Distance and Treasure

Last week I shared a poem in class called "Threshold" by Tony Hoagland. It is an older poem, from the book Sweet Ruin. It begins with a detailed description of an old woman in a grocery store--providing the reader with two easily relatable images. When the poem moves to mortality and a consciousness of time, it becomes a celebration as well as an awareness. I love the idea that reminders tap me on the shoulder, brush up against me in the subway, send me letters in shaky handwriting. How many days and hours pass blindly? When I have time, I realize that life can move at a slower pace. Within that slowdown is the necessary awareness for creativity. I don't relish returning to the pace I have created for myself. Sometimes I marvel at people who seem overwhelmed doing more than one thing in one day. While I appreciate being able to multi-task, it comes at a price. Staying with an idea until its nuance and potential emerges takes patience. The rewards are many--a fully realized perception or piece of art, the satisfaction of following through, the wonder. All around me, colors merge into a giant panorama. I hear water trickling over rocks, see the play of light changing. It's all there. Today I am here watching.

It's Beginning To Look a Lot Like....

Today's dusting of snow breathes new life into the landscape. Everything shimmmers and catches the scant sunlight. Grateful, I look outside at trees standing resolutely on the edge of something. Every day is a little longer, adding minutes in that march toward a growing season. I don't know which window to look out of--the one that overlooks the ordinary asphalt and dead grass or the one that only reflects what can't be easily seen. I am interested in what is behind the ring of hills, over the stone wall. I have seen wild turkeys, deer, fox, chipmunks, squirrels, and raccoons. What have I missed?

Sadnesses and Celebrations

The dried flowers in the vase on the linen tablecloth promise nothing. On this short day, I gather in. Late fall mornings are proclamations; startling in their chill and barren beauty. Hills of sharp trees and matted grass slide by me. I cannot change the pain of others which persists even as the time ahead for all of us grows shorter. Language amazes me in its intricacies, always providing a way to render even the tragic, bearable.

My collaborative book of poetry with Geraldine Mills, The Other Side of Longing, is out in Ireland and soon to distributed by Syracuse University Press in the United States. It is a beautiful book, graced by Russ' photograph of seaweed colors underwater at Tullen Strand in County Donegal. The collaboration is now a permanent work of art and I feel lucky in many ways. I'm humbled by the opportunity to read, to travel, to continue to grow as an artist.

My resolve is strengthened to make writing central to my life. It is all I can do--observe and render those observations vivid. In this way, I begin to make sense of the resolute screen that breaks my view into tiny squares that are the fragments of a world I cannot control.