Drinking Water & Paying Attention

First, some business. If you’re in NYC, I’d like to see you tomorrow at 7 pm at McNally Jackson in Williamsburg. It is going to be so much fun and I think you like fun. Am I wrong? Don’t you like fun? Here’s a link.

I’ve been reading Kim Dower’s new book of poetry, Sunbathing on Tyrone Power’s Grave, which is great to be reading during National Poetry Month, as I’m struggling through the process of writing a poem a day or a poem-ish a day while also balancing the terror and delight of my daily life. All the people I love and get to see and jam around with. The stress of fundraising and blah blah blah. But Dower so often writes about worlds through micro-moments, and I’ve been trying to see the world that way again, to kind of walk my way back from this place of buzzing urgency I feel kind of stuck in. Micro micro micro. The bird playing in the open water pump out the train window, the walk from my bed to the coffee pot, the story told by the dishes in the sink.

Here’s a poem of Kim’s.

Bottled Water

BY KIM DOWER

I go to the corner liquor store 
for a bottle of water, middle 
of a hectic day, must get out 
of the office, stop making decisions, 
quit obsessing does my blue skirt clash 
with my hot pink flats; should I get 
my mother a caregiver or just put her 
in a home, and I pull open the glass 
refrigerator door, am confronted
by brands—Arrowhead, Glitter Geyser, 
Deer Park, spring, summer, winter water, 
and clearly the bosses of bottled water: 
Real Water and Smart Water—how different 
will they taste? If I drink Smart Water
will I raise my IQ but be less authentic? 
If I choose Real Water will I no longer 
deny the truth, but will I attract confused, 
needy people who’ll take advantage
of my realness by dumping their problems 
on me, and will I be too stupid to help them 
sort through their murky dilemmas? 
I take no chances, buy them both,
sparkling smart, purified real, drain both bottles, 
look around to see is anyone watching? 
I’m now brilliantly hydrated.
Both real and smart my insides bubble
with compassion and intelligence
as I walk the streets with a new swagger,
knowing the world is mine.

See what I mean? She takes an ordinary experience and then works it until it gleams. She must just walk around seeing poems. Write a poem about drinking water. Write about the glass, the faucet or pitcher or nozzle it poured from, and keep writing. See what happens.