Just Say No to Noxious Weeds
I'm participating in the "Take Back the Yard" event in our rural neighborhood. No longer will the blackberry vines, the volunteer butterfly bushes, the morning glory, the buttercups, the volunteer alder trees and holly trees make me stay inside afraid of what they are doing to the garden. I am not afraid. I will press on.
Yogi, is that you?
Yesterday, a bear was spotted in my neighborhood crossing the street. S/he was about a block and a half away from my house... dragging a picnic basket.
Yesterday, a bear was spotted in my neighborhood crossing the street. S/he was about a block and a half away from my house... dragging a picnic basket.
Scenes from a Walk--
Yesterday on my walk, I noticed something glimmering on a sign that said "Yard Sale." When I approached the sign, I saw silver dogtags that said, "Lieutenant." I thought about the war for a few moments, then continued on.
Reading List:
Read a few William Stafford poems yesterday as well as Honeymoon with my Brother, which I'm thoroughly enjoying. I get lost in books about travel or unique places. I also loved Under the Tuscan Sun though a friend told me reading that book was like watching paint dray. But I love memoir and biographies. I eat them up. Other favorites-- Planet of the Blind by Stephen Kuusisto. I'm looking forward to his new book The Art of Listening.
Feelings, whoa whoa whoa, Feelings:
Some friends have told me that sometimes when you finish your MFA you go into a bit of a depression. I've had it best explained by a poet who said that when you finish your MFA it's not as if you've finished your MBA and then you go out to find a job, it's still just you and yourself. And I think I understand how I'm feeling, now that I'm done I feel a little pressure to publish something important, do something big, and well, art doesn't work that way.
I think with art and writing, the more you try to do something *important,* the less it works out. It's sort of like saying "I'm going to save the world," when you realize, the *world* can't be saved, but you can clean up your neighborhood. Sort of like the war on terror, how can you win a war on something abstract? It's like battling clouds.
So, being the Capricorn that I am, I'm trying to work this out over the summer while I'm happy and active before the gloom of winter sets in. I'm trying to remind myself to have faith, that it will all work out and I will know what I need to do, what I need to write. I know I need to "go with the flow," but I'm always trying to put on waterwings, hold on to a rope.
I guess we'll see what happens. . . I'll keep you posted.
Previously Published in 32 Poems--
You Ask Why I Write About Death and Poetry
There's entirety in eternity,
and in the pearly gates—the pages relate.
I fall prey to
poetry,
have hated
death.
You know, I've never understood reality,
then try to relay it—tearily, irately—
and I'm a liar yet.
But when I write about death and poetry,
it's donated therapy
where I converse with
Emily Dickinson, my inky misled icon.
And when my dream songs are demon's rags,
I dust my manuscript in a manic spurt
hoping the reader will reread
because I want the world
to pray for poets as we are only a story of paper.
