Random Prose and Poetry - Rainy Day Edition

What I Did to Time
By Kate Light

What I did to time was ball it up, and
throw it out, when I was unhappy,
years ago; chucked it, sprained my hand
wadding it tight, waiting for an end,
the end of a long season, haul
too long to tolerate, questions
I couldn't answer, changes I couldn't make, tall
orders hovering. Couldn't take suggestions
(stubborn pride); couldn't find solutions
(ignorance, fear); but I could hold my breath
and squeeze away a year—nuisance
years fell into faints and met their death.
Now I'd give anything to have that plethora, that stack;
to feel its truth and call its slow pace back.

Since the debacle of my attempts at poetry for National Poetry Writing Month, I haven’t posted a poem in a while. Poetry does not come easy to me – there are times when I can not write it or understand it. These tend to be times when I feel most out of sync with the rest of the world, when I am feeling disconnected and down, when I feel overwhelmed and beaten. It is hard to appreciate the beauty and rhythm of words when you aren’t that thrilled with the actual concepts conveyed . . .

Secret Poem
— after Seferis
By Scott Cairns

Yes. I have seen the end, and yes
I was disturbed by what I saw.
That I yet glimpse occasional
and frankly stirring satisfactions
in the way the paper draws the ink
may prove one mode of consolation.

That I continue to appreciate
a morning walk, an evening's
intercourse should also speak
encouragement, no? The end
appalls. Quite so. Though I wouldn't say
the end appalls more fully

than the interim. The present
situation—electoral
absurdity, real TV, unprovoked
slaughter thoroughly explained—such
assaults attain a state insisting
that the end arrive, and quickly.

The past is ever with us, but most
have pared it to a less demanding
heft, utilitarian. For me, the past
has become lately my own
articulation of that scene
I saw, just now, as very like the end.

But I do love poetry, when I can love poetry. Sometimes it is the only way to say close to what a feeling is, and said so much better than I could ever say . . .

As the Fall wears on, I feel like I need some assurances that everything is going to turn out OK. I mean, Mr. Random is doing wonderfully in grad school, my ESL class is going well so far, we still have jobs that still sort of pay us – but there is a tinge of uneasiness about everything on my part. I don’t know whether the state of the world gets me down or what. I think that I really need some major time off. I need something fun to look forward to. I need a little creativity, a little whimsy going on in my life right now. We are kind of in a rut at the moment . . .

A Strange Disorder
By Diane Ackerman

A strange disorder rules the house
where lately slender method scared
papers into files neat as hedgerows
and caution laid its dropcloth everywhere.
Now books lie slaughtered on the rug,
the telephone rings, old letters dune
among bills and maps and coffee spoons
in a room spontaneous as a compost heap
where you work the oracle of my thoughts
and haunt the prison of my sleep.

I don’t think I’m majorly depressed or anything – I’m just kind of in limbo, waiting for something to happen, wondering if I should be making something happen, but not knowing what that something is.

My birthday is next week, but I will be out of town at a conference. In some ways, hanging out in a hotel room at night reading does sound attractive, but I do wish that I was going to be home for it. The day I return is the day before the Marine Corps Marathon and Mr. Random will need to rest beforehand, so there won’t really be an opportunity to go out when I get back. I could plan something for later, but by then it will have passed and there will be other things that require more attention – the daily schedule fills up, the nights are spoken for with school and homework and work.

Birthdays are an odd lot, aren’t they? Some people like to pretend they don’t exist, some people dread their coming, others love to celebrate the day that they are born. I’m in the last category – I think that celebrating the accomplishment of another year is a wonderful thing. I could be bummed about turning 36, but I’m not. I am kind of happy with the way I am, the way I turned out. There are some things I wish I’d done in the past, but there is still plenty of time – I’m not 100, there are more years to go . . .

I just have to remember not to compare myself to other people . . . HA! HA! That’s a lot easier said than done, isn’t it? Especially around here . . .

I am looking forward to the weekend a great deal, it’s just the weeks that are getting harder to get through . . .

Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day. You’re bumming me out, man!