Poetry of the People Featuring Ann-Chadwell Humphries

This week's Poet of the People is Ann-Chadwell Humphries. Ann declares that she is from the earth and belongs here. She is a force of nature - granite sparkling in the sun. Silica and alkali metal oxides stirred in the magma of life's challenges, congealed into the poet, Ann-Chadwell Humphries. I am honored to call her a friend.

Ann-Chadwell Humphries, a blind poet from Columbia, SC, was selected by Muddy Ford Press to publish her first collection, An Eclipse and A Butcher. She has twice been a finalist for the Carrie McCray Nickens and once for the Julia Mood Peterkin poetry contests. She won Syzygy’s Emerging Voice Award, sponsored by The Jasper Project, for “An Eclipse and A Butcher.” She is a speaker scholar for South Carolina Humanities and her papers are archived at USC Special Collections Library.

____

Thirteen Ways of Looking Through Darkness
~If it's darkness we're having, let it be extravagant — Jane Kenyon

I
At the fire-fringed margins of the universe,
Images of the origins of light stream
Through the eye of a gold-plated telescope.
II
I am fluent in Light and Dark.
The demise of my retina
Reveals infinite sentient worlds.
III
When illumined, darkness loses its dominion.
Technology renders the unseeable, seeable.
IV
Lightness and darkness
Are one.
As much in the mind as in space
They are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of resilience
Or the beauty of interdependence,
The odyssey into the unknown
Or the transcendence thereof.
VI
The freight of low expectations
Slow-grinds the human spirit.
The only way around is through.
VII
O voice of self-doubt and discouragement
Why do you shout?
Why do I listen?
Why dismiss the universe
Of riches there for the taking?
VIII
I have wandered outermost reaches
And territories of resistance,
And come to exalt
The company of Darkness.
IX
Infrared waves send images
Of unprecedented clarity
Through the lens of the deep space telescope.
X
Reticular spirals and arcs
Flower in the womb of morning.
Bots of importunity align.
XI
When I was diagnosed, doctors advised
That I not overthink; I could prepare.
Not chase cures in China nor Europe—
for They knew I would
Go to the ends of the universe.
XII
I have learned to see with my feet, my ears, my skin.
Import my imagination.
My heart is not blind.
XIII
Years of tests, classes, cursors, prisms
led me on an arduous journey
into the gravitational pull of blindness—
my new orbit—frisson from the cosmology of sight.

Wildflower Trail

Overgrazed ranch land proffers rare views
of blue hills that rumple and bunch until fracture
on the fault line into limestone cliffs, spring jeweled
water from chambered aquifers into creeks,
into rivers fringed with cypress tresses combed
by wind, siren temptress, intoxicant to tourists
and retirees. Overnight, bare-boned water and sewer lines
incise hillsides, weave asphalt webs of infrastructure
for tract housing between Austin and San Antonio.
My parents succumb, lured by open spaces, slower paces
and light-filled rooms of new construction, new appliances—
fresh start from hard work. My father plants cedar elm
for shade, Blue Italian Cyprus for windbreak—
this is Texas harsh—and as trees grow, so grows development:
Methodist church, elementary school off the bypass,
doctors’ office complex within walking distance.
In the undeveloped acreage behind, my father hangs
a blue gate shaped like the Alamo, drags a mower
through that gate to mow walking trails, shortcuts to church.
In March, the field flames in airy wildflowers which wave
fiesta-colored blooms to passersby on the farm-to-market road.
And in their yard, my father trims the bluebonnet patch
that spreads each year as if inviting flower kin. In that seasonal
profusion, my parents host a wildflower brunch for neighbors
and library friends for guests to wade waist-high amid bliss.

The Coffin Maker

An occasional call with plea and please for a coffin
tomorrow or day after for a friend’s stillborn granddaughter.
His motion slow and solemn, he sorts through his pile
of special wood favored to repurpose. Finds an orphaned
burled walnut he had forgotten, hardwood not too heavy
for something this small. He makes a pattern, his hands
fit the wood into a clamp, align with the saw an extension
of himself, reciting Keats as he makes a six-sided box, corners
interlocked like fingers, and with a tiny tip, traces
a thread of glue to bond all surfaces, taps nails as surety.
Shakes coffee cans for hinges; from a nail, pulls a rope
to knot for handles. He breathes blessings into the wood
as he cuts top from bottom like her little life cut from us.
Sands and oils for rich luster, its aura, a comfort for the family
to trace the grain, bend to kiss, the fragrance like her sweetness.
~
She will be lowered into black dirt free of rocks
dug by her grandfather and uncles. They will hold hands
at the family cemetery where she will lie with other infants
and ancestors. Word-of-mouth will spread that Grover made
the coffin. In time, a daughter will brave a call for a pine box
for her father handmade rather than ordered from Costco.
~
There in the corner stands his own box partially made
to remind him he has a place — chokes on his prayer,
“God forbid I survive my wife.”

If You Hear My Voice...
~2011

~1~
On a snow-fringed hillside overlooking the Pacific,
a black rotary dial nests inside a lone telephone booth.
~2~
There was only an eight to ten-minute warning.
~3~
A grandfather salvaged an old metal and glass structure
from thousands of abandoned ones in a field,
set it in his garden, a cenotaph for his family who drowned.
~4~
Eighty miles off northeastern Japan, a 9.0 earthquake
thrust from the ocean floor. Two years later,
the beaten hull of a fishing skiff reached California.
~5~
A frayed cord connects the receiver.
Black numbers spin on coins of white paint.
~6~
Snow fell the day of the disaster,
iced all roads out.
~7~
Hello, hello, are you there? Are you cold?
Be alive somewhere, anywhere,
words misted in sea spray.
~8~
Waves thirteen stories high crushed
thousands fleeing in cars.
~9~
Daily, he refreshed incense, rice, fruit
on his home altar trying to fill his hollowness.

~10~
Twenty thousand dead, six thousand injured,
three thousand missing, quarter million unhoused.
~11~
News spread of the phone booth. Early spring, cherry blossoms
whitened his garden. A woman in a puffy pink parka arrived,
full of loneliness swept from silent rooms.
She opened and closed the bifold door, sat for a moment.
As she dialed, she murmured their old number.
~12~
On a blue night meadowed with stars, a young man approached
in flip-flops and shorts. Speak to me, my son. Let me hear you say
I love you, Papa. I am so sorry I could not save you.
~13~
The Fukushima nuclear plant spewed radiation
into sea life for miles, for years.
~14~
The evening sun slides into its fire. Harvest over,
an old farmer stands before the door. Farmers hold their words,
for crops do not speak. Do you have enough to eat?
Don’t worry about me. You go on. I’ll find you.
~15~
Do you think Grandfather heard us?

Muddy Ford Press Releases Second Collection in Laureate Series with Ann-Chadwell Humphries’ An Eclipse and a Butcher

“I'm in awe of the masterful clarity, the perfectly weighted brevity of Ann Humphries' poems. There's an immense comfort in her vivid scenes, her people and places so rich in presence, and her clear gaze. … A stunning collection!”

Naomi Shihab Nye, Young People's Poet Laureate

This month, local poet Ann-Chadwell Humphries is releasing her first collection of poetry with Muddy Ford Press as the second feature of their Laureate Series.

Muddy Ford Press is a family owned publishing company dedicated to providing boutique publishing opportunities particularly to, but not limited to, South Carolina writers, artists, and poets. The founders of the press, husband and wife team Bob Jolley and Cindi Boiter, created the Laureate Series with the goal of initiating relationships across South Carolina poets.

“We wanted to promote mentorship between established poets and beginning poets,” Jolley describes, “So we invite all the poets laureate in SC to choose an emerging poet who they are willing to work with, and the laureate then helps build and edit their protégé’s first book.”

The selection of poets for the Laureate Series is the decision of the South Carolina laureates. The first book in the series, as well as this upcoming collection, were both written by poets selected by Columbia Poet Laureate Ed Madden.

The first collection, Theologies of Terrain, featured poet Tim Conroy. Conroy ruminates that, through this series, Muddy Ford Press provides the guidance and care that only poet laureates can deliver to a poet's first collection.

“I am so happy that Muddy Ford Press selected Ann-Chadwell Humphries as the second poet in their Laureate Series,” Conroy shares, “Ann's poetry raises the bar for all to follow. Her award-winning poetry is lyrical, deeply observed, and sound haunted.”

Ann-Chadwell Humphries - photo courtesy of the author

Several years ago, Humphries was diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa, a genetic condition that caused her vision to get smaller and smaller until she could no longer see. However, while this was an obstacle, it carried with it a gift with which to see the world anew.

While always a lover of literature, Humphries, who had worked in the medical field, had never tried her hand at creative writing. Then, she started taking creative writing classes at the Shepherd’s Center with her friend.

“I remember where I was sitting,” Ann reflects on the day she was first introduced to Mary Oliver’s poetry, “and I thought, ‘I have to do this’.”

This emerging love for poetry became concrete when, in Fall 2016, Humphries audited a graduate poetry workshop with Nikky Finney at the University of South Carolina. This workshop was one of the first times Humphries had the chance to work so closely with her ideas and form.

“It demands careful attention, it demands truth, honesty, and essence,” Humphries remarks on the writing process, “It helps me find goodness.”

Since that workshop, Humphries has published poems in Jasper Magazine, Emrys, Indolent Books, The Collective Eye and more. When Madden and Boiter approached Humphries about the Laureate Series, she had a mix of surprise and pride.

“’What? Really? Me?’ a voice in my head said,” Humphries recalls, “But then I said, ‘Why not me’—I dropped self-doubt at 65.”

With an arsenal of poems and a constant thirst for writing, Humphries knew she had the materials to make a collection, but stitching them together into a book was a different story. Luckily, she had Madden by her side to edit the collection.

"Ann Chadwell Humphries is a poet of many eclipses—celestial, such as the unexpected 'metallic light' beheld with solar glasses, but also eclipses of vision as her sight was lost later in life to the ravages of a recessive gene. And though these poems beautifully document that loss and its attendant difficulties, An Eclipse is the record of a woman who sees with her entire being.”

Nickole Brown, author of Fanny Says and

Jessica Jacobs, author of Take Me With You, Wherever You’re Going

Madden says that when Humphries first sent him a selection of poems, his priority was to give her a sense of her voice and an idea of some overriding themes that were running through her work. Specifically, his work as an editor is a two-fold process.

“I divided poems into yes and no and maybe, and I started arranging poems around my living room in groups that seemed to work together, to speak to each other,” Madden reflects. “Ann was a master at revising, always attuned to line and sound and image, and I enjoyed working with her.”

What stood out for Madden in this collection were the poems about solar eclipses. Once he read them, he knew they could anchor the book, punctuating it with the seen and unseen.

“Thinking how one thing can eclipse another seemed such a resonant theme for her memory poems, her family and relationship poems, and her poems about coming to terms with blindness,” Madden shares. “Once I had those three anchor poems, the book seemed to almost organize itself, like iron shavings organizing themselves around the poles of a magnet.”

From her experience with Madden, Humphries learned valuable lessons, not just about this collection but herself as a poet.

“It was a willingness to say yes, and to put myself in the position where I allowed myself to receive kindness,” Humphries says of the experience, “It was better than I ever imagined. To be in the company of good writers who are helping me grow, I really flourished in that.”

Of course, there is more than just the poems. Humphries worked with her dear friend, Susan Craig, and her niece, Eleanor Baker, and together they crafted a cover, featuring an image from Humphries’ childhood on the front.

Once Madden and Humphries finalized selection of poems and a cover, it went to Boiter and Jolley for edits. Boiter copyedited, proofed, and built the book, then Jolley laid it out in In Design before sending it to the printer, where he ensured the final product was as it was supposed to be.

“Ann Humphries’ debut collection of poems, An Eclipse and a Butcher, is anchored by poems about the solar eclipse, which serve as the perfect metaphor for the blindness experienced by the poet.  But Humphries tells us that “blindness provides insight.” … Humphries is a survivor, and we are so lucky she has chosen to share her words and her wisdom.”

Marjory Wentworth, former South Carolina

Poet Laureate

Now, after months of work from all parties, a book, a collection of stories, recollections, dreams, and hopes has come together.

From the titular poem, “An Eclipse and a Butcher,” that recalls a July childhood day in 1963 to a reminisce of her own father’s birth to the experience of tracing the waves of Van Gogh’s art, Humphries’ collection takes the reader through the throws and thrills of life with a final promise to walk with you wherever you may go.

“It’s myself. It’s a piece of me. It’s an honest gift,” Humphries declares. “It’s a piece of beauty in the world where there’s a lot of ugliness.”

The launch event for An Eclipse and a Butcher will take place via Zoom on November 22nd at 4:00pm. Muddy Ford Press will not sponsor any public readings until after pandemic precautions in the area have been lifted. The book will be $15 and available for purchase via Amazon, BandN.com, and via the author.

By Christina Xan