poems, etc.

Something that caught my notice today in class:

On subjects of which we know nothing, we both believe and disbelieve a hundred times an hour, which keeps believing nimble.  –Emily Dickinson

And this, a portion of a poem from a visiting professor that I found deeply moving, for reasons I’m not quite sure of:

Oh, Holy-of-Unholies, I followed the detailed
inset map of You
but could never find the juncture
from it to the vague, rumpled,
folded and refolded, surrounding small-scale map that leads

someplace real.

–Bruce Beasley 

Poetry exercise 4

Monophobia

            Only the fear of being alone would push us to this

 

(for John)

 

Here we are

In our very best clothes

Making our very best efforts

To be impressive

Attractive

More than we actually are

My curls are perfectly tossed; feminine

And your cologne smells clean and crisp

But our meal has long vanished

Our conversation quick on its heels

You just checked your watch a third time

And I have run out of clever questions

Those happy Match-dot-com commercials

Never warned us about this:

Awkwardness on an epic scale

Sonnet 1

This is my first sonnet!  It scared the stuffing out of me in the beginning, but once it got moving, I had a blasty-blast working on it!

Sonnet 1

 

When first we wed, and trembling, said “I do,”

I knew not how my heart could fuller be;

With good intent, yet blind, I little knew

Of Time’s effect on love’s capacity.

For does an acorn know its future height

When dropped from august oak to forest floor?

And who can tell the roar of river’s might

When thund’ring winter rains begin to pour?

So too, I’ve set my happy sights too low

To think we’ve reached the apex of our bliss—

Fed grace and laughter, adoration grows

While strength’ning with each day this synthesis.

Just twice we’ve ridden round the fiery sun—

It’s true, dear heart – this pleasure’s just begun.

 

 

poetry exercise 1

In this exercise, we were to speak of a person close to us using only metaphor.  Or, at least, as much as possible.  I had way too much fun with this.

HUSBAND

 

My husband whose hair is a retreating army

Whose head is a patch of new-grown grass

Whose brows are painted brushstrokes

 

Obscured by glasses, by cobwebbed windows

His eyes are placid pools of jade; his irises

Strands of kelp on a glassy sea

 

My husband who stands tall as sequoia

Whose pace is of plodding oxen

Whose step is one giant leap            

for me

Whose skin is a canvas

Displaying physician’s signatures and

Artistic sketches alike

Whose spine is a curved serpent

Whose leaning walls have been rebuilt, whose

            steel scaffolding remains

 

My husband whose tongue is a sheathed blade

Whose humor is a Celtic knot

Whose wit is an arrow

              shot quickly

            bullseye

 

Whose jaw is of rough-hewn timber

Whose lips are soft like ripened plums

Whose kisses savor of strong coffee

and hazelnut cream

 

My husband whose silences are rumbling thunder

Whose thoughts are buried treasure

Whose voice is the cello’s smooth song

 

My husband whose smile is a slanting frame

Whose grin is a curtain-climber caught in mischief

Whose grin is a pink eraser

amnesia

instant forgiveness

 

My love whose nearness is warm laundry

            donned straight out of the dryer

Whose nearness is of jasmine and dewy grass fields

Whose nearness is the comfort of bare feet in

coarse white sand

 

My love whose laugh is happy birthday

Whose laugh is Christmas morning

Whose laugh is running

through sprinklers

fully clothed

 

 

 

fun with poetry!

I’m having a blasty blast in my poetry class!  Even though I’m half-scared to death!

Check out my first fledgling effort here.

new blog

Hello, strangers!

Sorry for the absence.  School has been amazing this quarter (with one class’ exception, but that’s okay, they can’t all be winners) — and has been keeping me a little busy of late.  Justin and I are doing really well and are enjoying our course in Creative Nonfiction together.  I am being stretched, realizing I have lots to learn, growing excited about writing in new ways… all good things.  That, and I’m reading some kick-ass authors.

I am, however, ready for Spring Break.  We are in week 8 of 10 weeks, and a much-needed break is coming rather quickly.  We’re hoping to make a trip down to California and play in the sun for a few days, and are in the process of figuring out how to make that happen.

Anyway, the point of this whole post is to let you know I have another blog going whose focus will be solely on writing projects and new authors I’m being exposed to.  I think one of the reasons I slowed down over here is that I put a lot of pressure on myself to write more polished stuff, now that I’m studying how to do it. 

Frankly, that’s not what this blog was intended to be.  I want to be able to tell funny stories, update dear friends on what’s happening, and ramble on about what’s going on in my little brain without it needing to serve any larger purpose than that.

It may be that this new blog won’t come any closer to being what I think of as actual writing, but at least I’ll be making that attempt.    If you’re interested, feel free to check it out.  I’d welcome feedback from anyone willing to give it.

Trying to Learn to Use Words

Here’s the poem which inspired the title.  It flattens me every time I read it (thanks Michael).

From T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets

Trying to learn to use words, and every attempt
Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure
Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it.  And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion.  And what there is to conquer
By strength and submission, has already been discovered
Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope
To emulate–but there is no competition–
There is only the fight to recover what has been lost
And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions
That seem unpropitious.  But perhaps neither gain nor loss.
For us, there is only the trying.  The rest is not our business.

–T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets, East Coker, V. 

***Small side note: although this excerpt was introduced to me last quarter, I finally found Four Quartets at Henderson’s today — a slim black hardcover version printed in 1943.  It is AWESOME.

Poem: What We Miss

by Sarah Manguso, from The Captain Lands in Paradise. Copyright Alice James Books.

Who says it’s so easy to save a life?
In the middle of an interview
for that job you might get
you see the cat from the window of the seventeenth floor
just as he’s crossing the street against traffic,
just as you’re answering a question about your worst character flaw
and lying that you’re too careful.
What if you keep seeing the cat at every moment
you are unable to save him?
Failure is more like this than like duels and marathons.
Everything can be saved, and bad timing prevents it.
Every minute, you are answering the question
and looking out the window of the church
to see your one great love blinded by the glare,
crossing the street, alone.