The greatest gift of my ezine is getting notes like this one, from Gary Whited, inspiring me, and reminding me of the community in which we live. We may all be scattered around the nation and the Globe (like Candace Atwood recently back to Montana from her visit to New Zealand) or close at home (like Mike Ward who LOL when he read his name in the latest ezine...). Where ever we are, though, we are sending out energy of love, consciousness, kindness. Knowing you are all other --and all those I don't know yet (but look forward to meeting) -- remind me of all the wonderful reasons to be here - with you.
Here's Gary's note and poem:
Hi Deirdre,
I was just reading your piece on "Having Some Kind of Practice," and it reminded me of something I heard the poet, Mary Oliver, say once at a reading. When asked after reading some of her poems whether it was important to her as a poet to write every day, she paused for what seemed like a long time, then said, "What I find important is to make appointments with your unconscious and keep them." That has stayed with me. As a poet, it was particularly powerful for me. I thought you might like that little story.
As for my poems, there is one that comes to mind just now. It was published a couple years ago in a magazine called Bellowing Ark. I'll attach it here.
Nice to receive your thoughts and your words.
Warmest regards,
Gary
I was just reading your piece on "Having Some Kind of Practice," and it reminded me of something I heard the poet, Mary Oliver, say once at a reading. When asked after reading some of her poems whether it was important to her as a poet to write every day, she paused for what seemed like a long time, then said, "What I find important is to make appointments with your unconscious and keep them." That has stayed with me. As a poet, it was particularly powerful for me. I thought you might like that little story.
As for my poems, there is one that comes to mind just now. It was published a couple years ago in a magazine called Bellowing Ark. I'll attach it here.
Nice to receive your thoughts and your words.
Warmest regards,
Gary
(photo from teresabanter.wordpress.org
My Blue Shirt
hangs in the closet
of this small room, collar open,
sleeves empty, tail wrinkled.
Nothing fills the shirt but air
and my faint scent. It waits,
all seven buttons undone,
button holes slack,
the soft fabric with its square white pattern,
all of it waiting for a body.
It would take any body, though it knows,
in its shirt way of knowing, only mine,
has my shape in its wrinkles,
my bend in the elbows.
Outside this room birds hunt for food,
young leaves drink in morning sunlight,
people pass on their way to breakfast.
Yet here, in this closet,
the blue shirt needs nothing,
expects nothing, knows only its shirt knowledge,
that I am now learning––
how to be private and patient,
how to be unbuttoned,
how to carry the scent of what has worn me,
and to know myself by the wrinkles.
Gary Whited
hangs in the closet
of this small room, collar open,
sleeves empty, tail wrinkled.
Nothing fills the shirt but air
and my faint scent. It waits,
all seven buttons undone,
button holes slack,
the soft fabric with its square white pattern,
all of it waiting for a body.
It would take any body, though it knows,
in its shirt way of knowing, only mine,
has my shape in its wrinkles,
my bend in the elbows.
Outside this room birds hunt for food,
young leaves drink in morning sunlight,
people pass on their way to breakfast.
Yet here, in this closet,
the blue shirt needs nothing,
expects nothing, knows only its shirt knowledge,
that I am now learning––
how to be private and patient,
how to be unbuttoned,
how to carry the scent of what has worn me,
and to know myself by the wrinkles.
Gary Whited
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