Late Fragment And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth. All of us: The collected poems By Raymond Carver Vintage Books, 1996
Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category
A simple Late Fragment by Raymond Carver reminds us of what is important in this life
June 3, 2023A Spring Haiku inspired by Radim Schreiber’s photos of pink dogwood flowers
April 24, 2023
Spring Haiku Inspired by Radim Schreiber’s photos Pink dogwood flowers Delicate tender beauty Captured by the lens April 21, 2023 Fairfield, Iowa © Ken Chawkin
Related posts: Japanese culture: poetic aesthetics, artistry, and martial arts, inspired me to write haiku and tanka || Radim Schreiber captures the magic of fireflies in beautiful award-winning photos and films
Manual Cinema and Crescendo Literary produced this video of Gwendolyn Brooks’ “We Real Cool” as part of the centennial celebration of her birth
February 26, 2023This is real cool! Using simple, illuminative paper-cut puppetry, this enchanting video imagines the moment of witness that inspired Gwendolyn Brooks to write her landmark poem, “We Real Cool.” It was created by Manual Cinema in association with Crescendo Literary, with story by Eve L. Ewing and Nate Marshall, and music by Jamila Woods and Ayanna Woods. Poetry Foundation posted We Real Cool on June 6, 2017 as part of the upcoming centennial celebration of her birth that year.
Everything about this video is excellent—the background story, Brooks’ dialogue, the poem read by her and sung by the chorus, the lifelike facial expressions, outlines and movements of the paper-cut puppetry, the jazzy driving music—all make for a lively and enjoyable realization.
The 6-minute video is a companion to a live staged production of No Blue Memories: The Life of Gwendolyn Brooks. It premiered November 2017 to commemorate the 100th anniversary of Brooks’s birth. See the trailer for that show when it played in Vancouver at the Chan Centre. “We Real Cool” starts at 26 minutes into the 68-minute performance.
Gwendolyn Brooks (June 7, 1917-December 3, 2000) won the Pulitzer Prize at 32, and at 68, was the first black woman to become a consultant in poetry for the Library of Congress, aka the 29th Poet Laureate, 1985–86. A prolific poet, author, and teacher, she received a lifetime achievement award in 1989 from the National Endowment for the Arts.
It’s interesting how some poets are only remembered for one special poem. In this 1986 HoCoPoLitSo interview with Gwendolyn Brooks for The Writing Life series (remastered in 2005), she was asked how she felt about being remembered for only this one poem (18:38). She said that the poem was published in many anthologies and that children always ask her to read “We Real Cool” and respond enthusiastically.
But in the short video she says she “would prefer it if the textbook compilers and the anthologists would assume that I’ve written a few other poems,” and then the camera pans over many of her books.
At 19:45 she tells the story behind how she came to write “We Real Cool,” which forms the basis for the storyline of the short video. In the lead up to the poem, she happens to see seven students shooting pool at the Golden Shovel. But instead of asking myself, “Why aren’t they in school?” I asked myself, “I wonder how they feel about themselves?”
But instead of asking myself, “Why aren’t they in school?” I asked myself, “I wonder how they feel about themselves?”
Gwendolyn Brooks’ thoughts on seeing The Pool Players, Seven at the Golden Shovel, which became her poem, “We Real Cool.”
Instead of judging the students, her curiosity and compassion cause her to look deeper. She shares her thoughts about the boys’ situation, and is then asked to recite the poem, which she does at 21:05.
Gwendolyn Brooks, “We Real Cool,” was recorded on May 3, 1983, as part of the Academy of American Poets reading series, held at the Guggenheim Museum in New York City. It first appeared in print in the September 1959 issue of Poetry magazine. You can see the poem and hear Gwendolyn Brooks read “We Real Cool” from Selected Poems on the Poetry Foundation website. Copyright © 1963 by Gwendolyn Brooks.
This simple poem—Once in the 40’s by William Stafford—might quietly surprise you at the end
January 6, 2023The more I read this poem—Once in the 40’s by William Stafford—the more I love it. It may seem simple, but it quietly surprised me at the end. I subscribe to the Academy of American Poets newsletter and it appeared in a list of poets whose birthdays are in January. Stafford’s is the 17th.
Once in the 40’s
We were alone one night on a long road in Montana. This was in winter, a big night, far to the stars. We had hitched, my wife and I, and left our ride at a crossing to go on. Tired and cold—but brave—we trudged along. This, we said, was our life, watched over, allowed to go where we wanted. We said we’d come back some time when we got rich. We’d leave the others and find a night like this, whatever we had to give, and no matter how far, to be so happy again. —William Stafford (1914-1993)
From The Way It Is by William Stafford. Copyright © 1982, 1998 by the Estate of William Stafford. Shared via Poets.org. Reprinted with the permission of Graywolf Press, St. Paul, Minnesota.
Bill had married Dorothy Hope Franz in 1944. He must have been 30 at the time, and she 28. Although, Dorothy’s obituary (1916-2013) says they married in 1943. In any case, this poem recalls an event that must’ve taken place once in the 40’s, in the early years of their marriage when they were very much in love and carefree, before they settled down to raise a family. The nostalgia factor makes a lot of sense. It’s relatable.
It also reminds me of being surprised with a nostalgic feeling when reading the last line in Mary Oliver’s poem, Coming Home.
Enjoy more wonderful poems by William Stafford posted here.
What the Living Do—Marie Howe’s ‘letter’ to her brother—an elegy to loss and how she lives with it
November 2, 2022In previous posts we highlighted how certain poems (or a song) seem to come through poets as if they were a conduit. Another example is poet Marie Howe. During a poetry reading she gave at a Christian Scholars’ Conference in 2017 Plenary, she said this about her writing. (19:39)
“So much of writing for me is writing a lot and throwing it out, because as John would say, I knew that already. So, it’s writing and writing and writing until the poem actually begins to write me, which was a great great feeling. And this is a poem that ended up being a title of this book, because I was working on four or five different poems in a very long day and finally pushed them aside, because I had to give up writing a poem, and just write to my dead brother John. And it ended up being what wanted to be written. It’s called What the Living Do.” (20:18)
So, it’s writing and writing and writing until the poem actually begins to write me, which was a great great feeling. And it ended up being what wanted to be written.
Marie Howe on the poem to her brother, What the Living Do
Fresh Air: Poet Marie Howe On ‘What The Living Do’ After Loss
She read and discussed this poem, and others, with Terry Gross on NPR’s Fresh Air: Poet Marie Howe On ‘What The Living Do’ After Loss (Oct 19, 2011). Her younger brother John died from AIDS-related complications in 1989. A few years later she wrote him a poem in the form of a letter. They wrote, “the poem is an elegiac description of loss, and of living beyond loss.” The title poem of her collection was later selected for inclusion in The Penguin Anthology of 20th-Century American Poetry.
These comments by Marie from their wonderful conversation stood out: “So many poems occur at the intersection of time and eternity and the fullness of time. … Poetry holds the knowledge that we are alive and that we know we’re going to die. The most mysterious aspect of being alive might be that—and poetry knows that.”
Poetry holds the knowledge that we are alive and that we know we’re going to die. The most mysterious aspect of being alive might be that—and poetry knows that.
Marie Howe on our mortality and poetry’s redeeming value
The Writing Life: The Poet Is In at Grand Central Terminal
During her two-year tenure as New York State Poet Laureate, Marie Howe collaborated with the MTA and NYU to create public poetry events. She told poet Sandra Beasley, host of The Writing Life, that the coolest thing they did, and expanded upon the next year, was The Poet Is In at Grand Central Terminal, where hundreds of people lined up for hours to have their own poem written for them by an award-winning poet. The program was so successful they had to build more sets and bring in more poets on a rotating schedule to handle the growing demand. That section of the interview, Marie Howe wants you to carry her poems away, is cued up at 20:38.
The Millions: Writing as a spiritual act
I featured another powerful poem of hers in this earlier post: New York poet laureate Marie Howe reads “Annunciation” to Krista Tippett On Being. She described how the poem came through her, “and it had nothing to do with me.” I highlight an interview with The Millions. When asked if she thinks of writing as a spiritual act at its core, Marie replies:
“I do, because it involves a wonderful contradiction, which is, in order for it to happen, you have to be there, and you have to disappear. Both. You know, nothing feels as good as that. Being there and disappearing—being possessed by something else. Something happening through you, but you’re attending it. There are few other things in the world like that, but writing is pretty much a relief from the self—and yet the self has to be utterly there.”
Nothing feels as good as that. Being there and disappearing—being possessed by something else. Something happening through you, but you’re attending it. Writing is pretty much a relief from the self—and yet the self has to be utterly there.
Marie Howe on the contradiction within writing as a spiritual act
Poets Ada Limón and Ranier Maria Rilke
This relates to the previous post about Ada Limón, the 24th U.S. Poet Laureate, where she describes her experiences of writing poetry—how deep attention can turn into a poem, that deep looking is a way of loving, and can transform the smallest thing into something of great importance. She said it is the thing that brings her the most joy.
Ranier Maria Rilke describes, in great detail, this process of deep seeing and ability to surrender completely to “Things whose essential life you want to express.” If you do, then it will reciprocate and “speak to you” with a most glorious outcome. His amazing description, translated by Stephen Mitchell, is included in that post.
Previous posts on being a conduit for poetry and song
I share a few of my own poems from a similar perspective in Being written—how some poems come through us.
In a previous post, Karen Matheson sings a beautiful sad Gaelic song. Written by Brendan Graham, he reveals how the song chose him as a conduit to tell its story of loss and grief during Ireland’s 1840s famine.
Poems about death by Stephen Levine and Mary Oliver
Here’s a look at death from a different, more enlightened perspective in Two profound poems by Stephen Levine: in the realm of the passing away & millennium blessing.
Mary Oliver reflected on death, especially towards the end of her life when she was ill. These two poems reveal her thoughts. White Owl Flies Into And Out Of The Field — maybe death / isn’t darkness, after all, / but so much light / wrapping itself around us–. When Death Comes — When it’s over, I want to say: all my life / I was a bride married to amazement. / I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
Reflections one year later
It’s been a little over a year since I posted this, and after rereading Marie Howe’s poem to her brother, the last two short declarative sentences in the last line still surprise and move me: I am living. I remember you.
Grief persists after the loss of a close friend, but so does love. In time, grief recedes and love predominates. Here is a poem I wrote for my sweetheart a little over a year after she had passed: Still Sali Haiku—the persistence of love over grief.
Being written—how some poems come through us
October 20, 2022In the previous post, I was impressed by what Brendan Graham said about being chosen for a song to go out into the world. “I had learned to keep out of the way, let the song write itself. … The truly special songs write us; we don’t write them. We don’t find them; they find us.”
The video clip concludes with him saying: “I am grateful to be merely the conduit, an accident of time and place through which something I don’t fully understand is given voice and is heard.”
This reminded me of some of my own experiences in the past writing certain poems. As he said, it was more like they wrote me. I just put them down on paper as they were being given to me. I was the conduit—the intrinsic reward. Here are 4 poems and how they came to be written.
ODE TO THE ARTIST Sketching Lotus Pads at Round Prairie Park
The first magical interaction I remember was with an artist friend. While driving around the Fairfield, Iowa countryside we noticed signs to Round Prairie Park. It turned out to be the first park the Jefferson County Conservation Board had developed. We drove on and found the entrance. A small historic schoolhouse on the left and a pond on the right were the first things we noticed. We continued on around the bend past the campsites and picnic tables to the end of the road and parked the car.
After a short walk, we discovered a bigger pond. It was filled with large lotus pads and pods. A drought that summer of 1988 had lowered water levels everywhere, including the pond. As a result, some of the lotus pads stood even taller. My friend pulled out her notepad and began sketching them. I asked her for a page and a pen. I made a few attempts at writing a poem about them, then gave up.
We spoke about The Secret Life of Plants and how they can sense what you’re thinking. She went back to sketching. I decided to switch perspectives—what I later learned is ‘reverse seeing’—and tried again. This time I felt a heightened awareness and quickly wrote down the words as they came to me. When it was over, I looked down and saw a poem on the page, but it was written in a voice other than my own. At that moment, a bird in the tree above me dropped a turd. It landed on my writing hand! A blessing from nature?
ODE TO THE ARTIST Sketching Lotus Pads at Round Prairie Park
Black lines briefly sketched on paper capture our appearance but not our essence. Your attention interests us, although others have never before. Your watchful eyes tell us we are apart of you. Can you feel our thoughts? Can you think our feelings? We do yours and we thank you for committing us to memory. For long after we’ve gone and transmuted ourselves back into nature our likeness will remind you that we were. And your response will touch our hearts.
I had entered the poem in a Sparrowgrass Poetry Forum competition that was announced in the local Fairfield Ledger and forgot about it. Eventually, the editor acknowledged receipt of the poem, which he appreciated, said it was in the competition, and had a question about the way I spelled ‘apart of’ in the last line of the second stanza.
I explained that I wanted to express both ideas of togetherness and separateness at the same time in the same sounding word—’a part of’ and ‘apart from’. A language professor friend suggested I italicize ‘a‘ and ‘of‘ to give it that appearance and meaning in ‘apart of you’. It felt right.
The following summer, a postcard in the mail told me to go to the Post Office to pick up a registered letter. I had no idea what it was about. When I opened it, the letter announced that I had won Sparrowgrass Poetry Forum’s Distinguished Poet Award, which included a $100 check. The plaque would be mailed in a few days. What an unexpected surprise! It also happened to be Guru Purnima Day 1989, making it extra special to me! I was so grateful for this honor and recognition, especially since I had been going through a challenging phase of my life.
I told the writer at The Ledger about it and she said to come in with the plaque. She interviewed me and they took a picture of me holding the award. She thought The Ledger would need permission to publish the poem and asked me to check with the publisher. He said I owned the rights to my poem and could approve them printing it in the paper. The article had already come out, so they published the poem the next day. These unexpected events were signs encouraging me to keep writing.
Sometimes Poetry Happens
The editor wanted a follow-up poem, which made me nervous since I felt I hadn’t really written that first poem. So, I thought about the dynamic between us and the lotus pads, wondering what had really happened between the two—the observer and the observed—from both sides.
When I put pen to paper, surprisingly, it flowed effortlessly, even blissfully. The middle part of the poem reiterated what Brendan Graham had said about the truly special songs—in my case, poems—finding us and writing us, not the other way around.
But, when I tried to make a statement, nothing worked. I gave up, let go, and lay down on the couch to take a break. In a few moments the conclusion to the poem composed itself in my mind. I quickly got up, went back to the kitchen table, and wrote it down.
It was written in such a comprehensive poetic manner. I never would have imagined such a perfect answer to the posed question of what had happened between the two. I explained that in a reply to an appreciative comment on the poem.
The editor was pleased to have received the poem and published it. Besides being a memory of what had been heard, the poem became a kind of commentary on the creative process, that, if we’re lucky enough, sometimes poetry happens.
Sometimes Poetry Happens (Sequel to ODE TO THE ARTIST) Some poets can write from reflected experience referring back to what was written. Others need to be there, in full view of their subject, opening up to what’s being given. Sometimes poetry happens between the two. It’s then you don’t really write the poem. It writes you! You just put it down on paper. When you see it there, You’ve captured it. Or, rather, it’s captured you. What really happened between the two? To explore that space between you and me is to discover who we are. For deep within, at the source of the gap lie the togetherness of the three— the seer, the seen, and the poetry … in between.
Being in Nature—a gift from a tree
Other poems would start with a seed idea, then grow and unfold while writing them down. One short poem resulted from a surprising interaction with a tree on the UBC Endowment Lands in Vancouver. I had moved back to Canada during the 1990s.
I was standing with an artist friend closely admiring the bark of a tree in front of us. The tree reciprocated the attention with a ray of words entering my heart-mind: “the realness of natural things, the nearness of you.” I immediately wrote them down.
The next morning, I looked at the two-line stanza wondering where it would go next. The poem answered my hunches and completed itself as I wrote it down in my journal. It felt like a collaborative process.
The repetitive end rhymes and number of syllables per line created their own matching patterns, like a little gem. The title would come much later, while thinking of the word ‘being’ as both a subject and a gerund.
Being in Nature a gift from a tree The Realness of Natural Things The nearness of you The Beauty that Nature Brings When seeing is true The Silence that Inward Sings When hearing is clear The Harmony Between all Beings It exists right here!
Indonesian Mystery Poem
This reminds me of the start of another poem that was given to me a few days after having arrived in Jakarta, Indonesia in early June 2000. I had joined our group there on a project. They told me to just rest (meditate and sleep) in my room for a few days to get over the 17-hour jet lag.
It was very early in the third morning, while I was still asleep, when I heard these words softly spoken in my mind: “He hides within the rock of three dimensions and cannot be found in this world.” I woke myself up and wrote them down. The rest was like taking dictation. I had no idea who or what the poem was about, so I titled it Indonesian Mystery Poem.
When I shared it with an older Indonesian gentleman on our team, he recognized the mythic Queen of the Southern Seas in the poem and told me about her. So did two expats, after I taught them to meditate. In a book on Indonesia I later bought for my son, I discovered the story about Nyi Roro Kidul and the annual celebration taking place at that time.
The leaders of our group—a Canadian and a Dutchman—had been invited by our sponsors to West Java for the holiday weekend. In the Samudra Beach Hotel where they were staying was a room with a shrine dedicated to the mythic queen featuring a portrait of her painted by a well-known Indonesian artist.
When I read the poem to the Dutchman, he shared a few unusual experiences that had happened to him while they were there—before and after meditating in that hotel room, later when swimming in the ocean, and before they left. It’s all in the post of the poem, with various paintings of the queen.
Indonesian Mystery Poem Honoring Nyi Roro Kidul Queen of the Southern Seas He hides within the rock of three dimensions and cannot be found in this world When night comes she rises like a moon to shine her light upon the mountain The sea dances rising and falling like a lover in her arms What pull does she have on his life as she looks for a partner to dance with The moon bows before the rising sun and he is left breathless
All these confirmations made me feel grateful, as if I had been chosen as a conduit, but for what purpose I did not know. Maybe, as Brendan Graham said, “through which something I don’t fully understand is given voice and is heard.”
The Indonesian poem was mentioned in an interview I did with TM Home. They included the first two poems and how they were written in their profile: PR to poetry – how things sometimes happen to Ken Chawkin.
Postscript
Talk about being a conduit in a poetic way, B. Nina Holzer’s final entry in her journal shows us how she is an innocent instrument for writing.
EVENING One day I walked on the mountain and the flute song went through me. That’s all. I became the reed and the wind went through and I wrote it down in my journal.
I recommend her book—A Walk Between Heaven and Earth: A Personal Journal on Writing and the Creative Process—to anyone interested in wanting to express themselves in writing. I found it very inspirational.
In a post following this one, newly appointed U.S. Poet Laureate Ada Limón describes what Ranier Maria Rilke reveals can happen if you give yourself fully over to a Thing, how it can respond if your attention is completely devoted to it.
An earlier post discusses negative capability, reverse seeing, beauty & the desire for transcendence & unity in life & poetry.
Added Nov 2, 2022: What the Living Do—Marie Howe’s ‘letter’ to her brother—an elegy to loss and how she lives with it.
Two thoughtful poems by Rhoda Orme-Johnson: When We Are Insubstantial & When You Are Young
February 11, 2022
What happens to us when we reach the latter part of our life and reflect on it from a different perspective? I came across two thoughtful poems written by Rhoda Orme-Johnson published in Conestoga Zen, an anthology edited by Rustin Larson. These poems resonated deeply with me and I was given permission to share them with you: When We Are Insubstantial & When You Are Young.
When We Are Insubstantial When we are insubstantial Between this life and the next, I may regret the times we lay together And I did not reach for your arm, Warm and solid beneath the flannel, And draw you to my breast. I may regret getting up To do whatever I thought I had to do, And not lay there, Drawing in the night air and the scent Of Carolina Jasmine. I may regret that I hurried Though my days And did not linger on the porch, Soaking up the sunshine And the birdsong And the aroma Of sun-warmed pines. It is easy to forget, In the pressure of daily life, That our precious time On this green planet Is limited, That our contract here Is fixed. We came together To grow, to give, To pay some old debts, To leave the world a better place Before we go. It is easy to forget We came here to live.
When You Are Young When you are young, Everyone you know Is alive When you are older, Many you really know And care for Have died. When you are young, Everyone you know Is alive and present, In and out of the house, On the phone, In your thoughts, In your heart. The first death comes hard. The lifeless corpse Under the makeup. Life breath gone, Spirit hastily fled, As from a burning building, Leaving nothing behind. Except an eternal presence In your thoughts, In your heart, In your dreams. After his sudden death My father met me in a dream. He sat on a park bench and I loved him. He didn't speak. I tried to tell him something important, But I couldn't remember What it was. I want to call my mother And tell her my news, Share the worries and the joys, But there's no phone That can connect with her now. In albums the photographs Of dear friends look out, Full of life and ambition, Unaware their time will soon be Cut short. Faces of grandchildren Growing up far away Tease and stir the heart. When you are young, Everyone you know Is alive and present. When you are older, Everyone you know Is present Somewhere.
Rhoda read both poems concluding a presentation she gave at MIU a while ago. I remember having been there. It was a wonderful evening. She also read Sweet Mystery, mentioned below.
Anna: An Immigrant Story
Rhoda recently published Anna: An Immigrant Story. It’s a book about her grandmother, who immigrated to America a century ago with her five children. The story unfolds during one day of her life in 1951. Readers are introduced to family members coming and going through the house in Cleveland, Ohio, and accompany Anna’s memories back to the Old World, to the “shtetl” or Jewish settlement where Anna grew up. Find out more in this article: Fairfield woman publishes book on her immigrant ancestors.
The Flow of Consciousness in Literature
In a September 9, 2020 interview with Mario Orsatti on TM Talks, Dr. Rhoda Orme-Johnson explains how the study and experience of poetry and literature create transcending and a deeper appreciation of consciousness, language, and the world around us. She reads several poems, one of which is When You Are Young, at 42:02. The 50:41 talk is available at Enjoy TM News: The Flow of Consciousness in Literature.
Sweet Mystery
Earlier on in their discussion, at 19:58, Rhoda tells Mario a story of how her mother had showed up at Maharishi’s Swiss HQ to see her daughter and grandchildren. Everyone was busy working on projects. At David’s suggestion, Rhoda organized a luncheon for her mother with friends.
In answer to a question about love and marriage, her mother shared a childhood story with everyone. Recalling it later on, Rhoda had turned it into a poem, which she reads at 20:36. It’s about that experience her mother had had as a young girl in Ukraine. She had accompanied an older girl, who, as it turned out, was secretly meeting up with a boyfriend. She saw them embrace from a distance. That encounter and a young girl’s reaction to it, blended with descriptions of the nature around them, form the concluding chapter to Rhoda’s immigrant story about her grandmother. It’s a beautiful narrative poem about love titled, Sweet Mystery.
For writer May Sarton, solitude was necessary to create and bring forth the richness within herself
January 9, 2022
May Sarton (Belgian-American, 1912-1995) was a highly respected American poet, novelist, and memoirist. Her literature encompasses themes of aging, solitude, family and romantic relationships. Self-identified as a lesbian and regarded as a feminist, she preferred that her work found a place in a broad humanitarian connection rather than within the identities she embodied.
Her memoir, Journal of a Solitude (1973) was her most popular work, and “Now I Become Myself” (Collected Poems 1930 – 1993) is one of her most beloved poems. She was also the author of numerous novels.
Literary Ladies Guide compiled a selection of Introspective quotes by May Sarton, a most thoughtful writer. They also published a review of Journal of a Solitude. The Famous People website published 64 Inspiring Quotes By May Sarton That Will Give You Lessons For Life—her reflections on life, authenticity, solitude, contentment, nature, strength, survival, education, school, life, loneliness, optimism, experience and relationships.
I remember reading these wise quotes from Journal of a Solitude:
Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is richness of self.
Without darkness, nothing comes to birth, As without light, nothing flowers.
That last quote reminds me of Donald Hall’s description of a good writer, included in an earlier post: Writers on Writing—What Writing Means To Writers.
A good writer uses words to discover, and to bring that discovery to other people. He rewrites so that his prose is a pleasure that carries knowledge with it. That pleasure-carrying knowledge comes from self-understanding, and creates understanding in the minds of other people.
I must have time alone
The implication from these quotes is that we need a time and place to be alone to create in the dark of the unknown, shut off from distractions that divide the mind, to experience the richness of our inner world, and blossom with the light of our newly discovered self-knowledge. We write to know—to discover and understand.
Yet, like every true artist it is always a challenge to balance the personal with the social, our own needs with those of another in a relationship. In her Journal of Solitude May Sarton wrote:
This is so true. And if we don’t express our need for solitude in a healthy manner, resentment builds up, and we find ourselves passively-aggressively taking our frustration out on those closest to us, causing pain for both parties involved. We blame others for our inability to properly balance our priorities. We lash out or fall into inertia and suffer.
However, when free to fully engage in the creative process, writing can become an ecstatic experience. This quote stood out for me, showing May Sarton’s passion for writing and how significant it was for her.
AZ Quotes: May Sarton Quotes About Writing
a way of life
I’ll leave you with this final quote from May Sarton that reminds me of the bus-driving poet in Jim Jarmusch’s wonderful little film, Paterson: “poetry is first of all a way of life and only secondarily a way of writing.”
Leonard Cohen said a similar thing: “Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.”
We write to better understand our experiences, and in the process metabolize them into poems. Poetry, then, is the epiphenomenon, the ash from that creative fire burning within. See this related inspiring post: What is Poetry, where does it come from, and how does it enter into us?
a final note
And finally, enjoy this post: Burghild Nina Holzer inspires us to write and discover who we are and what we have to say, with links to more entires on writing. There is a beautiful excerpt on the back cover of her book, A Walk Between Heaven and Earth: A Personal Journal on Writing and the Creative Process, edited down from the original, which I also include.
Talking to paper is talking to the divine. Paper is infinitely patient. Each time you scratch on it, you trace part of yourself, and thus part of the world, and thus part of the grammar of the universe. It is a huge language, but each of us tracks his or her particular understanding of it.
The Uncarved Blog 