We’ve added a second monthly library poetry group. For this one we pick a specific poet to focus
on. So far we’ve done Mary Oliver,
Langston Hughes and today was Christina Rossetti. I was curious if spending a while with her
would change my opinion, but none of us were very enthusiastic. One
of her poems did teach me something though that thus far I’ve failed to
memorize. If you think of the moon as
horns - when the horns are facing East
it is to increase (waxing) and when they are facing West, it will soon Rest (waning). Also like the setting sun –
resting in the West. I hope to carry
that with me when I look at the night sky.
The bus schedule does not line up well for the ending of
poetry group – so in colder months I either need to leave early or walk/wait
afterwards. Today I walked a half hour towards
home and then waited for the bus there.
I was perfectly content while walking, dressed warm and there was no wind, but
standing in place it is hard to maintain that.
I decided to play a
game based off something I occasionally did in bed as a child in wintertime. I’d remove all my covers and pillows. Then I’d lay there for a bit, imagining having
to sleep that way. Then I’d pretend I’d
been given a sheet. I’d feel grateful
for that sheet. After a while, I’d
pretend I’d been given a blanket, and I’d absorb how lucky I was to have that blanket. I’d continue with each blanket separately in
this manner and at some point when I felt relatively warm, add the pillow.
Today, instead of blankets I decided to focus on my warm
clothes. This is what I came up with (it’s
just audio).
This will not appear on a resume, nor impress anyone who
asks what I “do”, which I find continually tiresome. But it reminds me at
least, for a moment, that I am doing something right.
Well, you're doing another thing right. I was feeling sad too and your post made me feel lighter inside (as in the opposite of dark).
ReplyDelete(and I often listen to Jason Mraz too to be cheered up)
You really have the voice of an angel, do you know that?
I've only ever read 1 book of poems in English, it's called "Birthday Letters" from Ted Hughes.
He was the widower of Sylvia Plath, who had committed suicide in 1963. Their marriage had been far from serene and he'd always been criticized, as if he'd driven her to her death. He'd never said a word about their relationship or her death until that book with poems about her, for her, about their relationship, 35 years after her death. And although they are quite the opposite of mellow, you can still feel the pain in some of the poems, you can see how they struggled in others, how difficult she was to live with, how difficult he was to live with ...
I have never bought anything else in English but they really touched me a lot.
stephanie