[lit-ideas] Re: FRIDAY POEM
- From: JimKandJulieB@xxxxxxx
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Wed, 20 Apr 2005 09:41:19 EDT
I (belatedly, my life's been a mess recently. Wait. When hasn't that been
the case?) love this one. I often, laying next to my husband in the morning,
in the half-consciousness of waking, my brain racing like squirrels on a
wheel about yesterday, tomorrow, today's needs, plans, ideas, dreams I had in
the night, people I have to call, things I want to tell my husband that I
didn't have a chance to last night, say to him, "So what are you thinking?".
And
he says..... "Nothing". "Nothing? You can't think about nothing. You can't
not think." He says....I'm just laying here for a bit. Enjoying laying
here. For some of us it takes real work to achieve a place for a few minutes
where our minds are emptied. As a child I would lay in my bed, trying to
sleep, saying over and over to myself "I'm not thinking of anything, I'm not
thinking of anything" but of course I was thinking about what not thinking of
anything meant or was like. I'm forwarding this poem to my husband who can,
apparently w/out effort, go into that blank-slate place. I'm glad you posted
it, Eric. I'll be looking for more of her poetry.
Julie Krueger
w/ squirrels trapped in her head
========Original Message========
Subj: [lit-ideas] FRIDAY POEM Date: 4/14/05 11:53:26 P.M. Central
Daylight Time From: _eyost1132@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx (mailto:eyost1132@xxxxxxxxxxxxx)
To: _lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx (mailto:lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx) Sent on:
My original intention was to include "Urban Gallery," the opening poem
of Rachel Wetzsteon's collection _The Other Stars_ (Penguin Books,
1994). However it occurred to me that this might cause some copyright
problem, since I have not had the chance to ask her whether it would be
okay to post her poem to this list.
Therefore I'm offering another Rachel Wetzsteon poem, this one taken
from the Academy of American Poets site at:
http://www.poets.org/poems/poems.cfm?prmID=3253
_______
"At the Zen Mountain Monastery"
by Rachel Wetzsteon
A double line of meditators sits
on mats, each one a human triangle.
*Evacuate your mind of clutter now.*
I do my best, squeezing the static and
the agony into a straight flat line,
but soon it soars and dips until my mind's
activity looks (you can take the girl...)
uncannily like the Manhattan skyline.
*Observe your thoughts, then gently let them go.*
I'm watching them all right, unruly dots
I not only can't part from but can't help
transforming into restless bodies -- they're
no sooner being thought than sprouting limbs,
no longer motionless but striding proudly,
beautiful mental jukeboxes that play
their litanies of joy and woe each day
beneath the shadow of enormous buildings.
*Desires are your jailers; set them free*
*and roam the hills, smiling archaically.*
It's not a pretty picture, me amid
high alpine regions in my urban black,
huffing and puffing in the mountain air
and saying to myself, I'm trying but
it's hopeless; though the tortures of the damned
make waking difficult, they are my tortures;
I want them raucous and I want them near,
like howling pets I nonetheless adore
and holler adamant instructions to --
sprint, mad ambition! scavenge, hopeless love
that begs requital! -- on our evening stroll
down Broadway and up West End Avenue.
Copyright© Rachel Wetzsteon.
From the forthcoming collection Sakura Park (Persea, 2006).
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