It just runs and rolls and takes the days away. Years lost inside fragments of fractured mirrors or broken bottle glass strewn across the lawn, bits so small and clustered they look like the tee-box of hole nine.
You know the one. Hard as hell to hit from because of the stampede of cottonwood trees swaying to steal your shot. But don’t they just sound like the rush of the ocean tide meeting the shore when you close your eyes and breathe in. Forget for a minute you’re in landlocked Iowa.
I wouldn’t know, though. I hate golf. A fact you can’t help but remind me of with the regularity of a waxing crescent moon. Reliable as those little reminders dropped randomly in conversations about visits from the children and grandchildren who supplanted me and mine when we climbed up and out of the Big Lake and ran away.
But now. Now I’m suddenly tiptoeing back across that broken glass to see you. Not so death defying but still an act of acrobatics for which I polished my best shoes. Cats in the craddle with a silver spoon. And yet.. yours is a life I can’t afford to lose.
First draft Friday again and that’s a rough drive down the fairway. Rules be damned.. this one stays (for now).
Late yesterday as my eyes became blurry with sleep I was waist deep in an interview with Elizabeth Bishop. Another poet I’m learning about for the sake of a lecture nobody’s going to give two shits about but me. Here’s the Universe’s honest truth. I’ve never liked her poetry. I keep trying, but still don’t. That’s ok though. I needn’t like it to talk about it.
Her work has been called meticulous. Characterized as a blend of the impersonal (accurate descriptions of things) and personal (inspired by actual events from her life).
I find it dull. But I’m still just a newbie and maybe don’t know enough to appreciate it.
The poetry is one thing but the person is another altogether. I love reading the interviews. You get more of a sense of who the poet really is. Little windows you can peek in and glean the juicy good stuff.
Alas, I was mid-read and sleep was not to be denied. I could not finish the interview. It’s therefore my first order of business today (after this).
When the transcript was first published, it had been edited by her. As she was with her poetry she had meticulously modified some of the text to correct or clarify her statements. She’s no longer alive so they re-released it with the original unedited text. Poets beware… all bets are off once your no longer walking the planet in physical form.
They also have published her unreleased poems after her death. A fact that probably has her soul rolling in unrest from wherever it is. Yeah. That.
Later today I’m making cookies and moving on to Adrienne Rich which will undoubtedly be a larger portion of my lecture. Bishop has micro-shifts in her poetic voice and style in her lifetime but Rich’s underwent a grand transformation. Changes one can really sink their teeth into. A good way to kickoff the weekend.
I think this will be it today. I need to get rolling before the day rolls over me.
Cheers to Friday (and First Drafts),
2 responses to “2020-12-18 Time Doesn’t Give a Reason”
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Thank you!! 😊