Overcoming Obstacles: Three Writers Who Have Inspired Me By Their Resilience

Their stories are all around us, people knocked down by circumstance who chose to rise again and carry on.

Yesterday I received a wonderful surprise. It was a small package from one of the three people featured in this blog post, Charlene Groves. Charlene is a writer who just happens to have been born blind. I was not yet a serious writer at the time, but we were kindred spirits, impelled toward creative expression. Somehow we hit it off and four decades later we're still in touch.... and she continues to inspire.

The package I received was a thumb drive containing stories and poems... which I am now mulling how to best share.

As many people know I suffered a stroke three weeks ago, a minor one by most measures, but it has incapacitated my writing hand. Rather than be discouraged at my handicapped I have drawn inspiration from others who have overcome obstacles far greater than mine. Here are three whom I have written about in the past. I hope you will read these brief introducti0ns.

John S. Hall, my grandmther's uncle, lost his sight in the Civil War. He went on to be founder and editor of two newspapers and published a wonderful book of poems called Musings of a Quiet Hour, which I now have in my possession.

Interview with John S. Hall, the Blind Poet of Ritchie County

Jean-Dominique Bauby was a French journalist as well as editor of the fashion mag Elle. His "charmed life" took a tragic turn after being stricken by a massive stroke that left him with "locked in syndrome." Despite being unable to move any part of his body he wrote a book about his life one letter at a time by blinking his eyelid. It is a poignant achievement that have repeatedly encouraged me over the years.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

I already mentioned Charlene at the top of this page. Here's a poem of hers along with a link at the end to another that I especially like.

Someday -- A Poem About Dreams by Charlene Groves 

* * * 
There are others, but here are three that came to mind for today. Who are some people who have inspired you?

My New Home: A Short Story by Charlene Groves

I met Charlene Groves at a coffeehouse sometime in late 1974, a blind writer and poet from Martinsville, New Jersey. Though I had written some stories in college--which to this day I regret having lost--I had not yet determined to pursue a career as a writer.

Charlene was roughly 30 at that time. In addition to fixing music boxes, she was a prolific writer, having produced numerous short stories and countless poems. She also had two or three sci-fi novel manuscripts under her belt.

The first story I'd read of hers was called A New Toy. It was a heartbreaking story about an alien who had come to earth and was put in a cage by scientists to be studied, treated like an object and not a person.

When I moved away from New Jersey in 1976 she shared with me two binders of her collected shorter writings. This is one of her early stories.

My New Home

"Meow," I said sadly.

I have already searched through the rooms of this strange house once. Now for the second time, I explore carefully each odd corner. Again, I examine every unfamiliar smell. I am on my second trip around the living room, when I realize that it is no use. My mother, sisters and brothers, are gone. I have been taken from them.

There is a bowl of warm milk, plus a bowl of dry cat food, over in the corner by the big window. But they do not interest me.

"Meow! Meow!" I am lost in this strange new world. The world has suddenly become too large for me. At present, it is a very lonely world. "Meow! Meow! Meow!" I cry.

"Oh, there you are, kitty. I've been looking all over for you."

"Meow!" I say again.

"What's the matter, kitty? Your food and milk are right here.

Oh if only I could make this little boy understand me.

"Please don't cry, kitty. I know what the trouble is. I bet you're lonely. I know I would be if I were in your place."

Then a most amazing thing happened. The little boy bent down and picked me up. He sat down on the floor and held me in his lap. Immediately I relax, and snuggle into the warmth of his body. Soon I am purring loudly. I am no longer afraid.
 
I stay in the little boy's lap for the rest of the afternoon, drawing deep comfort from the sound of his voice as he talks to me. I doze frequently. I am only half aware of the steady beating of rain on the roof.

My mind drifts back into a dream of my past. In the dream, I am with my mother again. I feel warm and safe. My stomach is full of her rich nourishing milk. I have a cozy place to sleep among my brothers and sisters. But those days are gone forever. I, the son of Tiger, must now make the best of things in this new world, the way they are right at this present moment.

When I wake up, the boy is still talking to me and stroking my fur. I know now that this boy has given me his friendship. I feel warm and safe being with him. I sigh happily. I, the son of Tiger, have no more time to be afraid. I have no more time to be a silly little kitten who jumps at his own shadow every time it moves. I have to be a cat. A tiger cat. Afraid of nothing.

Lazily I stretch. Then I raise myself up. I yawn hugely, and leap to the floor. I walk over to my bowl and begin drinking my milk. This is my new home. I am going to be very happy here.

* * * 

Related: The Hermit, a poem by Charlene Groves.

Once There Was An Elephant

"Red Elephant" Collaboration with 
WOMBO Dream A.I. based on a screen print 
from my college years, 1970-74.

My longtime friend Charlene Groves, a poet in her own right, shared this poem with me today. It's unrelated to the major events in the world, but a nice little rift, which I hope gives you a lift. 

 Eletelephony
Laura Elizabeth Richards

Once there was an elephant,
Who tried to use the telephant—
No! No! I mean an elephone
Who tried to use the telephone—
(Dear me! I am not certain quite
That even now I’ve got it right.)
Howe’er it was, he got his trunk
Entangled in the telephunk;
The more he tried to get it free,
The louder buzzed the telephee—
(I fear I’d better drop the song
Of elephop and telephong!)

* * * 

Here are some poems by Charlene that I've found personally meaningful and would encourage you to read. (Each is hotlinked.)

Emptiness

Someday

 

Someday -- A Poem About Dreams by Charlene Groves

Photo by Jeremy Thomas on Unsplash

Late yesterday I learned it was National Poetry Day. To honor the day, belatedly, I share this poem by Charlene Groves.

* * * 

I met Charlene Groves at a coffeehouse sometime in mid-to-late 1974, a blind writer and poet from Martinsville, New Jersey. Though I’d written some stories in college — a couple of which to this day I regret having lost — I had not yet determined to pursue a career as a writer.

Charlene was roughly 30 at that time. In addition to fixing music boxes, she was a prolific author, having produced numerous short stories and countless poems. She also had two or three novel manuscripts under her belt, in the sci-fi genre.

Over the decades we've stayed in touch, she being one of the many special people that have inspired me in various ways. This is a poem she wrote called Someday, sometime in the 60s or early 70s. I love the way she plays with language to produce imagery that is unexpected.

Someday

I spend my days shooting darts at dinosaurs, 

Fighting fire-breathing dragons with a wooden sword;

I take time to allow toy men and animals the chance to live

For a while in the real world of make believe. 

I spend my days searching for the beginning of a new poem, 

Dribbling letters on paper to form words. 

Dreaming of when we can do handstands on moonbeams, 

But there's always a teacher somewhere

Pulling me back into the darkness of the classroom, 

That I might be enlightened. 

I can feel the sun sometimes, 

Even when it's raining, 

And taste peanut butter without the actual having. 

But someday I'll be part of the earth again, 

One day, suitcase in hand, 

I'll put my feet on the open road, 

And walk towards the sun, 

Eating a box of chocolate covered raisins. 

Then I'll build a house, 

And maybe write another book, 

Before the world ends. 

Maybe I'll be a kite in a tree, 

Or a snowflake caught in a snowman's ear. 

Someday maybe I'll learn to give with my whole being, 

Because I want to, 

Because I need, 

And feel good about the giving, 

Not just talk. 

And maybe, 

Just maybe, 

Someday, I'll stop saying maybe, 

And be.

Copyright Charlene Groves

* * * 

Check out Charlene's wonderful poem The Hermit.

Emptiness, a poem by Charlene Groves

"Emptiness." Illustration by the author.

I met Charlene Groves at a coffeehouse sometime in late 1974, a blind writer and poet from Martinsville, New Jersey. Though I had written some stories in college--which to this day I regret having lost--I had not yet determined to pursue a career as a writer.

Charlene was roughly 30 at that time. In addition to fixing music boxes, she was a prolific writer, having produced numerous short stories and countless poems. She also had a couple novel manuscripts under her belt, in the sci-fi genre.

The first story I'd read of hers was called A New Toy. It was a heartbreaking story about an alien who had come to earth and was put in a cage by scientists to be studied, treated like an object and not a person. (EdNote: In re-reading today, the story brings to mind the story of Ota Benga, a pygmy from the African bush country who was caged in the primates wing of the Bronx Zoo early in the last century.)

In 2013 I here shared her poem The Hermit, which I later read at a poetry reading the following Spring. What I like about her writing is the authenticity of her imagery, and the manner in which her words weld themselves to deep places in our hearts.

Today Charlene lives in New Brunswick, New Jersey.

Emptiness

Emptiness is rain beating a tin can.
It's having words leap forth with quick and ready flame,
While the important things go unsaid.
It's standing on a street corner somewhere,
Waiting for someone who never comes.
Emptiness is not found in being alone.
It's being lonely.
It's your thoughts growing old with rejection.
It's people not understanding when you need them most.
It's hate and indifference.
It's always being just a little short of your goal.
But mostly it's people passing each other,
Not even trying any more to be together.

* * * *

Charlene Groves isn't the first blind poet who has been influential in my life. My grandmother's great uncle was John S. Hall, the Blind Poet of Ritchie County. Her Uncle John lost his eyesight during the Civil War where he'd run away to be a teamster in Sherman's army. Five months in a Nashville hospital left him blind for life. After attending the Ohio School for the Blind he became a lawyer for a bit before founding publisher/editor of two West Virginia newspapers. His influence on my grandmother during her formative years resulted in her becoming a poet, and influencing myself in poetic appreciation.

You can read my imaginary interview with John Hall here on Medium.

Emptiness and Fullness

Three poems by Charlene Groves.

I was sorting through folders this morning and came across this poem I had set aside to share sometime. I found the imagery gripping. From the first line, it proceeds through a series of images, each outdoing the previous in attempting to convey this psychological condition that is a hallmark of our lives at times: emptiness. We've probably all experienced it, the futility of everything, the sense of isolation.

The author of these poems was born blind. An avid reader and writer she became skilled at capturing in words those ephemeral emotions and making this distinct, giving definition to the undefined.

The latter two poems come from a different space in time. They read like Psalms, simple and effective. Thank you, Charlene, for sharing your soul with us in these words.

Emptiness

Emptiness is rain beating a tin can.
It's having words leap forth with quick and ready flame,
While the important things go unsaid.
It's standing on a street corner somewhere,
Waiting for someone who never comes.
Emptiness is not found in being alone.
It's being lonely.
It's your thoughts growing old with rejection.
It's people not understanding when you need them most.
It's hate and indifference.
It's always being just a little short of your goal.
But mostly it's people passing each other,
Not even trying any more to be together.


Last night when I was afraid

Last night when I was afraid,
You were there, holding my hand.
I examined a thought,
trying to piece it into my life.
But it didn't fit, and nothing could make it,
because it wasn't me.
I reached out to You, frantic, trembling.
And You touched me, Your warmth staying
until the fear spent itself,
and I sank into peace.


To Whom It May Concern

I cried to whosoever would hear, and the Lord heard me.
I cried I am hungry, and the Lord fed me.
I cried I am weak, and the Lord strengthened me.
I cried I am thirsty, and the Lord gave me water.
I cried I am tired, and the Lord gave me rest.
I cried I am empty, and the Lord filled me.
I cried I am lost, and He found me.
I cried I am lonely, and he gave me His presence.
I cried I am torn, and He held me.
I cried I am in torment, and He gave me peace.
I cried Lord I have done wrong, and He forgave me.
I cried Lord I am dying, and He gave me life.

C.F. Groves

One Difference Between God and Man

Over the course of a lifetime I've had the privilege of being introduced to a wide array of people whose depth has moved me. One of these is a blind writer I was once friends with in New Jersey, Charlene Groves. Her poems, stories and insights have impressed me profoundly. At some point it is my hope to see some of her work made available in book form, though for now I'll begin by sharing a few pieces here now and then. In a few weeks I hope to make available her story A New Toy about an alien who lands on earth and becomes the object of scientific inquisition rather than a being of intelligence and sensitivity.

Charlene has written at least three novels as well as countless stories and poems. As soon as I read this piece, titled "In His Image", I wanted to share it.


In His Image

And God said, "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the foul of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth."
Genessis 1: 26 and 27 

And man said, "Let us make machines in our image, after our likeness: and let them serve under us."

C. F. Groves