Yesterday was a very frustrating day, and really, I should have written a poem about it, but ultimately, I couldn't find the time, and I was so exhausted once the boys fell asleep, I just went to sleep too.
I did have a rather poetic moment though. My students had just finished reading Phillip Simmons' "Learning to Fall" (the essay not the collection, not available online, or I'd link to it). In it, Simmons explores different ways to learn from failure or tragedy, or at the very least, how to appreciate moments in spite of them.
He recounts an old tale about a man who is running from tigers, and in his haste falls off a cliff. As he falls, he grabs hold of a root. He's hanging there, the hungry tigers waiting above, and to his dismay, more tigers now wait below. Tigers each way. That is when the man decides to look around him, more presently, and sees a strawberry. He tries it, and it is the best strawberry he has ever tasted.
This tale usually sticks with my students, and I thought of it as I was stuck in traffic yesterday. I had left work a little early, beat traffic, and made it to my destination where very necessary errands awaited me -- only to realize I forgot my wallet. I had to not only drive all the way back to work and make contact with security (because I couldn't get to the room with my wallet without my id which was in my wallet) but left just in time to hit the massive influx of traffic on the only road leading away from campus. To the left, traffic backed up due to the light. To the right, traffic backed up due to the stop sign further down. I went right, taking the easier turn, but traffic was worse than normal.
Before even making it to the stop sign (where a car was broken down), I no longer had time to run my errands. I was getting rather worked up about the whole thing, when for some reason, I thought of my students and I thought of Simmons and I thought of tigers. Tigers, traffic. Whatever. I also thought of my National Poetry Month Challenge, and whether I could be more productive with this time.
So, I took a deep breath, and I looked out my window. There is a rather impressive twisting of trees there. I love trees and their branches and all their bends. The leaves haven't really come in yet, so it was nothing but twists and turns. I was going to take a picture, but traffic finally started to move. It stopped again, and I looked to the other side to see these luscious leaves growing out of mud puddles. I really wanted to know what they were, but traffic was moving again.
Though I didn't get a poem out of this moment, it reminded me of why I do this challenge. It reminds me to be more present, more aware, more appreciative of the world around me and the small moments that make it special.
Having said all of that though, it is worth nothing that poetry isn't just cherry blossoms caught in the wind and whispers of love.
When the Baltimore Slam Team Slammageddon was asked why they don't write more happy poems, they responded with a poem. This poem begins "Fuck Robert Frost." It goes on to explain that poetry should explore your deepest feelings and concerns and tackle what needs to be said. Both the poem and the sentiment were excellent and I wish there was a printed version (or recorded version) I could share. This is from the same group who performed a poem about a complaint that rape poems were cliche, stating that if you're tierd of people writing rape poems, then stop people from being raped.
Now, this doesn't mean that they don't write poems with a positive lilt. It just means, they aren't willing to sacrifice the tragedy around that moment to get there. Often, the bad is what makes the good that much better, that much more worth recognition.
Tigers and strawberries.
An excellent example of this is their poem "Miracles." Apologies for the sound quality, but this poem really embodies the good and the bad and what I'm getting at:
I maintain two things. Poetry, like life, can be about anything, and like life, is a mix of the bitter, the turmoil, the sweet, and the serene.
I wouldn't take it any other way.
I did have a rather poetic moment though. My students had just finished reading Phillip Simmons' "Learning to Fall" (the essay not the collection, not available online, or I'd link to it). In it, Simmons explores different ways to learn from failure or tragedy, or at the very least, how to appreciate moments in spite of them.
He recounts an old tale about a man who is running from tigers, and in his haste falls off a cliff. As he falls, he grabs hold of a root. He's hanging there, the hungry tigers waiting above, and to his dismay, more tigers now wait below. Tigers each way. That is when the man decides to look around him, more presently, and sees a strawberry. He tries it, and it is the best strawberry he has ever tasted.
This tale usually sticks with my students, and I thought of it as I was stuck in traffic yesterday. I had left work a little early, beat traffic, and made it to my destination where very necessary errands awaited me -- only to realize I forgot my wallet. I had to not only drive all the way back to work and make contact with security (because I couldn't get to the room with my wallet without my id which was in my wallet) but left just in time to hit the massive influx of traffic on the only road leading away from campus. To the left, traffic backed up due to the light. To the right, traffic backed up due to the stop sign further down. I went right, taking the easier turn, but traffic was worse than normal.
Before even making it to the stop sign (where a car was broken down), I no longer had time to run my errands. I was getting rather worked up about the whole thing, when for some reason, I thought of my students and I thought of Simmons and I thought of tigers. Tigers, traffic. Whatever. I also thought of my National Poetry Month Challenge, and whether I could be more productive with this time.
So, I took a deep breath, and I looked out my window. There is a rather impressive twisting of trees there. I love trees and their branches and all their bends. The leaves haven't really come in yet, so it was nothing but twists and turns. I was going to take a picture, but traffic finally started to move. It stopped again, and I looked to the other side to see these luscious leaves growing out of mud puddles. I really wanted to know what they were, but traffic was moving again.
Though I didn't get a poem out of this moment, it reminded me of why I do this challenge. It reminds me to be more present, more aware, more appreciative of the world around me and the small moments that make it special.
Having said all of that though, it is worth nothing that poetry isn't just cherry blossoms caught in the wind and whispers of love.
When the Baltimore Slam Team Slammageddon was asked why they don't write more happy poems, they responded with a poem. This poem begins "Fuck Robert Frost." It goes on to explain that poetry should explore your deepest feelings and concerns and tackle what needs to be said. Both the poem and the sentiment were excellent and I wish there was a printed version (or recorded version) I could share. This is from the same group who performed a poem about a complaint that rape poems were cliche, stating that if you're tierd of people writing rape poems, then stop people from being raped.
Now, this doesn't mean that they don't write poems with a positive lilt. It just means, they aren't willing to sacrifice the tragedy around that moment to get there. Often, the bad is what makes the good that much better, that much more worth recognition.
Tigers and strawberries.
An excellent example of this is their poem "Miracles." Apologies for the sound quality, but this poem really embodies the good and the bad and what I'm getting at:
I maintain two things. Poetry, like life, can be about anything, and like life, is a mix of the bitter, the turmoil, the sweet, and the serene.
I wouldn't take it any other way.
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