stockpiling

i opted out of a trip to the beach today, my lover will miss me, but i'll go sometime. there is a carnegie hall level pianist playing at our library today, and, well, i have to go hear him. i get to spend the day alone now, and that is always a plus in my book. what can i say, i'm becoming a hermit.

i read bly's book on rilke yesterday. what a marvelous book that is.

the thing that strikes me about encountering these poets is how much, how uncannily much i have in common with them. i wouldn't try to find similiarities that aren't there. but i'm struck by them when they are.

bly writes of rilke, he sacrificed for his art.

i'm hoping i never get as carried away as he did, missing his daughter's wedding to write poetry, but there have been times. like today. am i opting out of life for art? am i making sacrifices for inspiration. never before would i have said this, but never before have i lived in such an artistically lavish place. inspiration abounds, and being around such a high calibur of artisans, one must, simply must not miss out. if at all possible.

rilke's focus on seeing is not something i have consciously done, but it is something i have done. looking so intently at things until they become seen. not as objects but as themselves.

sometimes i wonder if i see my husband as clearly as i see bees and butterflies.

when the wisteria was blooming in abundance out on our trellis, bees would hover, and i'd be just a screen's width away from them. there was one, one day that hovered and regarded me, several times. he'd fly away and then return. his round black and yellow striped body, his loud buzzzzz announcing his return. he was simply gorgeous. perhaps he was trying to devise a means to sting me, but he couldn't. perhaps he thought me the most beautiful and rare flower (these are the things i tell myself, ask my girl).

these conversations with the creatures of the world, the greenhouse of creativity in which i dwell is quite fascinating. and i have to bless my husband for encouraging it.

yesterday we went for a walk and i took my journal. my girl crashed her bike, she didn't get hurt fortunately, save wounds to the tender ego. but we got to the park and my beloved listened as i read poems i had just written.

that is the good thing about taking my journal everywhere, i've always got poetry in hand. i have a few gems tucked in there from my favorite poets as well, but i read those to savour the words and images.

i can't help but think publication of my work will be infinately easier when i'm six feet under. then i won't object to them cramming me in a box. or doing whatever little marketing scheme will work. i'll be too dead to care. so i keep stockpiling poetry, which i'm not sharing as i once used to. very few get to read my stuff now. but if you hear me live, you can hear what i'm currently working on. i tend to read recent stuff at readings.

which reminds me, next thursday, in ramsey, nj, i'll be hosting an open mic at borders. i've not made a big hullabaloo about it. it will likely be an intimate gathering by design. the smaller the better in some cases. i want the poets who come, and the listeners who come, to really be able to interact. to get to know each other and become familiar with the work of the poets reading. that doesn't happen at big anonymous venues. but, that won't stop me from going to the dodge poetry festiveal just the same. four glorious days of poetry. my beloved has said i can't take my girl,

i don't want her around "that"

he says.

i guess he doesn't realize, she's around "that" every day.