NaPoWriMo Day Seven

Because I think we’re all here.

And here’s what I did before work today:

Life in 2017

The constant, low-level adrenaline
pushed out all my thoughts
made your fingers twitch
interrupted any conversation
made your stomach hurt. made my temples throb.
How to soothe this inner shivering mess
in the words of the wise: make art, breathe deep,
string words together into poetry
write tales to bind up the ragged edges
while you’re making and thinking and writing
and looking around at the world at hand
the world as it really is, beautiful
and whole, filled with light and darkness and birds
all thoughts belong to me and you alone.

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NaPoWriMo, Day Six

Guess what? It’s raining!

Impression of rain,
falling? Seen through window, a
cold April morning

The window lit grey,
mocking the white of snowfall
needs a second look

Puddles rippling,
rain silent as a ninja
stiking invisible

the air bears no drops
but viewed against darkest pines
a mere shimmering

how then to know rain?
step out, look up, close your eyes —
nature washes down.

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NaPoWriMo Day Five

This was a stretch and I know, before the editing is done, there will be even more alternate ending couplets than I have already….

Clean out the closet, the drawer-fuls of things
making room, space, to welcome in the new
Throw out the ratty, the tattered and worn
the last decade’s style, the no-longer-fits.
Perhaps these can be re-purposed, perhaps
they can be donated, gifted, elsewhere
but it’s as likely that they must go out,
out in big black bags, or some old boxes
to a donation bin, or a thrift shop
maybe to the annual rummage sale.
The same is true of words, writing poems,
words and fashions come and go, like seasons
I’ll put on my own clothes, comfortably
and use my own words to write a sonnet

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NaPoWriMo Day Four

I did spend part of the day painting. Another part listening to American Gods. Part of it looking at the William Carlos Williams book of poems. Another part bothering the cats. I cleaned debris from the front seat of the car. You know – important stuff. The NaPoWriMo prompt was about color but I was not too wordy myself today. I used a prompt I’d jotted down on March 31.

A box full of paint
and paper and tape
an afternoon spent
making up a landscape
and drinking tea
while it rained
a cold rain, early april
who knows the real
contour of hills?

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From William Carlos Williams

Footnote 151.22 re Sappho (From William Carlos Williams, Selected Poems, Edited by Robert Pinsky)

This is a translation of Sappho’s Fragment 71. When it was published in Poems in Folio (1957), Williams included this note:

I am 73 years old. I’ve gone on living as I could as a doctor and writing poetry on the side. I practiced to get money to live as I please, and what pleases me is to write poetry.

I don’t speak English, but the American idiom. I don’t know how to write anything else, and I refuse to learn. I’m writing and planning something all the time. I have nothing to do——a retired doctor who can’t use his right hand anymore. But my coco (my head, you know) goes on spinning and maybe occasionally I work it pretty hard. It goes on day and night. All my life I’ve never stopped thinking. I think all writing is a disease. You can’t stop it.

I have worked with two or three friends in making the translation for I am no Greek scholar but have been veritably shocked by the official British translations of a marvelous poem by one of the greatest poets of all time. How their ears can have sanctioned the enormities that they produced is more than I can understand. American scholars must have been scared off by the difficulties of the job not to have done better. Their prosy versions were little better——to my taste. It may be that I also have failed but all I can say is that as far as I have been able to do I have been as accurate as the meaning of the words permitted——always with a sense of our own American idiom to instruct me.

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