Wide world, forever finding

TerenceHayesThe Poetry Foundation has just introduced me to Terrence Hayes. OK. lots of folk may say What? You didn’t know this writer? not ever heard of him?

and others will say Who?

I call myself a scientist, for a kind of preference in the way I think about things, but as all true scientists know, thinking FOLLOWS feeling, wondering, observing, not-knowing, imagining, the thoughts of science come after something in all this gels, and there is a thought that fits. Something is real. It is there.

I always sort of liked poetry, then Lisa Starr began the Block Island Poetry Project. That was in 2004!! gosh that long ago, gosh, only then, gosh where does time collapse itself in the living spaces of memory? I sort of fell into poetry, writing and listening, sometimes reading. [Thank you Lisa and all the others, many of you now my facebook friends.]

Inside me is a black-eyed animal
Bracing in a small stall. As if a bird
Could grow without breaking its shell.
As if the clatter of a thousand black
Birds whipping in a storm could be held
In a shell. Inside me is a huge black
Bull balled small enough to fit inside
The bead of a nipple ring. I mean to leave
A record of my raptures. I was raised
By a beautiful man. I loved his grasp of time.
My mother shaped my grasp of space.
Would you rather spend the rest of eternity
With your wild wings bewildering a cage or
With your four good feet stuck in a plot of dirt?

 

So many beautiful poems. So many gosh, how do they do it? [feeling, wondering, observing, not-knowing, imagining … letting something gel ??? this is how I write, even when blogging.]

Something is real. It is there. Thank you scientists who made this knowledge of internet and communications.

Whether or not this sonnet strikes chords for you, it does for me, who is white and female, not black and male.

Thank you Terrence Hayes for telling the record of your raptures. It helps me see.


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