"... Our love a difficult instrument we are learning to play. Practice, practice..."
Grateful for your post today. Everything you wrote led to unexpected connections and insight for me, beginning with C.D. Wright's poem ending with "the fields on fire," written in the year that there were 9,159 wildfires in California, where C.D. Wright and Forrest Gander were living.
Here in the far northwestern corner of Washington State, summer has become the season when our air can be filled with smoke from distant wildfires, turning the sun red for days. We've not had much smoke this summer, but wildfire season is not over yet. September can be brutal.
C.D. Wright's mention of fires brought one of Octavia Butler's book to my mind:
“People are setting fires to get rid of whomever they dislike from personal enemies to anyone who looks or sounds foreign or racially different. People are setting fires because they’re frustrated, angry, hopeless. They have no power to improve their lives, but they have the power to make others even more miserable. And the only way to prove to yourself that you have power is to use it.”
(Octavia E. Butler, Parable of the Sower)
I hope I live long enough to read all the worthy poetry that is available, as never before, through our public library and interlibrary loans. It's been a joy to be introduced to poets that are new to me and to re-visit poets that I have long appreciated.
The reverse mortgage on my low-end condominium (under 700 square feet) will come due when I die. I'll be 75 years old in October and could live long enough to be without enough money to pay for the basics, but that is not something I spend time worrying about. These last years of my life are a mixture of joy and sorrow at the state of the world, with more joy than sorrow.
Ah, thanks for this Amanda. That quote from Butler, especially. I appreciate the care with which you read and think so much. Hoping for all the joy for you. Thank you always.
It’s been a hard week filled with tasks and hoops to jump through and thoughts on keeping the gears turning in this big machine I (and my spouse) keep going everyday that produces the money, that produces the time to relax, or the time to reflect, or the time to simply be. One thing that I’ve looked forward to all week is this Sunday morning meditation of yours. Fitting that it would reflect on worth and what things have worth in our lives and on what things we attribute worth to, and how confused we can get in life putting emphasis and stress on the wrong things, failing to see what really has worth in our lives. Often, your choice in poem for the week resounds deeply with me and I’m grateful for that.
The last two lines are a bit of a puzzle for me. They look at the same thing implicitly and explicitly, and one line seems to acknowledge a perception , a likeness, while the other acknowledges the immediacy of the moment. A fiery field and a field on fire are striking in their difference. Also, it reminds me of the renewal that comes from a field burning. Sweeping away suddenly all that was, making room for what will come.
I don’t see this poem as a sweeping away, but as an acknowledgment of these things in life that sustain us. I’m still thinking in the ending, so I’ll stop here, but thanks as always for helping to make Sunday morning something to look forward to!
Thank you for this, John! Those last lines are also a puzzle for me as well — and I think I agree with your thoughts. Something about our inconsequential-ness in the face of something as all consuming as fire, and so, as a result — perhaps the poem then turns back to all it has listed as examples of what to cherish. Appreciate you and thankful for your readership!
Excellent piece. What are your thoughts when things invariably don’t matter. Your last sentence suggests an existential struggle - necessity that can be debated, willing things into self truth.
This is sublime:
"... Our love a difficult instrument we are learning to play. Practice, practice..."
Grateful for your post today. Everything you wrote led to unexpected connections and insight for me, beginning with C.D. Wright's poem ending with "the fields on fire," written in the year that there were 9,159 wildfires in California, where C.D. Wright and Forrest Gander were living.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2009_California_wildfires
Here in the far northwestern corner of Washington State, summer has become the season when our air can be filled with smoke from distant wildfires, turning the sun red for days. We've not had much smoke this summer, but wildfire season is not over yet. September can be brutal.
C.D. Wright's mention of fires brought one of Octavia Butler's book to my mind:
“People are setting fires to get rid of whomever they dislike from personal enemies to anyone who looks or sounds foreign or racially different. People are setting fires because they’re frustrated, angry, hopeless. They have no power to improve their lives, but they have the power to make others even more miserable. And the only way to prove to yourself that you have power is to use it.”
(Octavia E. Butler, Parable of the Sower)
I hope I live long enough to read all the worthy poetry that is available, as never before, through our public library and interlibrary loans. It's been a joy to be introduced to poets that are new to me and to re-visit poets that I have long appreciated.
The reverse mortgage on my low-end condominium (under 700 square feet) will come due when I die. I'll be 75 years old in October and could live long enough to be without enough money to pay for the basics, but that is not something I spend time worrying about. These last years of my life are a mixture of joy and sorrow at the state of the world, with more joy than sorrow.
Ah, thanks for this Amanda. That quote from Butler, especially. I appreciate the care with which you read and think so much. Hoping for all the joy for you. Thank you always.
Devin,
It’s been a hard week filled with tasks and hoops to jump through and thoughts on keeping the gears turning in this big machine I (and my spouse) keep going everyday that produces the money, that produces the time to relax, or the time to reflect, or the time to simply be. One thing that I’ve looked forward to all week is this Sunday morning meditation of yours. Fitting that it would reflect on worth and what things have worth in our lives and on what things we attribute worth to, and how confused we can get in life putting emphasis and stress on the wrong things, failing to see what really has worth in our lives. Often, your choice in poem for the week resounds deeply with me and I’m grateful for that.
The last two lines are a bit of a puzzle for me. They look at the same thing implicitly and explicitly, and one line seems to acknowledge a perception , a likeness, while the other acknowledges the immediacy of the moment. A fiery field and a field on fire are striking in their difference. Also, it reminds me of the renewal that comes from a field burning. Sweeping away suddenly all that was, making room for what will come.
I don’t see this poem as a sweeping away, but as an acknowledgment of these things in life that sustain us. I’m still thinking in the ending, so I’ll stop here, but thanks as always for helping to make Sunday morning something to look forward to!
Thank you for this, John! Those last lines are also a puzzle for me as well — and I think I agree with your thoughts. Something about our inconsequential-ness in the face of something as all consuming as fire, and so, as a result — perhaps the poem then turns back to all it has listed as examples of what to cherish. Appreciate you and thankful for your readership!
Beautiful perspective. I'm richer for it. ;)
🌊♥️ (you + me on the rock!!)
this newsletter is a gift 🖤
Excellent piece. What are your thoughts when things invariably don’t matter. Your last sentence suggests an existential struggle - necessity that can be debated, willing things into self truth.
A lovely meditation on a walk on the beach with a loved one and a wonderful poem that meanders deeply into that meaning however transitory. Thank you
Boom! There it is!
Good lord this entire thing _clutches chest_.