Poetry
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A random still life, an everyday love poem
Then all the moments of the past began to line up behind that moment.” — Billy Collins Billy Collins sees art in the ordinary acts of daily life. In “This Much I Do Remember,” Collins recalls a tender moment that most couples can relate to: the leisurely hour at the dinner table after a good meal has been shared. The woman he’s addressing in this poem is his wife of many years. I fight tears every time I read this piece. It deftly underscores the familiar comfort of a long marriage, reminding me of my own. As Collins wisely points out, the simple, everyday moments we share are the foundation of…
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Something beautiful every day
“We should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of our lives, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Photo by Cindy La Ferle (“Finney’s Violin”)
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Words to the wise, from the woods
Late October always tugs on my sleeve and insists that I slow down to take stock of the passing year. Despite the worries of the week, Mother Nature reminds me that life is all about cycles. Some seasons flow more easily than others, but I have reasons to be grateful for every one I’m given. Last week, on a walk through the woods, I looked across the ravine that dips down toward the river in St. Joe, and remembered this poem by Billy Collins: Directions The best time is late afternoon when the sun strobes through the columns of trees as you are hiking up, and when you find an agreeable…
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Remembering Margo LaGattuta
My eyes like old glass windows, dusted with lost days, are ready to hold the new light.” — Margo LaGattuta, from “Pretending to Be a Barn” I found the e-mail from another writer-friend early this morning. It wasn’t unexpected, though I’d learned only two days ago that Margo LaGattuta was suddenly terminally ill. “Margo died peacefully tonight, surrounded by her sons and sisters and friends….It was quite beautiful and I just know she’s writing a poem about it….” It’s never easy to lose a mentor or a friend, and the best we can hope for is one last chance to say thank you. Which is why I am grateful to…
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“Forgetfulness”
I love how a poem, an essay, or a novel can shimmer with new meaning when you reread it years later — when the defining moments of your own life realign with the story. It’s a bit like running into an old friend who looks better as he ages. I first read Billy Collins’ “Forgetfulness” in Questions About Angels more than 10 years ago. This week, while thumbing through Collins’ anthology, Sailing Alone Around the Room, the poem found me again. And this time my heart jumped as I read the line, “one by one, the memories you used to harbor decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain….”…
