2" x 2" scale).

I also decided to make the mini-book when I stumbled across a strip of paper I had cut out from a paper bag originally containing some luscious Teuscher's champagne truffles, a yummy Holiday stocking-stuffer from the hubby.  This strip had one side of the green paper glued to another thin piece of paper that I thought could be the interior page. From this strip, I cut and shaped literally a thumbnail book at 0.75" x 0.75' mini-book -- yes, do note how I folded the green cover in a way to create a spine:

For its text, I thought to quote from a letter I recently discovered among my mom's belongings.  It's a 1976 letter from my grandmother, Genara Tilan, to Mom.  It is the only written letter I have of my grandmother's, and it was written to Mom six years after our family first left the Philippines to immigrate to the U.S.  Because of the letter's rarity and age, I thought it was appropriate to write (part of) its story on the fragile paper taken from the Teuscher's packaging.

And so here's the front cover of the book:

You open it to see the title page that says, "LONGING":

You unfold the accordion-page to see the text:

What I present in the book is an English translation of an excerpt from my grandmother's letter which was written in my birth language, Ilocano.  Her Ilocano:

Napalalo ti ragragsac mi a naca kita manen cada cayo uray no retrato laeng ... nangpunas iti iliw cadagiti puspusomi... 

My English translation (which is not literal but contextual):

Our joy was outrageous from seeing you all again, even if only through photographs -- such was the depth of missing you all.  This longing in our hearts ...

You would fold back the accordion page, turn it, and see this on the interior back cover:

Love

Loss

Longing

Life

which, to me, summarizes my family's need to leave the Philippines and the losses that come with the gains of such a move.  While I list the four words above, in the book the four words all share the same "L" as they are inextricably intertwined.  Hence, the title of the book itself to be "L".

And so we "shelve" this book on the Blue Chair.  If you read the prior post, or the link to the Blue Chair, you will see that it was discovered to be broken before the Etsy shopkeeper rescued it and gave it new life (with glue and paint).  Just as the chair was healed into an object of beauty -- something of value -- I thought about excerpting from my grandmother's letter, which described pain and a difficult existence, words that would form a book, something I consider  an inherently valuable or precious object.

Thus, here are two phoenixes rising from their respective ashes:  this green book on a blue chair:

MISSING MOM, Vol I by E.R. TABIOS

[Related Post: Moi Beautiful Mom's Beautiful Book]


My mother would have turned 83 this past Thursday.  I miss her: Beatriz Tilan Tabios.

When my father died, I wrote out an entire book in the grieving process.  I just spewed it out: 366 pages worth that would come to form my book, THE LIGHT SANG AS IT LEFT YOUR EYES. (Here's one critic's response, Fred Muratori's at American Book Review, which I share partly because I'm surprised at how my first draft-last draft eruption can pass someone's critical eye.)

But with Mom, with whom my relationship was more intense, more complicated, more intimate, more turbulent -- I'm almost speechless in grief (even that phrasing can't capture the emotion of what I feel).  Relative to my relationship with Dad, I would have thought I'd write an entire encyclopedia's worth of words for Mom, but instead find myself mostly at a loss for words when I think about her and our relationship (at least that's how I feel for now...)

Fortunately, I'm discovering that with mini books made for SitWithMoi -- like THIS ONE -- I can at least gesture towards acknowledging Mom's ... passing (how ineffective to just say "passing"). 

The mini books are also moments of succor.  And I just made a second one: a teensy one (1.5" x 1.375") entitled MISSING MOM, Vol. I.  The reference to "Vol. I" is my hope that I make many other such tiny books for Mom.  Anyway, this first volume begins with the cover stock from a mailer sent her by a jewelry store--remember this post? I'd cut out the top strip from the mailer for use as possible book covers:

I thought I'd use each image for a front cover, so that this section would have covered two mini books. 

Instead, I had the idea to cut them horizontally (vs. vertically) so that there would be gems on both front and back covers.  Thus, the front cover would feature what, as it turns out, is her February birthstone, a lovely amethyst:

You then open the book to show the title page:

Then you'd open the page to reveal the content:

If you can't read my handwriting, the text says,

I remember You

buying a bracelet

then rationalizing

the purchase with

"This will be

for my daughter."

Love,

           Mom

The back cover then would reveal what turns out to be my September birthstone, a blue sapphire:

It's quite synchronistic, isn't it, how the mailer ends up featuring my mother's and my birthstones ... Obviously, this mini book was meant to be!

And one last bit of synchronicity?  Since my mother's death, I've been wearing one of her bracelets everyday--isn't it lovely?  Just another lovely gesture by Mom... :

Now.  Where shall we shelve this "Vol. I"?!  How about on a rocking chair, as she used to spend much time on a rocking chair in her bedroom!  The background is her bedcover ... Mom loved color:

MOI BEAUTIFUL MOM'S BEAUTIFUL BOOK

My Mom, Beatriz Tilan Tabios, was bedridden during her last few months, and she couldn't talk during her last few weeks.  These ... time-pauses ... are what inspired me to write a book on her behalf--one more book by her since her first book so delighted her!  I was initially moved to do so when, in going through her stuff, I saw some address labels she never had a chance to use:

I paused to consider them, to consider specifically the flowers and the waterfall whose images must have pleased her.  My mother adored pretty things.

So I cut up some slips of paper and folded them into a mini-book entitled The Last Words I Could Not Say (though of course she'd ended up saying them by virtue of the book's existence!):

I knew immediately that there would have to be a dedication page like so (as it was in her first book):

One thing never doubted--and which life has taught me not to take for granted--is that Mom LOVED her family.  Because of that love, I decided to write an Introduction:

The tiny Introduction says,

My mother, Beatriz Tilan Tabios, could not speak during her last days of being bedridden from cancer. This only meant that, instead of hearing, I saw--with my mind's eye-- her "last words." I believe they reflect her love for Beauty.
                                                                       --Eileen Tabios
                                                                       Jan. 17, 2013

Mom's thousand-word-equivalents are the stickers from her sheet of address labels.  Here is a snapshot of Pages 2-3:

I thought that these images of beauty reflected the words Mom would utter when she was at her best.

Pages 7-12 are stickers of the same images from the first six pages, except they are of a smaller scale.  Here is a snapshot of Pages 11-12:

The second half, so to speak, of Mom's book are of smaller images to reflect the diminishment of her speaking ability ... and later her breath.

So, the interior of the book was finished.  I then thought about how to create a cover to Mom's book.  In looking through her things, I came across stacks of unused Holiday cards.  I thought it'd be fitting to use one of these cards as her book cover, specifically this one:

I chose the above image because a dove symbolizes peace and I do so hope that Mom is resting in peace.

So I cut up the holiday card in preparation for making a cover.  As with other mini-books I'm making, I used a single staple as a binder:

And all of such would have sufficed to make a wonderful tiny book for and by Mom, but I felt something missing.  I looked around some more among her stuff (Mom was a pack rat; she left behind tons of stuff!).  Among her costume jewelry, I found an earring of black "pearls."  Mom loved pearls.  As I fondled the earring, I thought to turn it into a bookmark!

So there you have it, a tiny thing of beauty by Mom.

Now, on which chair to place Mom's book?  There wasn't even a close alternative.  Of course Mom's book had to be placed on the ethereal beauty of the vintage hand-woven chair discovered by Kathleen La France: 

R.I.P., Mom.  I miss you ...