Sitting with Sali on a cold winter Sunday afternoon at Parkview Care Center, looking out the window of her room at the powdered snow being blown off the white roofs in swirls. At one point, with the sun shining through in front of us, you could almost see a rainbow; only it was a snowbow! Made that up. We laughed. I had been in a rough mood, but what I saw, and the spontaneous playful art of composing a haiku, transformed me. The second and third lines came out first, and the first line last. I changed wind blows to winds blow to rhyme with snow. The rhythms, rhymes and meanings of the words sort of sound like what we saw. They’re powerful. Say them aloud a few times and see what happens. Sali seemed to like it. I love it! it’s fun! Here’s the poem.
WINTER HAIKU
The winter winds blow
Swirling whirling dervishes
Of powdery snow
New York poet laureate Marie Howe speaks with Krista Tippett about her poetry on the NPR show, On Being. Closing the interview, The Poetry of Ordinary Time, recorded In The Room, April 2013, Howe reads a poem in the voice of Mary, mother of Jesus, describing the Annunciation, which, her friend and mentor, Stanley Kunitz, said no one had ever gotten right. She wrote several versions, tore them up, and then this final one came through her.
Marie Howe said it had nothing to do with her. It just came through her, a reminder that the best poetry comes through us when we get out of the way. When we are emptied of our small self, “by being no one,” transcend our senses and turn within and are open to the higher Self, then that great creative force of Love within us creates, and the miracle of life, of poetry, happens. You can hear “Annunciation” by Marie Howe on SoundCloud.
Thought this screen save from the video is most appropriate with the poster of Mother Mary holding the infant Jesus!
Marie Howe reads her poem “Annunciation” to Krista Tippett for On Being
Annunciation
Even if I don’t see it again—nor ever feel it I know it is—and that if once it hailed me it ever does—
And so it is myself I want to turn in that direction not as towards a place, but it was a tilting within myself,
as one turns a mirror to flash the light to where it isn’t—I was blinded like that—and swam in what shone at me
only able to endure it by being no one and so specifically myself I thought I’d die from being loved like that.
This amazingly beautiful and profound poem can be found at 1:36:02 at the end of the interview, but she starts talking about it at 1:34:45. There are six audio clips of Howe reading her poems posted on SoundCloudrecorded on March 16, 2003, at the College of Saint Benedict in Saint Joseph Minnesota.
Enjoy reading: The Millions Interviews Marie Howe—Words Can Sustain and Save Us, published January 11, 2018, where Marie describes what the writing and reading of poetry has done for her, and what it can do for the rest of us. This Q&A particularly reinforces the point Marie Howe made to Krista Tippett when writing “Annunciation.”
TM: Do you think of writing as a spiritual act at its core?
MH: 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.
William Stafford in his poem, Rx Creative Writing: Identity, also writes about being open to “that bone light,” which “belongs inside of things.” And “You know so sure there burns a central vividness.” He reiterates this idea of being a recipient, a receptacle, and an attendant, a reporter: “It tells you; all you do is tell about it.”
In her poem, Mindful, Mary Oliver delights in the world around her, which leaves her “like a needle in the haystack of light. It was what I was born for — to look, to listen, to lose myself inside this soft world — to instruct myself over and over in joy, and acclamation.”
Oliver codifies this message in 3 short, powerful sentences in the 4th stanza of Sometimes, where she gives us “Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”
Later added this article/interview by Kim Rosen for Spirituality&Health, Feb 16, 2014: Marie Howe: Holding the Silence. The acclaimed poet reflects on prayer, desperation, and letting go of what can’t be said. (PDF)
This past Thursday, September 19, 2013, turned out to be an early Full Moon night. For some reason I ended up visiting Sali 3 times that day, twice to drop off things. The first time I stayed with her as she and the other residents were going to be entertained by a country music band. Their gentle songs from the fifties brought back memories when I first heard them as a child. It was very relaxing and healing for us as we listened together. When I returned later that night to read to her, she was already in bed. I leaned in and looked closely into her eyes. We both started laughing out loud, with great joy in our hearts. While sharing this experience with a friend at lunch today, the day of the autumnal equinox, I spoke of experiencing an orgasm of the heart. She repeated that line, and said it was something special. I noticed it also had seven syllables and wrote it down. Later, when we all went out for a walk together, the rest of the haiku easily assembled itself. I shared it with her; it sounded powerful. She said it gave her goosebumps, from head to toe and back.
Haiku of the Heart for Sali
♥ ♥ ♥
Such joy between us
An orgasm of the heart
Looking in your eyes
Ansel Adams sits up
reaches for his camera—
his arm bony as a tripod leg
for it is “Magic Light”
the golden light of sunrise
and sunset.
But then he lays back down
and focusing instead
through the lens of his soul
in the black box of his skull
he sees… all the light
that ever filled Yosemite
or blazed the crosses at Hernandez
and with his brittle jaw
with its few teeth remaining
there in the dark room of a coffin
he smiles.
“Magic Light” by Bill Graeser won the Iowa Poetry Association’s 2012 Norman Thomas Memorial Award. Bill posted it August 28, 2012.
Congratulations, Bill, you deserve this memorial award for a memorial poem of the great Ansel Adams. I’m sure he’d approve, and be pleased! Visit https://www.anseladams.com for more amazing photos.
I found this detailed interview with Marc Silber and Michael Adams: An Inside Look at Ansel Adams’ Photography In Yosemite, posted April 10, 2013. I also found this earlier fascinating video posted by Silber Studios on May 7, 2011 on How Ansel Adams Photographed His Iconic “Moonrise Hernandez”. Marc is given a tour of the house and darkroom by Ansel’s son, Michael Adams. He was seven years old and with his father when he took the iconic picture of the moonrise over Hernandez and described how he created it. The music was composed by Andrew Buffett, the American musician, composer, author and philanthropist. Peter is an Emmy Award winner, New York Times best-selling author and co-chair of the NoVo Foundation. He is the youngest son of billionaire investor Warren Buffett. Here is an earlier video posted by Marc Silber about advice on how to visualize your photos, from a rare interview with Ansel Adams: Photography Visualization Advice by Ansel Adams. Photo visualization was so important to Ansel Adams that he made it the first chapter of his book on photography.
A lost Lab running inside her own black shadow,
sideswiped by a car going north on the pike,
then struck by a driver heading south.
I’m an accidental witness on this no-moon night,
busy with my own troubles, like anyone else.
I don’t want to hear the dog’s pinched howl
or her fitful whimpering after she drops
like fallen cargo in the middle of the road.
I want to turn away, but a pressing thought
pulls me over—Don’t be afraid of the suffering.
So I give up, sit down in the street, stopping traffic.
Wrap myself around the furry clock of the dog’s life
as if to stop the stream pouring out of her head.
Not dead, but dying, I tell the onlookers.
I say, Touch her. I say, Don’t be afraid.
A few hands join mine as we follow the rise
and fall of the animal body, the warm belly growing
cooler with each exhalation. Pain appears to be lifting.
Now, under the village lamplight, a stunning
pink foam, almost iridescent, spilling
from dog lungs to dog mouth. Spilling a still life
of wet roses on the dark pavement: blood petals
on our hands, wrists, boots and ankles.
In a slow (call it reverential) movement, Bailey
(her collar says Bailey) arches her spine in an asana
of surrender. Musically sighs. Now dies.
On April 16, 2018, Susan Glassmeyer published Invisible Fish, a collection of new and previously published selected poems. In March 2019, I purchased a signed copy directly from Susan. So glad I did.
Visit the new website of this Ohio Poet of the Year 2018.
Susan Glassmeyer is the co-director of the Holistic Health Center of Cincinnati and has a private practice as a somatic therapist, specializing in the Feldenkrais Method®. She recently won a grant through Xavier University (Cincinnati) to complete work on a chapbook titled “Body Matters.” She promotes local writing classes, workshops, and activities through her website www.LittlePocketPoetry.Org.
On April 16, 2018, Susan Glassmeyer published Invisible Fish, a collection of new and previously published selected poems. In March 2019, I purchased a signed copy directly from Susan. So glad I did.
Visit the new website of this Ohio Poet of the Year 2018.
I thought of David Lynch and his book, Catching the Big Fish, when I read a particular poem by Pablo Neruda in The Sea and the Bells. Both deal with the search for illumination; finding and clarifying a creative idea.
In this video David answers a question about his creative process, describing where ideas come from and how they coalesce into a finished product: David Lynch: ‘Ideas Are Like Fish.’ He says ideas are like fish and the deeper you go the more powerful, abstract and beautiful they are. Your desire for an idea is like a bait on a hook. When you catch one, others get attracted to it. Lynch sometimes gets a part of an idea and others come along. He writes them down. He advises that you have to stay true to the initial idea as it begins to form, even in ways you may not have anticipated, until it all comes together and you get it right. He describes how a script for a film can come about in this way.
The last line-stanza in Neruda’s poem uses the same idea, described here as sitting on the rim of a well of darkness fishing for fallen light.
Talk about transcending and patiently waiting to catch the big fish, an idea that will illuminate the mind and inform a work of art!
Here is that poem by Pablo Neruda in The Sea and the Bells (pp. 82/83):
Si cada día dentro de cada noche, hay un pozo donde la claridad está encerrada.
Hay que sentarse a la orilla del pozo de la sombra y pescar luz caída con paciencia.
If each day falls
inside each night,
there exists a well
where clarity is imprisoned.
We need to sit on the rim
of the well of darkness
and fish for fallen light
with patience.
Here is my tanka inspired by David Lynch and Pablo Neruda:
Fishing For Fallen Light
Catching the big fish
will illuminate the mind
and inform the work
Look within to find the light
ideas are swimming there
David Lynch says meditation has allowed him to remove stress and access deeper more beautiful ideas he falls in love with and translates into film, painting, sculpture or music. In this talk filmmaker David Lynch describes his experience of the creative process in the light of his practice of Transcendental Meditation at the Majestic Theater in Boston. He says, “It’s a great thing for the filmmaker.”
The Uncarved Blog 