When the sun shines into our sitting room in the evening it lights up the glass Agapanthus that we bought on The Scillies years ago and sometimes, as now, the shadow has colour in it.
There are Marguerites in flower in a neighbours’ garden. This is the centre of one. Aren’t the colours lovely?
I subscribe to Knopf Poetry throughout April, a month of poetry. This one by Bob Hicok came in a day or two ago and is brilliant! We are all HUMAN! As my lovely SIL says – we both get the poems -” I love the subtle message of “We’re all PEOPLE, people!” ”
We’ve come a long way toward getting nowhere
My obsession with Jews is an obsession with one Jew. I look at her walking and wonder what anyone could have against Jews, at her sleeping or hunting for her keys in the morning, which she does often, lose her keys when she has to go to work, suggesting she doesn’t want to, and maybe this is the problem with Jews: they don’t want to leave. Or they eat lots of chicken. Or worry the black of their skirts doesn’t match the black of their tops. Or like children more than babies. Or fret over their mothers. My Jewish problem is figuring out why America in 2016 has a dab of 1930s German Fascism to it— people at political rallies yelling crap about the Jews. If I thought it would do any good, I’d go to Topeka or wherever and bring Eve with her troubled wardrobe and her love of chicken and fascination with children between two and thirteen, when they can talk but before they’ve begun planning the murder of their parents, bring her face-to-face with the screamers and ask, So these are the freckles you hate? I would—we have a lot of Amex points and I’ve never been to Topeka or wherever, and I’m sure wherever is very nice. And whenever we travel to wherever, whatever people say and however they say it, Eve’s freckles will be the same, kind of cute and kind of Jewish, just like all her other parts that do and do not have freckles, in an inventory I alone get to take, though trust me— after repeated inspection, I can attest that underneath it all, she, like many of the people you know or are, is ticklish, wrinkly, sexy, scarred— since Jews really are relentless when it comes to being human.
Sally I thought of you this morning when I read this: http://www.dailygood.org/story/1577/this-is-a-poem-that-heals-fish-maria-popova/
A Poem that Heals Fish by Mary Popova
A poem
is when you have the sky in your mouth.
It is hot like fresh bread,
when you eat it,
a little is always left over.
A poem
is when you hear
the heartbeat of a stone,
when words beat their wings.
It is a song sung in a cage.
A poem
is words turned upside down
and suddenly!
the world is new.
babyjill7...Marilyn Griffin
April 17, 2017 at 7:37 am
beautiful shadows…
saymber
April 12, 2017 at 1:51 pm
Sally I thought of you this morning when I read this: http://www.dailygood.org/story/1577/this-is-a-poem-that-heals-fish-maria-popova/
A Poem that Heals Fish by Mary Popova
A poem
is when you have the sky in your mouth.
It is hot like fresh bread,
when you eat it,
a little is always left over.
A poem
is when you hear
the heartbeat of a stone,
when words beat their wings.
It is a song sung in a cage.
A poem
is words turned upside down
and suddenly!
the world is new.
arlene
April 12, 2017 at 9:10 am
Yay, I love this.
Hils Bryant
April 11, 2017 at 9:52 pm
How very beautiful. A lovely piece of writing. My Mum has a Scillies glass agapanthus too!
mybeautfulthings
April 12, 2017 at 3:57 am
Lovely to hear from you. I thought the poem rather special too. Aren’t the glass Agapanthus gorgeous?