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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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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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“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….”…
