Ginger Easley
Explain your process from start to finish. My process? Well, it either starts in the shower or behind the wheel of a Chevy Impala. It always comes to life when there is no pen or computer nearby, or available. There is nothing like being completely wet and the vision, the tune, the rhythm, and the idea the gods have bestowed upon you, comes to you with great force. This is the very beginning. I usually run out from under a high-pressure water system, tripping over the shower curtain and sliding through the hallway, trying to grab the idea and put it on paper, finally finding paper and a pen while dripping water in every room. Having once found a pen, and used paper with a list of things to do from the previous month [and me observing the list and saying, “Oh, I forgot to do that”], I write what I can remember as fast as I can. This outline will marinate for a while, depending on what is going on at the time, most probably looking for a towel.
After the marination period, I write everything, and I mean everything. I write all over the water stained paper and other undone lists throughout my living room. Then it hits the second marination stage. After this, I position it, I put it to the tune I had when it was born. Then I chop, edit sounds nicer, but I chop. And, I chop again, replace words and thoughts, and bring it down to the minimum. Then, and only then, it is done.
The last part of my process includes submitting, begging and forgiveness.
Do you feel that you fit into any specific style/movement? I don’t know, I like to say that I am a student of Bukowski and Burroughs; however, people tell me that my work has a tune, a song, and a melody. I try to stick to the minimalist movement, something that sounds like a nursery rhyme, yet very real and moving underneath. The sea is calm on the surface, but the underneath are currents and violent movements. I guess my goal is to go into the dark, and pull it up into the light.
Tell me a story about a best friend you had growing up. The story about my best friend when I was growing up is about my grandmother. Yes, my grandmother was my best friend and I am very lucky to have known her. She helped mold me into the fighter and survivor that I am today. She was part of the woman’s suffrage movement when she was a child and witnessed the beatings and imprisonment of her older sisters for standing up for their right to vote. She is the reason and cornerstone of my political activism and feminist viewpoints.
So, let’s give you a story…
There are so many wonderful stories about my times with my grandmother, about making iced tea and bringing pales of cool water to the porch for her guests. Yes, she was from the country, and that is where I learned about values and sense of connectedness with people and the environment. However, I will share a story that happened after her passing.
During a break from school, I went back to my parents over the holidays. In the back bedroom, it was a little cool and comfortable, so I went in and sat on the bed, waiting for my grandmother. I had so much to tell her; wanting to share my latest stories of the people I had met and the new plans that I was making. I waited and waited for her, but she never came. I waited so long that I fell asleep. When I woke up, I became upset that she did not want to hear my stories or come to my side. It was not like her. Then I looked at her picture and realized, she was gone and she would never come back. I cried and cried. I got out of bed, went over to the dresser, and opened up a drawer. Right in front of me, was my favorite brooch that I wore as a child. It looked as though it was placed for me to find. There it was, blasting a reflection from the light made from the lamp.
I knew, in my heart, that she put it there for me to find one day. At this point, I felt a connection that I had never felt before finding this piece of jewelry. This story may not be exciting, or funny, like a lot of mine are …yet, it is an important one, because I never forgot who I was, and who she was, and who we were together.
www.poetsandartists.com
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44 |
Page 45 |
Page 46 |
Page 47 |
Page 48 |
Page 49 |
Page 50 |
Page 51 |
Page 52 |
Page 53 |
Page 54 |
Page 55 |
Page 56 |
Page 57 |
Page 58 |
Page 59 |
Page 60 |
Page 61 |
Page 62 |
Page 63 |
Page 64 |
Page 65 |
Page 66 |
Page 67 |
Page 68 |
Page 69 |
Page 70 |
Page 71 |
Page 72 |
Page 73 |
Page 74 |
Page 75 |
Page 76 |
Page 77 |
Page 78 |
Page 79 |
Page 80 |
Page 81 |
Page 82 |
Page 83 |
Page 84 |
Page 85 |
Page 86 |
Page 87 |
Page 88 |
Page 89 |
Page 90 |
Page 91 |
Page 92 |
Page 93 |
Page 94 |
Page 95 |
Page 96 |
Page 97 |
Page 98 |
Page 99 |
Page 100 |
Page 101 |
Page 102 |
Page 103 |
Page 104 |
Page 105 |
Page 106 |
Page 107 |
Page 108 |
Page 109 |
Page 110 |
Page 111 |
Page 112 |
Page 113 |
Page 114 |
Page 115 |
Page 116 |
Page 117 |
Page 118