2018 has been here a week
I’m working on this manuscript and treading water on my regular responsibilities. It’s up and down with the manuscript—sometimes I love it, sometimes I want to pitch it all out the damn window and learn plumbing. This morning I was thinking about taking three big pieces of paper and making lists:
- Balls I have in the air
- Balls I’m dribbling
- Balls I’m letting roll away
but I just want to read this poem by Maggie Smith again and again, and this, which makes me feel like anything is possible with some kindness.
Rain, New Year’s Eve
by Maggie SmithThe rain is a broken piano,
playing the same note over and over.My five-year-old said that.
Already she knows loving the worldmeans loving the wobbles
you can’t shim, the creaks you can’toil silent—the jerry-rigged parts,
MacGyvered with twine and chewing gum.Let me love the cold rain’s plinking.
Let me love the world the way I lovemy young son, not only when
he cups my face in his sticky hands,but when, roughhousing,
he accidentally splits my lip.Let me love the world like a mother.
Let me be tender when it lets me down.Let me listen to the rain’s one note
and hear a beginner’s song.
Let me love the world like a mother./Let me be tender when it lets me down.
I work on this. Daily. Have been for years. 2018 won’t be any different.
2 Responses
Balls
not all Balls become something
Blooms
have you seen the Japanese sakura tree
in spring
she shelters slumbering spring buds
every bud is
beautiful
bare or Blooms
it is the way of Mother Earth
I love the poem. I can totally dig reading it over and over and over. Isn’t it amazing how inexhaustible the wisdom and courage of writing is? The Maggie Smith poem reminded me of one I’m sure you know; Sleep and Poetry by Keats. If you have a chance, check out the movie “Bright Star” on Netflix. It documents the love affair between Keats and Fanny Brawne. It is really well done. So, how much ended up on each list? You still banging on that one key, enjoying that one sound? The beginner’s song?
Sleep and Poetry
What is more gentle than a wind in summer?
What is more soothing than the pretty hummer
That stays one moment in an open flower,
And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower?
What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing
In a green island, far from all men’s knowing?
More healthful than the leafiness of dales?
More secret than a nest of nightingales?
More serene than Cordelia’s countenance?
More full of visions than a high romance?
What, but thee Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes!
Low murmurer of tender lullabies!
Light hoverer around our happy pillows!
Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows!
Silent entangler of a beauty’s tresses!
Most happy listener! when the morning blesses
Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyes
That glance so brightly at the new sun-rise.