Anne Porter, once and this is
Again following in my theme of all things Maine and New York
School of Poetry-ish and memoir, haiku prose, flash. All this to say: I’ve been
reading the poems of Anne Porter. Her first collection, An Altogether
Different Language (1994), published when she was 83, was named a finalist
for the National Book Award. Her other volume of poetry is Living Things:
Collected Poems (2006).
I was struck upon beginning this collection how many of her
poems seem to be reminisces. In deed, she lived a long life, passing away in
2011 just shy of 100th birthday. A number of her poems begin with
the word once.
The Wingéd Children
Once when my friends
Were driving through the desert
In Mexico
They passed a pickup truck
And in the back of it
Each with a pair of wings
Of sky-blue plush
Such as is used
For making bedroom-slippers
There rode a dozen little
Mexican children.
In addition she began a series of poems with This is.
Summer Cottage
This is a house
That smells of melons and roses
Sea-wind pours through it
The airy curtains float
And the wiry sprays
Of the sea-lavender
Tremble on the table
The hushed roar
Of the massive ocean
Covers us night and day
It shelters us
Like a tree shadow
We live in it
As in a forest.
Her simple language bestows a haiku hush. Her subject matter
is mostly ordinary, domestic: her children (she had five), her home, her faith
(a late convert to Catholicism). Her work exudes a humility, a selflessness see Burning. So that even though she
writes about the tangible, she is at the same time revealing another dimension,
something beyond this world. This is a
collection filled with vignettes, haiku-like thoughts, remembrances, odes, and
tributes to others.
For Hot flash Friday—why not try this:
Begin by using the word once
Work on another piece with the zen-like this is
Go, write right now.
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| She shares a resemblance I think to Dorothy Day, founder of the Catholic Worker movement |
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