Love and Death. Li-Young Lee says there are no other subjects in poetry – everything else is just dross. I’ll go and pick an iris – I must!
There are so many stories afoot. When you’re out on a farm everyone has a story to tell. Apparently the population of deer is so high in Rochester that they eat all the flowers in the city. You can light the water on fire in the creek near Alice’s place – because of the natural gas. I also heard the story about the chaplain who was two hours late for a wedding. (That’s a new one.)
Last night’s dinner was East Indian food and watermelon for dessert. Yoga is in ten minutes.
I’m tired. I don’t want to go to yoga. It’s 5:10 a.m. and I’m on the wraparound veranda. You can see Lake Canadaigua from here. There’s a hundred-year-old oak tree on my right – just gorgeous. Birds are chirping in surround sound.
I stayed up late – I am worried about reading a poem tonight at the soiree. I haven’t written a poem yet that I’d like to share.
I’m thinking about one of the poets in our workshop – her poem was really working. It was a list poem that began, “The one who….”
Alice’s car is just rolling in. Bobo, her black Lab, just said a very welcome hello to me.I realize that the poem I was trying to revise isn’t going to work: “When no one’s looking I’d like to…” is the refrain. I can’t change it into a poem I’d like to share because it’s about things I don’t want anyone to know about!
I’m sitting under the maple tree I want to climb. I tried to, but it wasn’t possible to get up on the first branch. I scraped my wrist, which felt wonderful. I haven’t scraped myself “playing” in a long, long time. Did I mention that I saw a deer on the road? They move so quickly you can’t really take it in, but it’s still wonderful. I also saw some brown hares.
This weekend has seemed so incredibly long, because it has been so incredibly rich.
I could look for gifts at the East Hill Gallery – that would be nice. But I can’t afford it. I’ll bring back my poems – maybe that’s enough.
Almost time for poetry. I think I’ll just lie down under this tree for a moment.
|Photo by Arthur Radin|