Minor Miracle
Well my goal for today was to write a poem, a good poem, to freewrite, to plant a little seed.
It's 9:34am and I'm giving up. :-P
I had some free time at work this morning, so I closed my office door and started musing. I read a little bit of my poetry handbook, looking for direction. Nah, nothing. So I picked up my contemporary poetry anthology... hmmm...
I was reading through completely uninspiring poetry written by incredibly talented poets who've made it big... and I just wasn't feeling it. Nope... nope... nope...
Came across Marilyn Nelson's name. Ah, one even me, uneducated bumpkin, is familiar with. Not exactly my kind of thing, but I decided to give her work another read through, maybe I'll pick up a good image or something.
I was reading a poem, Minor Miracle, and for some reason I was drawn into it. But why did I keep reading? Because the images, the writing, it was just flowing by - her words were pleasure.
And at the end, wait... what is this? the poem ends with:
"Well," said the white guy,
shoving his hands into his pockets
and pushing dirt around with the pointed toe of his boot,
"i just wanted to say I'm sorry."
He climbed back into his truck
and drove away.
Totally unexpected. Uplifting, made me smile, and look at the amazing details she notes. Nelson doesn't have to tell us that the guy feels bad, I can see it, the way he pushes the dirt with his boot... hands shoved in pockets. I can totally see this guy.
So anyway, it was a nice poem. I enjoyed reading it. But I've been thinking, why? Why did her poem stand out to me when the others did not?
I think first of all it was in the narration. The poem reads like a story, and the lines flow into each other. There's also a lot of action going on, and I could picture everything in my mind. Her images were simple, nothing stuffy or heady. It was just there - on the page - open for the reader to see. The poem was inviting.
And then of course the ending.
So today - I am going to be on the lookout for minor miracles in my life. I bet they happen all around me. I bet I just have to see.
My minor miracle will be writing as well as Nelson does when I'm 50 years old. I have some time to get there though, so I don't feel too bad that my poems mildly suck. But... I just don't want to have to WAIT until I'm 50. I hate waiting. lalalala
It's 9:34am and I'm giving up. :-P
I had some free time at work this morning, so I closed my office door and started musing. I read a little bit of my poetry handbook, looking for direction. Nah, nothing. So I picked up my contemporary poetry anthology... hmmm...
I was reading through completely uninspiring poetry written by incredibly talented poets who've made it big... and I just wasn't feeling it. Nope... nope... nope...
Came across Marilyn Nelson's name. Ah, one even me, uneducated bumpkin, is familiar with. Not exactly my kind of thing, but I decided to give her work another read through, maybe I'll pick up a good image or something.
I was reading a poem, Minor Miracle, and for some reason I was drawn into it. But why did I keep reading? Because the images, the writing, it was just flowing by - her words were pleasure.
And at the end, wait... what is this? the poem ends with:
"Well," said the white guy,
shoving his hands into his pockets
and pushing dirt around with the pointed toe of his boot,
"i just wanted to say I'm sorry."
He climbed back into his truck
and drove away.
Totally unexpected. Uplifting, made me smile, and look at the amazing details she notes. Nelson doesn't have to tell us that the guy feels bad, I can see it, the way he pushes the dirt with his boot... hands shoved in pockets. I can totally see this guy.
So anyway, it was a nice poem. I enjoyed reading it. But I've been thinking, why? Why did her poem stand out to me when the others did not?
I think first of all it was in the narration. The poem reads like a story, and the lines flow into each other. There's also a lot of action going on, and I could picture everything in my mind. Her images were simple, nothing stuffy or heady. It was just there - on the page - open for the reader to see. The poem was inviting.
And then of course the ending.
So today - I am going to be on the lookout for minor miracles in my life. I bet they happen all around me. I bet I just have to see.
My minor miracle will be writing as well as Nelson does when I'm 50 years old. I have some time to get there though, so I don't feel too bad that my poems mildly suck. But... I just don't want to have to WAIT until I'm 50. I hate waiting. lalalala
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