I see birds

Well, I did.

Poetry and a garden

From The Harmony Silk Factory:

"Is the purpose of a flower bed not similar to that of a poem? Within their artificial boundaries, both contain a tiny world of beauty, a joyous compression of life."

Sound and sense

In the last post, I talked about Richard Hugo's The Triggering Town and getting off the triggering subject. While I was rereading that section of the book, I came across the following:

"The poet's relation to the triggering subject should never be as strong as (must be weaker than) his relation to his words. The words should not serve the subject. The subject should serve the words."

I think Mr. Hugo is continuing to talk about the triggering subject, not that next surprising place the poem takes you. And, because he goes on to say, "This may mean violating the facts," I think he really means that the words should not serve the facts. If the house is yellow, you can make it blue.

But it made me think about that relationship between subject and words—subject as essence, not necessarily narrative. I don't think that one serves the other, or the other way around. Rather, I think of them as two Argentine tango dancers, wound into one another, seeming to trade the lead in a conversation, a fluid give and take, a partnership.

The poem is a dance.

First one thing, and then another

I was listening to Kathleen Flenniken read at Benaroya Hall the other night, and I was struck by the way she moves from one subject to the next—how her poem grows from one subject into something new and yet not unfamiliar, not out of the blue. You can hear and feel the connection and the transition.

It made me think of Richard Hugo's advice in The Triggering Town. He talks about the triggering subject and suggests starting with it and then getting off it as soon as possible (before you run out of things to say, as he points out).

The trick, for me, is getting off that first subject and opening myself up to what can become next, what needs to become next.

That movement, that seemingly easy and yet powerful transition, was again brought to my attention in today's poem on the Poetry Daily website. Highly recommended.

What can you say?

Gilbert's favorite toy

is Winnie the Pooh's head.

(This head came from one of my daughter's socks. No bears, real or stuffed, were harmed.)

Weathering

Oh, clear blue so beautiful
this winter morning.
All through the moon's invisible crossing
we watched for snow,
a little change in the wind,
a decrease by degrees,
but dawn revealed a sky of colors
rose turning to robin egg,
the only white a thin gauze
high in the atmosphere.
And when the clouds steal in,
thicken, and warm the sky,
the ground stays the ground.

Mail call!

The mail came early today, and here is most of what I found:

One packet of poems marked as undeliverable, return to sender.
(In my doofiness, I sent it to an old address. Try, try again.)

One rejection letter
(With a date of November 26, 2007!)

On a brighter note:

A thank-you card from my Mom.
(Very pink!)

One postcard poem!

All balancing out.

And regarding this ongoing rejection theme, I think I'm going to remember a move from my dance teacher, who likes to say, "You're still a fabulous person."

I may be 48, and I may want to lose 10 pounds, and my poems may get rejected, but I'm still a fabulous person. And so are you.

Plus, I have a cat on my lap.

In other news, I found out today that Galway Kinell and I share the same birthday: today, although we are a few years apart.