This is the only life I have, this one in my head,
the one that travels along the surface of my body
singing the low voltage song of the ego
- from "One Life to Live" by Billy Collins in Questions About Angels
*******
I was stuck at work for awhile today, waiting for the network to function and upload my pictures (thinking in my blind optimistic way that it would be faster than actually going out to my car and driving across town to Walgreens--alas, it was not), and I picked up a book of poetry by Mary Oliver. After reading several of her poems, I vowed to rededicate myself to reading at least one poem a day. Not that it has to be one of her poems--although she is a fabulous poet. I just want to hear the language of poetry. I want the images perking in my brain all day. Every day.
Life has been particularly busy, and rather stressful as well with all the political stuff going on in Lansing and in the nation. (Can you believe our Attorney General is going to sue the U.S. Government?! Talk about frivolous lawsuits--with money we don't have.) None of it helps my writing. I need to crave out a space of quiet, of time to think. And maybe even more important than that is an attitude of quiet. An attitude of contemplation.
Poetry can help. I think reading poetry every day helps my mind quiet itself, quit chewing on its own tail. And maybe then I'll be able to hear my story a little quicker, a little louder.
Life has been particularly busy, and rather stressful as well with all the political stuff going on in Lansing and in the nation. (Can you believe our Attorney General is going to sue the U.S. Government?! Talk about frivolous lawsuits--with money we don't have.) None of it helps my writing. I need to crave out a space of quiet, of time to think. And maybe even more important than that is an attitude of quiet. An attitude of contemplation.
Poetry can help. I think reading poetry every day helps my mind quiet itself, quit chewing on its own tail. And maybe then I'll be able to hear my story a little quicker, a little louder.
I love to feel the daily turning of the pages,How's the writing life been treating you lately? Has the muse been visiting regular like, or is she hopelessly late and often out of town?
the sentences unwinding like string,
and when something really important happens,
I walk out to the edges of the page
and, always the student,
make an asterisk, a little star, in the margin.
-from "Cliche", by Billy Collins in Questions About Angels