We do know this; Emily Dickinson chose to spend day after day in the same house, doing the same things---ordinary, seemingly unimportant things---for she seemed to know that there are wonderful possibilities in the most ordinary life if we just take notice.
--from Poetry For Young People: Emily Dickinson
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Day 35
Life is this simple: We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent and the divine is shining through it all the time.
--Thomas Merton
--Thomas Merton
Friday, March 20, 2015
poem in your pocket
Today over lunch, I took in food and Ballistics, by Billy Collins.
I first encountered his poetry in a college Intro to Poetry class.
The professor, who had three names, and moved slowly, and spoke slowly, told a story of her days in graduate school. "My friends and I went on the Emily Dickinson diet for one month. We ate only food that was white." This was because it was legend that Emily Dickinson wore only white.
So my professor spent a month eating cauliflower, cheese, and white wine. I believe emphasis was on the latter two.
The first poem I wrote for her class was about a cow. I was called on to read it, under the shade of a tree, beneath which the entire class was seated, because she brought us outside a lot.
She required each student to memorize a poem, and recite it to the class.
I chose The Dead, by Billy Collins, loving glass bottom boats of heaven, and the image, wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.
Coming back to a writer you like, that you've been away from, is like a reunion of sorts. A flood of how you encountered their words initially.
I found this interview with Billy Collins and loved it, from top to bottom. It speaks of integration, of the purpose of poetry, and how he too, had his students memorize a poem.
I first encountered his poetry in a college Intro to Poetry class.
The professor, who had three names, and moved slowly, and spoke slowly, told a story of her days in graduate school. "My friends and I went on the Emily Dickinson diet for one month. We ate only food that was white." This was because it was legend that Emily Dickinson wore only white.
So my professor spent a month eating cauliflower, cheese, and white wine. I believe emphasis was on the latter two.
The first poem I wrote for her class was about a cow. I was called on to read it, under the shade of a tree, beneath which the entire class was seated, because she brought us outside a lot.
She required each student to memorize a poem, and recite it to the class.
I chose The Dead, by Billy Collins, loving glass bottom boats of heaven, and the image, wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.
Coming back to a writer you like, that you've been away from, is like a reunion of sorts. A flood of how you encountered their words initially.
I found this interview with Billy Collins and loved it, from top to bottom. It speaks of integration, of the purpose of poetry, and how he too, had his students memorize a poem.
Thursday, March 19, 2015
3rd Time's the Charm: Signs of Spring
Three times in a week I have heard the geese. Each time, I think of this poem, and recall the first time it possessed me, so long ago, and also, just yesterday.
I heard this song one cold morning, and the first thing I thought of: it is the Northeast inviting Spring.
Spring is playing hard-to-get.
The Northeast is courting her with industry.
She dances in another direction.
But she'll be back.
It has been cold. Then colder. Then colder still.
Roofs have been leaking.
Gutters falling to the ground, the weight of ice bringing them down.
Then a tiny bit warm, and being tough Rochesterians, we take what we are given (29 degrees) and put on t-shirts and sport our un-sunned limbs.
Then the next day: snow, and 15. But no matter. I've heard the geese twice. So the end is near.
This morning, near midnight, I wake to hear them a third time.
A student I know, one who farms and plants and follows the Farmer's Almanac, stopped me in the hall.
"Do you know what it is?" he asked.
He goes by four seasons.
"It's almost spring," I say.
"Two more days," he says, holding up two fingers, like a peace sign, like V for Victory. We do a high-five. And continue in opposite directions.
"Wait," I call back to him. "What about the snow this morning?"
He holds up those two fingers.
"Two days!" he repeats.
I'll take his word for it.
And the geese.
I heard this song one cold morning, and the first thing I thought of: it is the Northeast inviting Spring.
Spring is playing hard-to-get.
The Northeast is courting her with industry.
She dances in another direction.
But she'll be back.
It has been cold. Then colder. Then colder still.
Roofs have been leaking.
Gutters falling to the ground, the weight of ice bringing them down.
Then a tiny bit warm, and being tough Rochesterians, we take what we are given (29 degrees) and put on t-shirts and sport our un-sunned limbs.
Then the next day: snow, and 15. But no matter. I've heard the geese twice. So the end is near.
This morning, near midnight, I wake to hear them a third time.
A student I know, one who farms and plants and follows the Farmer's Almanac, stopped me in the hall.
"Do you know what it is?" he asked.
He goes by four seasons.
"It's almost spring," I say.
"Two more days," he says, holding up two fingers, like a peace sign, like V for Victory. We do a high-five. And continue in opposite directions.
"Wait," I call back to him. "What about the snow this morning?"
He holds up those two fingers.
"Two days!" he repeats.
I'll take his word for it.
And the geese.
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
Return Investment
I have this Preferred Button Maker. In truth, the only button maker I know*.
I've purchased some of his wares as gifts, and sometimes just read the buttons when I want to burst out laughing.
There's always one that gets me.
Every time.
These buttons exist thanks to a redirected tax return.
When in doubt, buy a button-making machine.
Much better investment than beer and books.
Not that anything is wrong with beer and books**.
*Know means seller I have purchased buttons from on etsy.
**Except that beer makes people burpy and books don't, but buttons are just all around joyful things.
I've purchased some of his wares as gifts, and sometimes just read the buttons when I want to burst out laughing.
There's always one that gets me.
Every time.
These buttons exist thanks to a redirected tax return.
When in doubt, buy a button-making machine.
Much better investment than beer and books.
Not that anything is wrong with beer and books**.
*Know means seller I have purchased buttons from on etsy.
**Except that beer makes people burpy and books don't, but buttons are just all around joyful things.
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
"An Amazing Gift of the Imagination"
Some unrelated / related facts:
I am in the midst of listening to an audio book, the first novel of Karen Thompson Walker, The Age of Miracles.
A beloved friend sent me an incredible TED talk earlier this week. A talk that I've listened to, and thought of again and again. This is what incredible things do. They draw us back.
=
Through this, I came upon a TED talk by Karen Thompson Walker. The title of the talk is: What Fear Can Teach Us.
It's rather lovely.
"What can the rest of us learn about fear from visionaries, and young children?"
I am in the midst of listening to an audio book, the first novel of Karen Thompson Walker, The Age of Miracles.
A beloved friend sent me an incredible TED talk earlier this week. A talk that I've listened to, and thought of again and again. This is what incredible things do. They draw us back.
=
Through this, I came upon a TED talk by Karen Thompson Walker. The title of the talk is: What Fear Can Teach Us.
It's rather lovely.
"What can the rest of us learn about fear from visionaries, and young children?"
Sunday, March 1, 2015
Prayer of the Utterly Dependent (on machines)
Dear God,
Please fix my phone.
Because Radio Shack doesn’t make it anymore and the screen is all white
and I keep calling another country when I just want to call my mom to borrow
her vacuum cleaner.
Dear God,
Please fix my vacuum cleaner. My mom’s vacuum cleaner is a “Kirby, a really
high quality cleaner.” It weighs 250
pounds. I think I broke my back carrying
it up the stairs.
Dear God,
Please fix my back so I can carry the Kirby back down the
steps and return it to my mom.
Dear God,
Please fix my GPS. I
have no idea where I am going.
Dear God,
The GPS fixing requires a piece from China, 3 weeks to ship,
and costs more than the original GPS.
Dear God,
Please make maps fun to read.
Dear God,
I hate maps. Please
fix my GPS.
Dear God,
I am going to read a book.
Please don’t let it break.
Amen.
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