Alexandersmap

    Category: Poetry

    • Changes, In the Wind

      Want the change. Be inspired by the flame
      where everything shines as it disappears.
      The artist, when sketching, loves nothing so much
      as the curve of the body as it turns away.
      What locks itself in sameness has congealed.
      Is it safer to be gray and numb?
      What turns hard becomes rigid
      and is easily shattered.
      Pour yourself out like a fountain.
      Flow into the knowledge that what you are seeking
      finishes often at the start, and, with ending, begins.
      Every happiness is the child of a separation
      it did not think it could survive. And Daphne, becoming a laurel,
      dares you to become the wind.
      — Rainer Maria Rilke, Sonnets To Orpheus, Part Two, XII

      Changes come to us in our own time, but often we grow comfortable in our own sameness. For meaningful change to happen we must step away from ourselves and become something else—something different, something more. Which way to go? It hardly matters at first, for we must break the comfortable spell we find ourselves in before we might finally see what’s available to us.

      The thing is, change takes many forms. Some people emphatically sail away from it all to see the world, while for other people change takes shape in less obvious ways. The pace of change is different for each of us. But we’re changing nonetheless. Like a sailor waiting for a weather window, we don’t always control the pace of change, but we may yet arrive if we keep working towards our objective. Put another way, we must have agency over our own transformation to live a full and rewarding life, while recognizing we aren’t on this journey alone.

      Yet it remains true that we must be the arsonist to our old self. Change begins with the spark of inspiration, kindled into a flame, that grows into a signal fire. We grow into ourselves one step at a time. As Rilke says so beautifully; “Every happiness is the child of a separation it did not thing it could survive”. We are aware of the changes happening within us and around us—do we shrink into our shell at such moments or embrace it? Life in every moment is a reckoning between who we believe ourselves to be and the person we wish to become.

      Dare to be it.

    • Here Today

      Why do we treat the day
      With so much needless fear and sorrow
      It’s not in its nature to stay:
      Today is always gone tomorrow.
      — Wislawa Szymborska      , Nothing Twice

      The autumn days are now impressionist paintings, one after another, until some day, not very long from now, the show will end. Knowing that one of these days that fall color, like the smell of tomato vines in the hot summer sun, like the dance of daffodils in spring, like that walk in freshly fallen morning snow, one of these days will be the last day we’ll experience it. This isn’t a sad thing—it’s a savoring thing. We must celebrate that which is fleeting in the moment we have with it.

      I think this often while swimming. Living in New England, we think about such things as first and last swims of the season. Which swim in Buzzards Bay will be the last before the air and water temperatures dictate prudence? Which swim in the pool in New Hampshire will be the last dip before the cover inevitably goes on and we call it a season? Which flailing leap into Big Island Pond? Since we rarely know for sure where our lives will take us, we ought to immerse ourselves in the waters of the moment.

      And what of old friends? What do we say to someone today when we never know with certainty that we’ll see them again? We sometimes linger with people at the very end, when we have the gift of knowing it will be our last moment together. We know it’s a gift because life is too often more abrupt than that. So shouldn’t we hold that gaze a beat longer? Hug just a little tighter in our time together? Surely we must savor these moments. For today is always gone tomorrow, friend.

    • To Become Writing

      “Maybe the true purpose of my life is for my body, my sensations and my thoughts to become writing, in other words, something intelligible and universal, causing my existence to merge into the lives and heads of other people.“ — Annie Ernaux

      Annie Ernaux, the Nobel Prize winner in this, her 82nd year on the planet, touches upon something every avid reader and writer feels: we transcend ourselves through words, merging into the lives of others. Sometimes those other lives are sitting across the table from us, where stolen glances search for progress and acceptance. But mostly, written words travel through time and space far better than we humans do, reaching people we’ll never meet, just as we’ll never meet those whose words merge into us. This is where the magic begins.

      To become our writing is a deliberate act of transcendence, drafted one word at a time. It’s a bold act of betraying our previous identity, left on the shelf for others to discover or completely ignore, for as long as there are books and shelves to put them on. As a reader, don’t we delight in this quiet invitation into someone’s soul?

      I write this knowing there’s a stack of books within arms reach just sitting there, marking time, waiting for me to return to them. We’re torn between two lovers, reading and writing, and must make time for each to reach our potential with either. We must live to take these words and make them our own, if only for a little while before we release them to merge with another. For existence is both transactional and transcendent. Words record, and carry on without us through others.

    • The Enchantment in Brevity

      It is the season of migrants
      flying at night feeling the turning earth
      beneath them
      — W. S. Merwin, Echoing Light

      You feel it all happening quickly in October. The relentless, accelerating momentum of autumn. Change is quite literally in the air: Harvests and migrations, foliage and crispy air, all point to the shrinking daylight and collectively announcing that things are different now in this part of the world.

      As it happens, you grasp at bits of it to attempt to lock them into your memories. It’s a lot like the last few conversations you’ll have with a loved one who doesn’t have much time left to live—each little gesture, each sentence uttered, are amplified in meaning. It’s now or never, you think. But it’s always now or never, isn’t it?

      The earth is turning beneath us, moving us away from the sun. There’s something bewitching in the air, disguised in reds and oranges and yellows, and in the determined cacophony of migration above. There is enchantment in this brevity. Our days grow shorter every morning, yet it’s never felt so good to be alive.

    • Mechanics and Magicians

      Let wise men piece the world together with wisdom
      Or poets with holy magic.
      Hey-di-ho.
      — Wallace Stevens, Hieroglyphica       (via Rhys Tranter)

      I’ll admit to this: I need a bit of magic to begin some of my Mondays. Magic that goes beyond the second cuppa, beyond the brace of cold water on the skin, but something that acts upon me as caffeine works to clear early morning fog or cold water shocks the extremities to action. Poetry or great prose will do in such circumstances.

      Seeing the first two lines of the Stevens poem on a social media feed, I received the desired jolt, but if we learn anything from social media, it’s to confirm the source before repeating (if only the world took such care!). These particular lines seem evasive, quoted either with or without the Hey-di-ho bit, but largely found as the simple nugget of bright insight you see above. What to do with it? Hold for another day or perpetuate the magic in the quote? I choose to perpetuate. Blame it on Monday, if you will.

      Most of us are skeptical of magic. When confronted with it we search for an answer. But should we wonder how the magician pulls off their sleight of hand or simply wonder in the act? No doubt, progress lies in wisdom, and it’s a very fine thing. There’s a time for knowing the mechanics happening just behind the curtain. For process is progress, quite necessary for us to make productive use of our lifetime of Mondays. The car isn’t going to fix itself, you know.

      But, conceding that, isn’t there also a time for leaving magic just so now and then, that we may sprinkle it over moments otherwise mundane?

    • When There Is Impulse and Time

      What gentle echoes,
      half heard sounds
      there are around here.
      .
      You place yourself in
      such relation you hear
      everything that’s said.

      Take it or leave it.
      Return it to a particular
      condition.

      Think
      slowly. See
      the things around you,

      taking place.
      .
      I began wanting a sense
      of melody, e.g., following
      the tune, became somehow
      an image, then several,
      and I was watching those things
      becoming in front of me.
      .
      The you imagine locates
      the response. Like turning
      a tv dial. The message,
      as one says, is information,
      a form of energy. The wisdom
      of the ages is “electrical” impulse.
      .
      Lap of water
      to the hand, lifting
      up, slaps
      the side of the dock –

      Darkening air, heavy
      feeling in the air.

      A Plan
      On some summer day
      when we are far away
      and there is impulse and time,
      we will talk about this.
      — Robert Creeley, Massachusetts

      Why do we wait for someday, when today will do? We dream of places far away, when we have far less on our to-do lists, when we might finally slow down enough to catch up with each other. When we might catch up with ourselves. Life moves quickly—too quickly for such things as pondering and poetry. So they say.

      The beauty of poetry is in how the reader interprets a jumble of words just so, transforming them into something powerful or mundane, emotive or passionless, joyful or melancholy. Robert Creeley set these words free and, like life itself, we make of his poetry what we will.

      Maybe, it serves as a reminder to think slowly. To see the things around us taking place. To use this time more impulsively. To be present for those who are here, now.

    • This New Glimpse

      Starting here, what do you want to remember?
      How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
      What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
      sound from outside fills the air?

      Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
      than the breathing respect that you carry
      wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
      for time to show you some better thoughts?

      When you turn around, starting here, lift this
      new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
      all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
      reading or hearing this, keep it for life –

      What can anyone give you greater than now,
      starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?
      — William Stafford, You, Reading This, Be Ready

      Isn’t the magic in a poem is in its discovery? It’s the chance encounter with a voice from beyond our moment, and the quiet conversation that ensues. Like life itself, we find our stride in this world one encounter, and one lesson, at a time.

      Maybe heightened awareness of living is the thing. Poetry offers a new recipe for living. It’s meeting each day as they roll past, relentlessly, until we beach this life and move on to infinity. It’s living each day with curiosity and a yearning to understand. It’s not accepting the beliefs we’ve layered together like a lasagna of closed-mindedness and moving beyond that recipe to find a new way of savoring this life.

      Maybe the questions are the thing. Poetry brings forward questions we never thought of before. How do we make the most of our days, and of our encounters? Through work and contribution? Through raising children to be better humans than we are? Are we here to serve as ambassadors to the world? Or simply to find a bit of dark sky to borrow for an evening to reacquaint ourselves with distant cousins? For aren’t we derived from stardust too?

      Maybe finally seeing is the thing. Poetry brings us to places previously unseen. This glimpse of new ways of living is a gift, should we accept it. In opening our eyes and living a fuller life than we previously did we transcend who we once were in favor of the potential for a larger life. For what can anyone give us that is greater than now?

    • In Favor of Wonder

      “Sadly it is not only the force of gravity we get used to as we grow up. The world itself becomes a habit in no time at all. It seems as if in the process of growing up we lose the ability to wonder about the world. And in doing so, we lose something central—something philosophers try to restore. For somewhere inside ourselves, something tells us that life is a huge mystery. This is something we once experienced, long before we learned to think the thought.” — Jostein Gaarder, Sophie’s World: A Novel About the History of Philosophy

      Gaarder’s premise is sound: We come into the world full of wonder, but as we grow up being alive becomes a habit. We reach a point where we think we’ve seen it all before and grow comfortable with the general act of our daily existence. Each day remains a miracle, but the vast majority of people take it for granted. What a pity.

      I’ve been working to break this habit in myself for years through deep immersion in philosophy, poetry, history, travel and the deliberate process of savoring the moment. Sometimes I get it right, sometimes I slip into the routine of the day-to-day. But every day I try to begin with reflection on this miracle of being alive. The blog forces me to stay in this lane, if only for a short while, before work and responsibilities draw my attention elsewhere. But I always strive to return to wonder.

      What if instead of returning to wonder we found a way to stay on the dance floor with it? Not in some stupor or drug-induced high, but through deliberate focus on each moment. Turning the habit of living day-to-day on its head and instead embracing heightened awareness and the quiet delight available to us in each encounter along the way. Isn’t that taking the act of living to a higher level?

      We all want more wonder and delight in our lives, for it’s the frosting on our cake—our exclamation point on our moments. The thing is, to break the old habit of merely living, we’ve got to favor wonder and make it a regular part of us. Like any habit, it becomes a part of our identity through consistency. That’s putting the wonder in a full life.

    • Riding the Shining Sea Bikeway

      Rail trails offer a great opportunity to walk, skate or ride without dealing with the resentful glare of automobile drivers who believe they own the road while controlling your life in their distracted hands. The Shining Sea Bikeway ups the ante with beautiful views and a diverse landscape. The trick on this trail is to avoid being too distracted yourself as the views stack up one upon the other.

      The trail lives up to its name, with views of Buzzard Bay across both of the Sippewissett Marshes (Little and Great—but aren’t they both great?) and of Vineyard Sound and Martha’s Vineyard as it hugs the beach. Shining Sea runs from North Falmouth to Woods Hole, offering plenty of options to linger for time on the beach, stroll through woodland trails, or a visit to the many shops and restaurants of Main Street in Falmouth and Woods Hole.

      As a sucker for salt water, it was easy to fall in love with the beachside section of the trail. Here you’re treated to those expansive views, the latest trends in beach fashion, and a monument to the trail’s namesake, Katharine Lee Bates, author of “America the Beautiful”, which ends with the famous line, “from sea to shining sea”. Very few Americans can recite every verse of America, the Beautiful, but everyone knows that last line.

      The magic on this trail is in riding through a tunnel of woodland canopy, salt march grass, past that beach sand and finally to the trail’s terminus at the Woods Hole Ferry. For a cyclist with dreams of never getting in a car for a vacation on the Cape and islands, the Shining Sea Rail Trail makes a strong statement of what’s possible. For this cyclist, it was an opportunity to give the feet a break while getting some exercise with a view.

      From the North Falmouth terminus, it’s a 21 mile (33 km) round trip. That’s very manageable on a good bicycle. The human body connects with a bicycle in five places, each essential to a great experience. Perhaps none more than the seat. My bicycle seat was apparently designed to maximize suffering, but no matter, a sore saddle wasn’t going to ruin one of the prettiest rail trails in the northeast United States. The seat is replaceable, the memories will last far longer.

      There may be no better time to experience the Shining Sea Bikeway than autumn. September is a great time to get the warmth with the crowds, and October should be spectacular for fall colors in that canopy. It’s a trail worth considering if you’re interested in experiencing Cape Cod without the hassle of driving in traffic.

    • Doing, With Purpose

      “There is nothing quite so useless, as doing with great efficiency, something that should not be done at all.” — Peter Drucker

      “You seem to spend a lot of time worrying if you will survive, and you will probably survive…. It’s the wrong question! The question is how to be useful.” — Peter Drucker to a young Jim Collins (via Nextbigideaclub.com)

      In September, Massachusetts’ Buzzards Bay is chock full of bait fish—millions of tiny fish trying to make a go of it in this world, as countless birds and bigger fish attempt to turn that bait fish’s purpose in life to be their breakfast. It’s a fish-eat-fish world on display, and offers lessons for those who witness it. Mostly, it’s a reminder to avoid being a bait fish. For us land-based creatures, the best way to avoid that is to live with purpose.

      We all dabble in those questions of purpose, the “Why are we here? questions. But isn’t that too big a place to start? Purpose is an impossibly big scope to answer with such a broad question. We ought to break it down into bite-sized questions that determine our unique value: “What do I do well? “How can I translate that into serving those who need this value the most?” and “What do I need to learn to become even more valuable for those I wish to serve?” are good starting places for building purpose into our lives.

      It’s fair to ask ourselves why we’re doing something. It’s appropriate to wonder where our work is leading us. And we ought to do something with the answers when we arrive at them, for our opportunity to do useful things resides in a very brief window of time. Feeling the urgency of the moment and doing something with it begins with knowing what both that something and that it really are for us.

      When we leave our lives to chance, we sometimes stumble upon a meaningful life. But more often than not, we end up getting chewed up in the feeding frenzy of life. Purpose brings us higher up the food chain, where we might rise above mere existence to a more valuable destination.

      Which leads back to that question of questions, posed so well by Mary Oliver in her poem The Summer Day:

      Tell me, what is it you plan to do
      with your one wild and precious life?
      —Mary Oliver