Author Archives: mabujones

Critique: borrowed from French, borrowed from Latin critica, borrowed from Greek kritiké: discerning, capable of judging. What does it mean to be capable of judging the art of writing? In college I was given an assignment to choose a writer … Continue reading →

Twenty-eight years ago Elie Wiesel and Maya Angelou had a conversation that focused on what the Black and Jewish communities hold in common, especially regarding racism, hate, and oppression. This exchange of ideas took place in a stadium of 10,500 … Continue reading →

The poet William Carlos Williams said, “No idea but in things.” He then gave us the red wheelbarrow upon which so much depends. What was he telling us? This is one of those enigmatic statements that creates mystery around the … Continue reading →

One summer I took myself to see Alfred Hitchcock’s The Trouble with Harry, starring a very young Shirley MacLaine. I bought my ticket in the lobby along with a package of Snow Caps and entered the theater. I gauged the … Continue reading →

The summer high school poets asked how to know where to break a poetic line. They examined and discussed the issues of complete thoughts; controlling rhythm; creating emphasis; the rules of prepositions, conjunction, and articles; and helping the reader to … Continue reading →

It’s a premier summer day, my thoughts are bumping around in no particular direction. I stand at the edge of a pond hoping for inspiration but doing nothing to encourage it. A small dragonfly alights on my arm and stays. … Continue reading →

I hate losing anything. I arrived in Jeannie’s town and got on the school bus. I was a Sophomore, and this was my fourth high school. Jeannie touched my arm as I walked down the center aisle with a pit … Continue reading →

In an old movie, two people are very much in love but can’t bring themselves to do anything about it because they are middle aged, shy, proper, and afraid. Instead they row out onto a lake, utterly alone. They talk … Continue reading →

I have walked one part of the Robert Frost Trail here in Amherst for years. I know the boulders at the trail head, the skunk cabbage and horse tail ferns in the spring, the gold aspen leaves in the fall, … Continue reading →

As I walked into a poetry class I took decades ago, the professor and a fellow student stood by the window laughing. The professor held a page of poetry in her hand. They stopped laughing when they saw me. The … Continue reading →