...feel like a writer, because after that luxurious spell of time I wrote of two weeks ago, I have barely lifted the pen. Sure I've jotted down a few thoughts, a few images, a few recordings of our days spent, but I miss those precious writer-filled days. It seems so long ago. I was hoping that I was forming the habit, that all writers who want to be taken seriously, must get into. Write everyday. Of course, I realize that having 6 hour days of writing is unrealistic when it is still just a fancy. I have a practice, and a family that I must attend to, yet I miss it when I do not put thought to pen to paper. How will I ever get anyone to take me serious if I do not "show up" as Mary Oliver states. It is an art that takes discipline. I know that. I also know that the time will come when more of "those writing days" prevail. I believe timing is everything. Often, a book will sit on my shelf for years waiting for the day I peruse it and wonder how it sat for so long. I tell Megan, my budding fifteen year old daughter when she questions of why's and how's and when's, that such questions never end.
There is a poetry reading in Provincetown tonight. We've been talking of taking the time to go, and yet I find myself happy to stay right here in our studio. I'm reclaiming our space. After five days of company, and our studio being used as a bedroom, I am just now settling back in. But shouldn't I take advantage of an opportunity to listen to an accomplished poet? Wouldn't it help my craft? Our day started off with a swim and short run, and then our favorite breakfast of oatmeal stuffed with fruit and yogurt, papers and books found at a local yard sale, and the summer hours slipped by. The gardens needed attention, admiration at the least, and before you know it we have to decide what to do...leave this comfy space or drive to the Fine Works Center and listen to an acclaimed poet. Not a bad choice really. I'm lucky to have such a choice, but even the best of two worlds can create a cognitive dissonance.
I begin writing this post so I can feel I have accomplished something. While I accomplish an update on this blog as I write, I also begin to listen to my inner writer's voice: what I crave is to stay here, to extend the hours that I have to write. Though this blog has few followers ( most,well actually all, being friends and family), it does discipline me to touch base and write for writing's sake. It helped me today to understand the nagging questions that cast doubt. It helped me realize I am a writer at heart.
Happy writing!
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Little Ducks
Michael and I have just survived ten days straight of teenagers, lots of them! First we had our niece Hannah from Houston, TX with two of her friends, all graduating high school seniors, spend five days with us as their graduation present. We had fun taking them to our favorite Boston spots, the MFA, The Union Oyster House, and Mike's Pastry. Of course, we took them to our training ground Walden Pond, where they chose to shop in the gift shop rather than join us for a swim...our New England waters are a bit too cold for them, They went strawberry picking, ate ice cream which apparently is more of a New England thing than a Texas thing...its more about frozen yogurt there, and the remaining three days we spent on the Cape Cod seashore, from Orleans to Provincetown, touring lighthouses, and beaches, teaching them to surf, and of course, more shopping...it was a treat for them to buy t-shirts from all the different areas, especially the Cape Cod black bear shirt ( highlighting the first ever known black bear to be seen on the Cape).
We dropped them off at the airport on Sunday, and on Monday we were carting ten students back to our home in Orleans, to host Art of the Sea Endersession educational/recreational/cultural week for Megan's high school. We taught ten more eager teenagers to follow Emerson: "Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, and drink the wild air". We surfed, we ran, we clammed, we swam, we biked, we saw a fantastic play called The Hound of the Baskervilles complete with backstage tour and meeting of the performers, we talked of art and poetry by local Cape Cod artists and poets such as Charles Hawthorne, Hans Hoffman, Mary Oliver, and Stanley Kunitz, and did sun salutations at sunrise.
In these ten days, we listened and observed this upcoming generation, and were impressed at the intelligence and grace in which they are handling the growing pains and decisions facing teenagers. In light of the uncertain economy, social stressors, and shaping identities, all of the teens we "hung out" with demonstrated thoughtful and optimistic plans for their future. It is refreshing to see the hope and dreams in their eyes.
At one of our sunset reflections with the ten students we observed them from a distance. Michael sketched them and I wrote. Some of my thoughts for a poem:
Ten in a row, like ducks
without their mother, wondering about the world,
sitting, feathers tucked, quiet.
Three waddle to the water, stray
from the row beyond wonder and warmth
to feel the cold spray.
Four find the rocky edge hard
against their soft, white feathers.
Two more lost in the grasses
try to find their way.
And one remains, still
sitting, feathers tucked,
content with the setting sun.
They will find their way, their center, their carrot friends.
xo Bess
We dropped them off at the airport on Sunday, and on Monday we were carting ten students back to our home in Orleans, to host Art of the Sea Endersession educational/recreational/cultural week for Megan's high school. We taught ten more eager teenagers to follow Emerson: "Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, and drink the wild air". We surfed, we ran, we clammed, we swam, we biked, we saw a fantastic play called The Hound of the Baskervilles complete with backstage tour and meeting of the performers, we talked of art and poetry by local Cape Cod artists and poets such as Charles Hawthorne, Hans Hoffman, Mary Oliver, and Stanley Kunitz, and did sun salutations at sunrise.
In these ten days, we listened and observed this upcoming generation, and were impressed at the intelligence and grace in which they are handling the growing pains and decisions facing teenagers. In light of the uncertain economy, social stressors, and shaping identities, all of the teens we "hung out" with demonstrated thoughtful and optimistic plans for their future. It is refreshing to see the hope and dreams in their eyes.
At one of our sunset reflections with the ten students we observed them from a distance. Michael sketched them and I wrote. Some of my thoughts for a poem:
Ten in a row, like ducks
without their mother, wondering about the world,
sitting, feathers tucked, quiet.
Three waddle to the water, stray
from the row beyond wonder and warmth
to feel the cold spray.
Four find the rocky edge hard
against their soft, white feathers.
Two more lost in the grasses
try to find their way.
And one remains, still
sitting, feathers tucked,
content with the setting sun.
They will find their way, their center, their carrot friends.
xo Bess
Friday, April 27, 2012
Patience of a Raisin
It takes one month and twenty-three days for a cluster of grapes to become raisins. That is how long it took us to make our own raisins. We were staying at a chic boutique hotel in NYC last month and ordered oatmeal for breakfast, our favorite. Atop the milky oats, were the plumpest raisins we've ever seen, and we were surprised when we had trouble getting them on our spoon. That is because they were still attached to a stem. Homemade raisins...what a great idea!
We like to take something of our travels back home with us, and not always something material, but a creative idea or an inspiration sparked by our experiences. Our stay at this boutique hotel gave us the idea to keep a large bowl of walnuts to crack on our counter. The bowl says come in, crack a walnut, let's have conversation. We were also inspired to make our own raisins. So our next bunch of grapes stayed on the counter for fifty-three days. We never imagined it would take so long, but how interesting it was to watch the gradual process of grapes shriveling to become a gourmet oatmeal-topper.
The drying stems turned to gnarled talons clinging to the ceramic fruit carton on the counter. The green fruit tinged brown and turned browner by the day, the week. Dehydration and depletion isn't pretty. A small reminder to drink plenty of water and also a thoughtful pause on the aging process.
A youthful grape takes on the renewed life of a ripened raisin. It is sweet!
And in honor of National Poetry Month here is a poem for you...happy poetry reading and sweet patience!
wider than one
once envisioned,
with ribbons
of rivers
and distant
ranges and
tasks undertaken
and finished
with modest
relish by
natives in their
native dress.
Who would
have guessed
it possible
that waiting
is sustainable—
a place with
its own harvests.
Or that in
time's fullness
the diamonds
of patience
couldn't be
distinguished
from the genuine
in brilliance
or hardness.
We like to take something of our travels back home with us, and not always something material, but a creative idea or an inspiration sparked by our experiences. Our stay at this boutique hotel gave us the idea to keep a large bowl of walnuts to crack on our counter. The bowl says come in, crack a walnut, let's have conversation. We were also inspired to make our own raisins. So our next bunch of grapes stayed on the counter for fifty-three days. We never imagined it would take so long, but how interesting it was to watch the gradual process of grapes shriveling to become a gourmet oatmeal-topper.
The drying stems turned to gnarled talons clinging to the ceramic fruit carton on the counter. The green fruit tinged brown and turned browner by the day, the week. Dehydration and depletion isn't pretty. A small reminder to drink plenty of water and also a thoughtful pause on the aging process.
A youthful grape takes on the renewed life of a ripened raisin. It is sweet!
And in honor of National Poetry Month here is a poem for you...happy poetry reading and sweet patience!
Patience by Kay Ryan
Patience iswider than one
once envisioned,
with ribbons
of rivers
and distant
ranges and
tasks undertaken
and finished
with modest
relish by
natives in their
native dress.
Who would
have guessed
it possible
that waiting
is sustainable—
a place with
its own harvests.
Or that in
time's fullness
the diamonds
of patience
couldn't be
distinguished
from the genuine
in brilliance
or hardness.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
The Company Kept
A canvas rests on the leg of a bench.
He bends to add another layer of landscape at dusk
to the one started months ago.
No need to rush,
it's the company kept.
Aside an artist, dear and kin
to art and love, unspoken
affinity to be amongst
still clouds, marsh silence,
the settled sea.
(thoughts for a poem I'm thinking of..)
I met with my mentor today. She is wonderful! I have been meeting with her for two years now and she has helped me grow tremendously as a writer and an emerging poet, but more than that she keeps me smiling all day. She is one of those people in my life that I want to be around, that I get such a creative and energetic surge when I am. She makes me think, and laugh. I am grateful to have a few of these people in my life.
The above thoughts are from a scene when Michael and a dear friend of ours were painting "plein air" in Truro, MA. My daughter Megan and I were writing nearby. We were all absorbed in the stillness and serenity of the marsh. I was surrounded by three of my favorite people and immersed in the present moment with no distractions, except for listening to a paintbrush fall below the wooden dock. Was it Michael's or Nancy's?
To have moments such as these is a gift. To have people in our lives such as these is an even greater gift.
I call them "my people". The ones I feel no walls between or the need to build them. The ones I can be vulnerable with and the ones to trust when I cannot hear my own voice. They are the greatest company kept.
In an increasingly distracting and distorted world, I find it a necessity to spend my energy wisely, to keep it centered and simple. Michael and I often "turn off" the never-ending information systems that overload. How and who we spend our time with is vital to our growth. We keep rooted with each other and our carrot friends.
Which, by the way, we planted multicolored carrots. I can't wait to see them sprout. And our peas that we planted in March our doing great!
Keep rooted!
He bends to add another layer of landscape at dusk
to the one started months ago.
No need to rush,
it's the company kept.
Aside an artist, dear and kin
to art and love, unspoken
affinity to be amongst
still clouds, marsh silence,
the settled sea.
(thoughts for a poem I'm thinking of..)
I met with my mentor today. She is wonderful! I have been meeting with her for two years now and she has helped me grow tremendously as a writer and an emerging poet, but more than that she keeps me smiling all day. She is one of those people in my life that I want to be around, that I get such a creative and energetic surge when I am. She makes me think, and laugh. I am grateful to have a few of these people in my life.
The above thoughts are from a scene when Michael and a dear friend of ours were painting "plein air" in Truro, MA. My daughter Megan and I were writing nearby. We were all absorbed in the stillness and serenity of the marsh. I was surrounded by three of my favorite people and immersed in the present moment with no distractions, except for listening to a paintbrush fall below the wooden dock. Was it Michael's or Nancy's?
To have moments such as these is a gift. To have people in our lives such as these is an even greater gift.
I call them "my people". The ones I feel no walls between or the need to build them. The ones I can be vulnerable with and the ones to trust when I cannot hear my own voice. They are the greatest company kept.
In an increasingly distracting and distorted world, I find it a necessity to spend my energy wisely, to keep it centered and simple. Michael and I often "turn off" the never-ending information systems that overload. How and who we spend our time with is vital to our growth. We keep rooted with each other and our carrot friends.
Which, by the way, we planted multicolored carrots. I can't wait to see them sprout. And our peas that we planted in March our doing great!
Keep rooted!
Friday, April 6, 2012
Our Highest Potential Selves
With Easter Sunday and Passover approaching it is, for many, a time of reflection of what religion means to them. We hold our beliefs in a manner shaped by personal experience. Whatever your faith, may it be a positive realm in your life.
I was raised in a loving, traditional Catholic family yet my experiences have led me to a choice of religion similar to Emily Dickinson. Running trails, swimming in the sea, gardening, and noticing the simple acts of nature are when I feel the humblest, and the grandest. The potential of our highest selves is what I call "God". We all hold this potential. It is our truth. It is our beauty.
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church/I keep it, staying at home ( FR. 236) is one of Emily Dickinson's poems declaring her religion of choice. Simple as it may read, Emily's attitude towards spiritual matters was thoughtful and complex, and a recurrent, progressive theme in her poetry. She chose not to attend church, not out of defiance, but to have the freedom to think for herself. Satisfied with the family minister's assurance that Emily's spiritual health was "sound", her father built a small sun porch for her as a place of worship. There, in addition to the cupola she loved to inhabit, she witnessed nature's unabashed character and found sanctity.
Wishing all carrot friends a Happy Easter, Passover, or simply a Happy Nature Day!
I was raised in a loving, traditional Catholic family yet my experiences have led me to a choice of religion similar to Emily Dickinson. Running trails, swimming in the sea, gardening, and noticing the simple acts of nature are when I feel the humblest, and the grandest. The potential of our highest selves is what I call "God". We all hold this potential. It is our truth. It is our beauty.
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church/I keep it, staying at home ( FR. 236) is one of Emily Dickinson's poems declaring her religion of choice. Simple as it may read, Emily's attitude towards spiritual matters was thoughtful and complex, and a recurrent, progressive theme in her poetry. She chose not to attend church, not out of defiance, but to have the freedom to think for herself. Satisfied with the family minister's assurance that Emily's spiritual health was "sound", her father built a small sun porch for her as a place of worship. There, in addition to the cupola she loved to inhabit, she witnessed nature's unabashed character and found sanctity.
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church -- I keep it, staying at Home -- With a Bobolink for a Chorister -- And an Orchard, for a Dome -- Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice -- I just wear my Wings -- And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church, Our little Sexton -- sings. God preaches, a noted Clergyman -- And the sermon is never long, So instead of getting to Heaven, at last -- I'm going, all along.
The poem Sunday Morning is a reflection of my thoughts on religion and nature:
Sunday Morning
Before dissonance must sit
starched in a pew,
wearing a Sunday dress too big
and shined shoes too small,
I will let her limbs unfold, and run--
slow by the old barn, fast
past the hounds behind
the chicken-wired fence,
across the bridge,
and through the pines
which sway over water’s edge,
then toward higher ground
where Jonah’s Rock waits--
Jonah prays in the belly of a fish
a trilogy of nights,
Jesus lies in a cave three days, and I,
I run three miles.
Quick-stepping along Stone Row,
I nod to question marks
that punctuate each bend.
Naked arms and legs catch
crab apple petal snow.
I reach the steep hill
that will not end. I claw its earth.
Hands smudged with dirt understand.
My feet slip, but still follow
this path to the stained-glass field
of red-wings, lupine, and Queen Ann’s Lace.
At last, my breath can lift her head.
The hum of stillness in me quakes.
Wings swoop the sky.
Wishing all carrot friends a Happy Easter, Passover, or simply a Happy Nature Day!
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