My wandering and wondering through your wandering and wondering through poems every Sunday is such a life deepening and heart expanding experience. Thank you for sharing your gift of seeing the deep, swirling currents of life through poems.
“Because poetry has taught me … that it is okay to be obsessive. Maybe more than okay. That obsession is part of being aware and alive.” I love your obsessions, Devin. Because they’re large, spacious—the largest possible preoccupations of the heart. And when obsessions grow that spacious, maybe we call them by another word. Maybe we call them wonder.
I'm happy about your choice of one of Hirschfield's poems to celebrate another year. It's funny, I don't see her poetry as sentimental, but then, I am just another poetry lover and sometimes poetry writer, not a critic. What impresses me is the precision of her wording--deceptively simply, like thoughtfully placed stones, such care in every one, not one there without great deliberation and intention. There's an intelligence, gentle humor, and skillful noticing, and those qualities you have written about here that I appreciate more as I spend time with her poems and listen to her interviews.
For a few seconds I puzzled over that word because all I could see was unt and "aloned." Jane Hirschfield is one of my favorite poets. I had not read that poem before.
Thank you for your weekly essays which have renewed my passion for reading poetry over the past year.
Appreciate your thoughts, which I share, about the unwanted suggestions that the Substack platform offers to writers.
"...And maybe that is one thing, among many, that I have learned in these years of writing these little essays. Because I feel the pressure of the opposite. Believe me, I do. And by the opposite, I mean: I have felt, over these years, the pressure that pushes against the unanswerable, the wonderful, and even the ordinary."
Did not realize that you had been writing these essays for four years, beginning during the early days of the pandemic. I'm grateful to a blog friend in Germany who may have learned about you from The Guardian and linked to your Substack on her blog.
She linked the following quote to you in the context of the death of her father in spring of 2023 :
It is strange how, when people die, they exist in a part of my mind where they would have loved this or where they are smiling or where they are one with something or someone or the very earth itself.
-- Devin Gael Kelly
It is a joy knowing that I can go into your archives now and slowly read the three years of essays that I missed.
Sometimes it takes me a week to catch up on my subscriptions, but I always adore the illuminating loveliness yours offers. This one hit hard. I'm in my mid 20s and am more often than not overthinking what the hell I want to do with my life; what I enjoy and what I have only been pretending to enjoy; what I think makes for a "good life" and how on earth to embody it.
I first found your substack after reading "All That Wanting, Right" somewhere online, and I can honestly say it now lives in a frequently visited place in my mind. "The poem is here," I whisper to myself as I tremble with uncertainty at the crossroads of life paths. "The poem is here," I nod in reverence as rain pours down around me on an afternoon walk.
I mostly just want to tell you that my mind chatters ceaselessly with reasons I am not spending my time right, and ways I can be different, and better. Your writing helps remind me of the real stuff. The awe filled center beneath all that sticky icky ego stuff. This letter in particular evoked within me a feeling of such deep comfort in the knowing that we don't have to be certain of the things we love. We can just love them! And observe them! And make little notes on the internet about them that other people may read, or not! And how sweet is the act of moving without feeling the need to be moving towards something. "That forever-acceptance of fragility, that being-okay-ness of it all."
So many words to say: Thank you so much for sharing your wonderful musings, they have changed my life <3
My wandering and wondering through your wandering and wondering through poems every Sunday is such a life deepening and heart expanding experience. Thank you for sharing your gift of seeing the deep, swirling currents of life through poems.
thanks always, Jeff! appreciate you deeply
“Because poetry has taught me … that it is okay to be obsessive. Maybe more than okay. That obsession is part of being aware and alive.” I love your obsessions, Devin. Because they’re large, spacious—the largest possible preoccupations of the heart. And when obsessions grow that spacious, maybe we call them by another word. Maybe we call them wonder.
I love that. Thank you, Priscilla.
Your "obsessions" are changing the world in untold ways. Thank you for sticking with us for four years!
thank you, Leanne! and thank you for reading!
Your essays always make me glad the world has all this in it!
thank you!
I'm happy about your choice of one of Hirschfield's poems to celebrate another year. It's funny, I don't see her poetry as sentimental, but then, I am just another poetry lover and sometimes poetry writer, not a critic. What impresses me is the precision of her wording--deceptively simply, like thoughtfully placed stones, such care in every one, not one there without great deliberation and intention. There's an intelligence, gentle humor, and skillful noticing, and those qualities you have written about here that I appreciate more as I spend time with her poems and listen to her interviews.
yes! thoughtfully placed stones. I love that.
this was beautiful
Thank you, Jimmy -- miss you! Have to see you soon.
Thank you, Devin, for your generosity, thoughtfulness, vulnerability and for fostering hope in humanity
thank you, Martin -- appreciate you
"... untaloned ..."
For a few seconds I puzzled over that word because all I could see was unt and "aloned." Jane Hirschfield is one of my favorite poets. I had not read that poem before.
Thank you for your weekly essays which have renewed my passion for reading poetry over the past year.
Appreciate your thoughts, which I share, about the unwanted suggestions that the Substack platform offers to writers.
"...And maybe that is one thing, among many, that I have learned in these years of writing these little essays. Because I feel the pressure of the opposite. Believe me, I do. And by the opposite, I mean: I have felt, over these years, the pressure that pushes against the unanswerable, the wonderful, and even the ordinary."
Did not realize that you had been writing these essays for four years, beginning during the early days of the pandemic. I'm grateful to a blog friend in Germany who may have learned about you from The Guardian and linked to your Substack on her blog.
She linked the following quote to you in the context of the death of her father in spring of 2023 :
It is strange how, when people die, they exist in a part of my mind where they would have loved this or where they are smiling or where they are one with something or someone or the very earth itself.
-- Devin Gael Kelly
It is a joy knowing that I can go into your archives now and slowly read the three years of essays that I missed.
Ah, this is wonderful, Amanda. Thank you for sharing all of this and for reading. Grateful to you and your friend.
Sometimes it takes me a week to catch up on my subscriptions, but I always adore the illuminating loveliness yours offers. This one hit hard. I'm in my mid 20s and am more often than not overthinking what the hell I want to do with my life; what I enjoy and what I have only been pretending to enjoy; what I think makes for a "good life" and how on earth to embody it.
I first found your substack after reading "All That Wanting, Right" somewhere online, and I can honestly say it now lives in a frequently visited place in my mind. "The poem is here," I whisper to myself as I tremble with uncertainty at the crossroads of life paths. "The poem is here," I nod in reverence as rain pours down around me on an afternoon walk.
I mostly just want to tell you that my mind chatters ceaselessly with reasons I am not spending my time right, and ways I can be different, and better. Your writing helps remind me of the real stuff. The awe filled center beneath all that sticky icky ego stuff. This letter in particular evoked within me a feeling of such deep comfort in the knowing that we don't have to be certain of the things we love. We can just love them! And observe them! And make little notes on the internet about them that other people may read, or not! And how sweet is the act of moving without feeling the need to be moving towards something. "That forever-acceptance of fragility, that being-okay-ness of it all."
So many words to say: Thank you so much for sharing your wonderful musings, they have changed my life <3