Joining others in dusting off forgotten hobbies, I started writing poetry again. The first half of July has been unseasonably grey and wet. I’m working on a bigger project and also grappling with how the spike in cases might affect our lives. Churning out verses of focused thought and imagery seems like the right kind of distraction.
I received very little training on writing poetry. Mary Oliver’s A Poetry Handbook, which I bought about two years ago, covers the beginner stuff. And then there’s my one favourite poetry book; of the few I own, it’s the only one I actually read with comprehension, or dare I say, pleasure? J. Neil C. Garcia’s Kaluluwa. It was a Secret Santa gift from my university days and I’m still grateful. It wouldn’t have been something I’d pick from the bookstore myself. His poems are raw and meditative at once. One day, when I’m feeling competent, I’ll devote a post to it. Or will that day ever arrive? It’s the kind of book that offers up something new each time
My lack of musicality has been a roadblock. Rhythm and sounds, these are things I’m only starting to grasp. I listen to poems on YouTube. Feeling inspired one day, I came up with this:
Fish warming in the oven. Fried rice on the stove. Salad on the table even. Ignore stew on the stove. I'll turn it off when it's ready, my love.
Some context: I wrote this after having lunch solo. Fiancé is stuck in a Zoom meeting that sounded too intense to interrupt and I simply wanted to tell him food is ready (how housewifey!) before I return to my desk to work.
Beginner’s poem, I know. I’ll change Ignore to Simmering. But baby steps, right? I’d take any sort of achievement these days, even a rhyming text message.