Poems and such
Oct. 26th, 2003 09:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ambitious_wenchI just got back from taking Boo-boy for a longish walk. In my town is a small stream, the name of which escapes me, and I have to wonder if it even has a name that anyone remembers.
I suppose that Rt 44 was built along it in the long ago when horses needed water periodically. And I'm sure that the stream has been moved forcibly to accommodate the effluvium outlets of the various textile mills that now sit hollow-eyed and desolate on the far side.
Old tires, refrigerators, even a rather nice dog house (with vinyl siding, and asphalt shingles, and a clean plywood floor) have been left there.
Oddly, there are serviceable walkways over the stream, and from the rail I cal look downstream and see the trees clustered over the water, like fingers reaching for the movement.
It's easy to forget the decayed buildings, the trash, the filth. I watch a single muted yellow leaf as it sways in the breeze downward to the water's swirling surface.
We just got back, Boo and I. He is a good companion, pulling me along, nose to the earth, making me move with his curiosity. He keeps me moving.
Otherwise, I'd be tempted to simply lay down and rust back into the ground.
From today's "The Writer's Almanac"
Poem: "Advice to Young Writers," by Ron Padgett
One of the things I've repeated to writing
students is that they should write when they don't
feel like writing, just sit down and start,
and when it doesn't go very well, to press on then,
to get to that one thing you'd otherwise
never find. What I forgot to mention was
that this is just a writing technique, that
you could also be out mowing the lawn, where,
if you bring your mind to it, you'll also eventually
come to something unexpected ("The robin he
hunts and pecks"), or watching the "Farm News"
on which a large man is referring to the "Greater
Massachussetts area." It's alright, students, not
to write. Do whatever you want. As long as you find
that unexpected something, or even if you don't.
Damn good advice, Ron.
And in that light, here's something that I think Dylan will appreciate. It's been percolating in my brain for a few days now, even before I read "Arachne".
"Requiem for a spider web"
I've watched over the last few weeks
the large and lovely spiders
a pair of them
build perfect webs on my porch
suspended above the firewood.
I've seen sunlight glinting off them
and watched the fat-bodied builders sit off center,
waiting for dinner.
But in the night,
it can't be seen
and so when I lean
to gather wood
from the rack
I feel its silken brush
against my face
and think
"Oh no, I've ruined it!"
And in the morning
look to see
it perfect once again.
©E. Howe Oct 26 2003
I suppose that Rt 44 was built along it in the long ago when horses needed water periodically. And I'm sure that the stream has been moved forcibly to accommodate the effluvium outlets of the various textile mills that now sit hollow-eyed and desolate on the far side.
Old tires, refrigerators, even a rather nice dog house (with vinyl siding, and asphalt shingles, and a clean plywood floor) have been left there.
Oddly, there are serviceable walkways over the stream, and from the rail I cal look downstream and see the trees clustered over the water, like fingers reaching for the movement.
It's easy to forget the decayed buildings, the trash, the filth. I watch a single muted yellow leaf as it sways in the breeze downward to the water's swirling surface.
We just got back, Boo and I. He is a good companion, pulling me along, nose to the earth, making me move with his curiosity. He keeps me moving.
Otherwise, I'd be tempted to simply lay down and rust back into the ground.
From today's "The Writer's Almanac"
Poem: "Advice to Young Writers," by Ron Padgett
One of the things I've repeated to writing
students is that they should write when they don't
feel like writing, just sit down and start,
and when it doesn't go very well, to press on then,
to get to that one thing you'd otherwise
never find. What I forgot to mention was
that this is just a writing technique, that
you could also be out mowing the lawn, where,
if you bring your mind to it, you'll also eventually
come to something unexpected ("The robin he
hunts and pecks"), or watching the "Farm News"
on which a large man is referring to the "Greater
Massachussetts area." It's alright, students, not
to write. Do whatever you want. As long as you find
that unexpected something, or even if you don't.
Damn good advice, Ron.
And in that light, here's something that I think Dylan will appreciate. It's been percolating in my brain for a few days now, even before I read "Arachne".
"Requiem for a spider web"
I've watched over the last few weeks
the large and lovely spiders
a pair of them
build perfect webs on my porch
suspended above the firewood.
I've seen sunlight glinting off them
and watched the fat-bodied builders sit off center,
waiting for dinner.
But in the night,
it can't be seen
and so when I lean
to gather wood
from the rack
I feel its silken brush
against my face
and think
"Oh no, I've ruined it!"
And in the morning
look to see
it perfect once again.
©E. Howe Oct 26 2003