Saturday, August 22, 2015

Feet on the Ground, Head in the Clouds

I have been writing, I really have. Nothing here, nothing to show publicly, but I have been writing. This is something I have to remind myself. I miss this place, and it weighs on me when I am away. 
For the week following my last post I focused almost entirely on poetry here—an experience so wonderful it seems entirely appropriate that I arrived and returned home by soaring through the air, above the clouds. I wrote poems, read poems, talked about poems, analyzed poems, listened to poems—to the point that my spirit was willing but my body was weak. I attended every reading, presentation, and open mic I could, tossed in a few museums and shops, and more deep conversations than I can count. My journal is filled with proof of it all: quotes, fragments of poems, words to remember, books to read, movies to watch, people to find online.
Then I flew through the air once again, not home but to northern Michigan to meet up with the rest of my family and bring Oldest home from Interlochen. (This is a wonderful thing, having him home. And yes he grew, immeasurably.)
Since getting home: more writing, but almost as if I had forgotten the previous week. For the last week and a half I have been crafting and re-crafting my life word by word: emails to parents of students, to parents of prospective students, to administrators, to teachers, to friends, to family. Applications, questionnaires, registration forms. Meetings, conversations, questions. I enjoy this kind of crafting less, but it  always presents itself as more urgent. I have to stop sometimes to remind myself that they both serve a life, that both are urgent, and that if for a week I dared to believe I was a poet, I can continue to believe it now.
So I keep trying to pull life together—through emails, through conversations, through notes in my kids’ lunches, through poems and blog posts and other writings. Maybe I will dare to call it all poetry of one sort or another, at least in those moments I remember flying through the air, over the clouds.

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  1. Word by word, moment by moment--your way in the world is the way of a poet. (Do you know "The Time of Your Song" by Matisyahu? He sings of living with feet on the ground and head in the clouds.)

    1. Amazing. No, I had not even heard of him! It's a tension, though, that I have felt (and used those words for) since high school. I value the fact that I often have my head in the clouds, but I also understand the need to be practical, especially now as a mother and teacher. I'm not willing to give either up, but I honestly feel the stretch of this posture all the time. Sometimes I fight it, sometimes I can embrace it. Thank you, Sandra, for sharing his work!


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