Call for Submission

Poetry Contest: Merton Prize for Poetry of the Sacred

Merton Prize for Poetry of the Sacred

What is poetry of the sacred?

Poetry that expresses, directly or indirectly, a sense of the holy or that, by its mode of expression, evokes the sacred. The tone may be religious, prophetic, or contemplative.

Contest Guidelines

Deadline for submissions: Received by December 31, 2009.

First Prize, $500; Three Honorable Mention Prizes, $100 each.

Winning Poems will be published in The Merton Seasonal, a publication of scholarly articles about noted spiritual leader Thomas Merton and will be posted on the Merton Institute web site

Only ONE unpublished poem type written in English may be submitted.

Please limit the poem to no more than 100 lines.

Type your name, address, phone number, FAX number, email address, and the title of your poem on a cover page. Attach (1) one copy of your titled poem to the cover page.

Submit your poem on a page with no identifying information. All identifying information should be on your cover page.

If you are submitting your poem via email, the poem must be sent as an attachment saved in Word 2003. Any other format will not be accepted.

Submit poem to:

Merton Institute

2117 Payne Street

Louisville, KY 40206

Or email to:
vhurst(at)mertoninstitute.org (replace (at) with @) as a Word 2003 document attachment.

No Faxed entries will be accepted.

No poems will be returned.

Poems will be judged on literary excellence, spirit
ual tenor, and human authenticity.

Winners will be announced by April 1, 2010. Please visit the Institute website for contest results.

Post Labor Day

We went canoeing in Yanty Marsh yesterday, which is a protected environment and part of Hamlin State Park. It was so peaceful, so green. We slow paddled, trying not to make a lot of noise. In some areas the hydrilla was so thick it was like sliding over a waterbed-- a thousand tiny fingers holding us up. We saw three Double-Crested Comorants, a Great Blue Heron, Kingfishers, Sand pipers, Canada Geese, Trumpeter Swans; Small fry swimming in the water; bladderwort, hydrilla, water hyacinths, cattails, water irises, without blooms, very small lilypads, which I need to look up. We were gone for over 2 hours.
I'm so glad we went.

Then spent the rest of the day procrastinating.


Now I'm day confused because of the holiday. I keep looking at the calendar. Tuesday, really.

It's official September now. The semester begins this week. I think I'm still dragging my big toe in summer.

Labor Day

This weekend has been a mix of work and play. A thoughtful weekend. A weekend of company
and conversations.

Last night we sat around a yard fire, out under the stars and wispy clouds and moon rising, and talked abut practically everything. The people around the fire were my oldest friends (literally grade school) and newer friends who have become a part of this group-- all of whom have an enormous capacity for life. They all love to laugh, and when things have been tough really punch in the stomach tough, we have hung together, trying to sort it out or not sort it out because there were no reasonable words. Sometimes our just sitting next to each other is enough. We're nearing the dates of some sad anniversaries. And fortunately, we can talk about things that happened so quickly; things that left us numb and our carrying on was a brave front when all we really wanted to do was fold up. We've lost parents and siblings and friends and children and grandchildren. Some to illness, some to accident, some to the unexplained. I'm so lucky to have these people in my life. The fire burned a long time last night. We arrived home after midnight, but somehow it didn't seem late at all.

Off the hook

Okay, I'm on my own in the pursuit of residencies. And on my own in telling people graciously that I have to get back to work. Maybe just being direct works best.

In any event I started looking up some residencies. I'm going to see what happens. There some some bloggers who go to 2-3 a year! ( that's "knowing" the application ropes), and they have a variety of experiences, from conference to retreat. . . . We have a monastery near us. I wonder if they would allow a writer to retreat there? Maybe worth asking.

It may be fun to find a place to retreat to with several other writers, so we could work alone, then have dinner and sharing in the evening. That sounds appealing too. We'll see.

Questions about Residencies

I have never had the opportunity to apply for a writing residency. I complicated my life early on. I married at 19, then had my first child at 20. That marriage lasted about 5 years. My current marriage has lasted 33 years, which includes more children and is still going on. So my living has been steady in the domestic scene, and I have been working all those years too. I live in a pastoral landscape. Much of my writing has this place as its setting, and I hope as I grow older that my children will be able to keep this little farm in the family. My grandchildren want it, or so they tell me. But I'm getting away from my questions. I would love the chance to go to a residency now. Not a conference or weekend workshop, but a place of solitude. I don't think anyone here would mind my taking off for a bit. I'm wondering what the success is. Is it bliss or agony? Does it take a bit to settle into the new space? How does one feel post residency? Do other writers and artists respect the solitude, or is there invasion? What do you do when there is invasion and you need to get back to work, but don't want to be rude?

Here's an example:

Because my work takes me everywhere, I literally drive 35,000 miles per year. I suffer tension in my neck and back. I used to go to massage therapists (actually have been to several) and the same damn thing happens. They talk to me-- literally my earlobes are dragging on the ground when I leave their workspace. So I never really feel loosened up, because I've had to be a good listener to them-- hear their stuff and respond to them. Consequently, I stopped going because the tension cure was minimal and the cost steep. Massage therapy ain't cheap. So, this is what I want to know. How many of you had superior experiences and where, and how did you manage your time, and how did you maintain boundaries, without looking like a jerk?

Trick questions

Last night's trick question at dinner:

What would you rather be a werewolf or vampire?

I said vampire.

Why?

Better costume choices.

But, you'd have to drink human blood. Yes, bad humans' blood. And what happens when all the bad humans are gone?

Well, truth be told, we'll never run out of bad humans. What do werewolves eat?

Rodents, mostly. We'll never run out of rodents either.

But werewolves have lousy( in the true sense of the word) costumes, right?

yea.

Please pass the tomato salad.

***

I love Karen Weynant's poem "Canning Season." For me, the poem's success hinges on the speaker's suspicion that her parents are royalty. I love the speaker's practice with the communion veil and its imaginative leap to Princess Diana's wedding( or this is what I immediately thought). The ending too, startling in black and blue. I really like Ron Mohring's
working class poem web site.


***


We have been eating braised cucumbers. Julia's recipe and our own versions (instead of mint, we've used basil, and on another try dill) and it is a "revelation."

Thank you, R, for the latest recipe. Yes, the dollop cottage cheese . . . another revelation.


***

I'm trying to juggle prep for classes with my own writing. The late nights are starting up again.
I need a compass. Which direction?

Looking Back Over My Shoulder

September has arrived with its appointed tasks. That's where I've been. Working. Finishing syllabi and planning events. Going to many meetings. Clippity-clop. Here's to a new year.

Now I'm caught between three worlds. The domestic. So much work to be done here. The harvest, which has been quite humbling this year. So much lost because of the weather. But some unexpected bounties too. The creative. New work brewing, even in some of those meetings that required all of my attention, I stole a second to scribble lines. The academic.
Miles to go before I sleep. The return of the intense living schedule. So much going on inside of my head's daily planner. Time for post-it notes. Off to a flying start.