The Fringe Benefits of Poetry
As a writer we are always looking for inspiration—be it nature or Netflix. I’m always amazed by writers who say when they are in the midst of a project refuse to read other’s work that might affect their own. I readily admit I steal.
Poetry causes me to slip sideways.
Words or phrasing ignites a memory of something softly hidden. Perhaps so ordinary it fell beneath the midden of everyday life. The attitude of who cares. Well, obviously this crazy brain of mine because it will suddenly offer up what was already there, wanting to be revisited.
When I moved out to Eugene it was with a bicycle and a suitcase. Word. And, that suitcase could not exceed 50 pounds. I obsessively packed, unpacked, reconfigured items until I reached a number I thought could win me the Alaska Airlines lottery. At the airport I came in 2 ounces short of the maximum!!!!!
More than clothes, more than Christmas gifts (though there were those, the lighter ones) I brought with me James Schuyler. His selected poems with an introduction by John Ashbury. Oh—what a bond! That friendship reminding me of my own earthly ties!
What nudged me last night into reading Schuyler was my friends back home in Chicago referencing the weather. (On Facebook. None of these people write or call me, so not exactly like Schuyler and Ashbury.) I turned to Schuyler’s poem, Blizzard. This was from his Payne Whitney series. Payne Whitney was the psychiatric hospital he was admitted to after a breakdown. Aside from all the boring stuff like the ubiquitous TV and rounds of the medication cart, there was nothing else for him to write about. Then a blizzard struck.
What first appeared like bits of paper, like tissue nervously shredded, fat flakes fell. His window became a theater of entertainment. "How I wish I were out in it!” he wrote. “A figure like an exclamation point seen through driving snow.” He would have rather been out on icy roads than where he was. But even in the midst of everything he found inspiration.
And from him and another poet Louise Glück, I’ve been
flashing.
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