Blackbird Memories, 2011Today I read a story about grief.
The story was intimate and fragile. The stiff pages fought against me. I knew they'd rather be closed. The words still unsure if they mistook their need to be set free for value.
And then a poem, about an idea for a poem that vanished.
It reminded me of talking one's writing away. Is it possible? I should cease speaking, until I know. But will I ever? Probably not.
And a few more of her poems.
But I have to leave my table with watery eyes. The words are too real. Especially the imagined meeting with her teenaged self, so close to ending my year.
Teenager by Wislawa Szymborska
denise, sometimes i hardly know what to say when i come here - it's so beautiful, your thinking, so intriguing, so alive if that makes sense.
ReplyDeletetalking one's writing away.
i know a little of how that feels.
(gorgeous photo!)
Your writing makes me shut up and have nothing to say. That is an amazingly rare thing.
ReplyDeletea feeling a little like a cold stone settled deep in me reading this. and yes, it is possible. but your writing is so strong it will be waiting somewhere, growing.
ReplyDeleteWhen I first started reading the poem I thought I wouldn't feel a stranger to myself.
ReplyDeleteBut then as I carried on the unfamiliarity was totally familiar.
xo Jane
re: talking the writing away. I'm not sure either. when the ideas come, though, some aspect of them needs to be put down on paper, otherwise they do vanish like dreams.
ReplyDeleteI could fill that glass with tears after reading the poem and your post.
ReplyDeleteThank you for all of your notes. I do hope I haven't been too somber here. Sometimes life feels this way and I believe it is okay, as long as we bring ourselves back up. I also write a secret little blog for this reason. My intention was to write every day, but it doesn't quite work out as such. When I do write a post it's just a few words, only what I am thankful for on that day, at that time. It's nice to look back through the posts when life feels heavy. Hope all of you are well. Take care, Denise
ReplyDeleteIt's somehow comforting to know one is not alone in having somber moods or off days, etc. I find your words always uplifting and like a good friend chatting.
ReplyDeletebeautiful, startling, vivid words; not too somber. I appreciate reading your posts precisely because they recognise those sometimes difficult feelings. a counterpart to joy - it's hard to feel one without knowing the other.
ReplyDeleteI haven't click on the poem yet, but I'm getting there. Holding it off, having one of those days myself.
ReplyDeleteHoping the road winding though the cottonwoods and oaks helped to heal you on your way back home. xo
Beautiful poem - and post!
ReplyDeleteI'm trying to be kind to the teenager I once was. It's easy to belittle her for the decisions she made that are still affecting my life. However, the older I get, the more I discover how much wisdom she had... and with that realization, comes a greater trust in the decisions I make for today.
ReplyDeleteLovely post, Denise. Thank you.
"The stiff pages fought against me. I knew they'd rather be closed."
ReplyDeleteI like that reading is a physical act.
when i am getting lighter, like a helium balloon, i can't feel that happiness until after i have felt the tug of the line holding the balloon...
ReplyDeleteforgot to say: thank you
ReplyDeleteThis is a beautiful self expression.
ReplyDeleteDid not know our birthdays were one day apart :) so awesome. I am very slowing getting back to blogging, but my new job is demanding so we will see how it goes.
ReplyDeleteszymborska, huh.
ReplyDeletei remember reading her poems aloud in polish, to my then 14-year old son. because i needed to do that.
he shrugged his shoulders first, then he urged me to shut up.
i know. the mistake was mine.
every time i have not been over at yours, i find i've missed ya.
n♥
a slow and deep melancholy settles in after reading the poem and this post, but not without this very faint glimmer of hope wrapped in one colorful scarf...
ReplyDeletethere are those things that still bind us, after all. beautiful, both the words in that poem and those you have shared here.
I think you can make your writing stronger by talking it through. I also believe you can making your talking stronger by writing out your ideas.
ReplyDeleteFor me, writing is like having a deep conversation with myself, which is its own reward.
However, talking is probably my most natural form of expression, and that's where the ideas for my writing come from.
So why choose? Keep talking and writing Denise, you have lots of ideas in there.
Thank you, every one of you, for coming here, reading, and sharing your thoughts with me. It makes me happy.
ReplyDeleteInteresting...yesterday I was reminded of a book I had read where the stories were centered around grief (book name is Kitchen)...and then to read this post.
ReplyDeleteTalking one's writing away...I think it's completely possible. Yet somehow I don't believe you do that.