Silly me

It's 12:52 a.m. I'll bet getting up in about 3 hours.

I've been working on a poem because I told my friend Robert I would write and send to our poetry list *something* new before Monday morning. It's late Monday afternoon where he is already, but I'm a proud woman. Stupid, but proud.

The weekend was birthday parties, and my sister in town. Family, friends, and 20 little kids high on cake. The week ahead will also be very full. Sleep is in order.

A Familiar Name on Verse Daily

Check out this link to Dancing Bear's poem Gacela of Animal Theory.

Bear edits the American Poetry Journal (APJ). Three APJ issues have included my poems, so I guess in a not-so-round-about way, mentioning him like this is shameless self-promotion. But besides being kind enough to publish my work, Dancing Bear is also an all-around good guy, and I'm truly happy to see his poetry grow in its depth and reputation.

Mary Oliver

I'm reading Blue Pastures by Mary Oliver. Billy Collins was right. She's good. She's really good - in that deceptively simple way. Here's something Robert Haas references in the Washington Post (original link here):

Little Summer Poem Touching the Subject of Faith

Every summer
I listen and look
under the sun's brass and even
into the moonlight, but I can't hear

anything, I can't see anything --
not the pale roots digging down, nor the green stalks muscling up,
nor the leaves
deepening their damp pleats,

nor the tassels making,
nor the shucks, nor the cobs.
And still,
every day,

the leafy fields
grow taller and thicker --
green gowns lofting up in the night,
showered with silk.

And so, every summer,
I fail as a witness, seeing nothing --
I am deaf too
to the tick of the leaves,

the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet --
all of it
happening
beyond any seeable proof, or hearable hum.

And, therefore, let the immeasurable come.
Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.
Let the wind turn in the trees,
and the mystery hidden in the dirt

swing through the air.
How could I look at anything in this world
and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?
What should I fear?

One morning
in the leafy green ocean
the honeycomb of the corn's beautiful body
is sure to be there.

Summoning, and smells

In the last week, there have been no fewer than 5 times that I've thought about a person, or needed to speak to a person, or had just left a voicemail for a person (all different people, mind you), and I literally ran into that person - in person - "at random" out and about in town.

Maybe it's because I live in a small(ish) community.

Maybe it's The Secret at work, even though I've yet to read the book or listen to the tape or watch the movie.

It's both uncanny and downright convenient.

***

This morning I woke up to hit my snooze button for the second time at 4:00 and I thought I smelled something burning. As I dragged myself out of bed, trying to figure out what the smell could be, I thought:

Oh, yeah.

Me.
Candle.
Both ends.

It was the only explanation.

I think sometimes the Universe hits you with metaphors whose obviousness are proportionate to your thickness of comprehension.

There was nothing else burning in the house.

A word to the wise

One of my novelist friends recently shared a Buddhist-inspired quote with me. It's a way to pre-qualify what you say, along the lines of something I once saw from an advice columnist. The advice columnist had suggested that before speaking, we ask ourselves, "Is it true? Is it kind?" My friend had also read that one should ask, "Is it useful?"

Is it true?
Is it kind?
Is it useful?

Golly.

If I consistently asked myself these questions before speaking, I would be a much, MUCH quieter person.

Less likely to amuse, perhaps. But also less likely to harm. And more likely to appear wise or even mysterious (as opposed to just shrew-like or flippant). Hmm. It's worth trying, I think. And it fits right in to my stumbling attempts to become a better listener.