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Attentions
After a pale winter of neglect,
the potted schefflera has been brought out
like an old man in a wheel chair
for some sun on the porch.
I, the negligent caregiver,
lounge in the big padded wicker,
reading about art forgeries.
Is La Bella Principessa
a real Leonardo?
A tractor down the road
stutters: Who cares?
At that, I look up
just as a breeze draws its brush
across my bare arm, and then lifts
two yellowed leaves off the poor
sickly plant.
Down they fall, like eyebrows.
A triangle of robins
has been singing something vital
from the trees. For how long?
The answer is --
For always.
~ Ruth M.
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A lot of always captured in this simple but nonetheless transcendent moment. Very beautifully done, Ruth. Such striking aural and visual images, the stuttering tractor, the singing robins, the leaves like eyebrows ...
ReplyDeleteI picture myself turning through the pages of my well-thumbed copy of Ruth's Moments (for want of a better title) with a cup of Earl green in the other hand. I stop on this page, softly sigh, and read it for the hundredth time.
ReplyDeleteThis is so beautiful - so visual. I loved it!
ReplyDeleteYes this is indeed beautiful. Visual pages floating past my eyes.
ReplyDeleteLorenzo's eloquent comment said it better than I could have, Ruth. I have recently started to explore poetry, mostly by others but also trying a bit of it myself. Today I spent about 4 hours and ended up with a dozen lines - it's not easier than writing essays, just diffferent.
ReplyDeleteYou, on the other hand, make it look so easy. Beautifully so.
Oh, Ruth -- I can see it and feel that breeze. However do you write so clearly, so effortlessly? Yes, probably not effortless to you -- but to me, it sounds as though it simply appeared!
ReplyDeleteLike eyebrows....I love that. (beautiful cushion on your chair, btw)
ReplyDeleteI loved this poem, Ruth. i especially liked its Zen quality, your ability to remain in the present moment as all of these wonders, including the leaves falling from the schefflera, unfolded. From a Zen standpoint, I would like to give you an "A," but you will have to settle for an "A-" because of that small tinge of guilt you felt in the "negligent caregiver" line. As poetry, however, my praise is unqualified. Beautifully rendered!
ReplyDeleteAs I read this I felt that I was sitting on that porch with you, hearing the tractor and robins, feeling the wind, watching the leaves fall...
ReplyDeleteoops blogger error... beautiful and sweet. love it.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful! I love the thoughts, and the lovely way you expressed them. you really are perfecting the art.
ReplyDeleteLove the eyebrows. And the chair--literal as well as poetic--because I'm right there with you, hearing the tractor stutter and your Rumi robins...
ReplyDeleteThank you, Ruth.
A poem as perfect as any poem can be. Thank you! I felt I was there ... and it was lovely.
ReplyDeleteThank you, dear Lorenzo. This poem came after being immersed in a poem by Mary Oliver called Spring Azures off and on all day yesterday (you can scroll down to it here; there is other good stuff there too), sitting on the porch, and finishing that very long article about art forgeries, between doing household tasks like laundry. I guess I don't need to say more about what I was feeling. It's there.
ReplyDeleteSusie, my dear friend, there can't be a sweeter sentiment than that, or a sweeter friend than you. I'm in good hands indeed.
ReplyDeletePat, thank you. It's all there, when I slow, quiet, and pay attention.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Gwei Mui, very much. The pages of that art forgeries article floated before my eyes all day. It was quite long, and I didn't want it to end.
ReplyDeleteDeborah, thank you so much for seconding Lorenzo's comment, and for all you said. Your writing is concise, insightful and always full of intriguing twists, so that I could read on and on and on. I have no doubt that poems you write will be very well written. I look forward to you sharing them some day soon.
ReplyDeleteI remember in classes with Wakoski, when one poem a week was the assignment, I spent as much time on that assignment as for other classes that required 100 pages of reading, or writing an essay. So you are spot on. This one felt that it was in the air, and I caught the words like fireflies. But that doesn't happen often. Usually, it's damn hard to make a poem sound easy and natural.
Jeanie, that's the best praise, to say it sounds effortless. Thank you. This one felt a little like dictation, I confess. Most of the time, it's not like that. Now that I'm writing this to you, I realize that what Mary Oliver and others say is true, that if you just stop and listen, and go inside, what comes out will probably be fresh, and authentic.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Willow. And the cushion cover: IKEA, a couple seasons ago.
ReplyDeleteGeorge, I loved your comment. I may never do better than an A- in Zen because of that guilt, I'm afraid, though I am pretty happy with that grade. As for your poem assessment, I'm thrilled. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Oliag. I think you and I would do well on either of our porches, talking, or not talking. They both have good cozy feels.
ReplyDeleteCathy, oh dear. Thank you, and for sticking with the comment thing.
ReplyDeleteMystic, thank you. :)
ReplyDeleteDS, it was a privilege kind of day, sitting there. I'm glad you shared it with me. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteJamie, thank you for "perfect."
ReplyDeleteHope this isn't posted twice. I enjoyed the picture and the poem, especially the part about the plant being brought out into the sunshine like an old man in a wheelchair. I am happy for you and the plant.
ReplyDeleteRe: your comment on my blog, "that'll do pig" is a catch phrase at the manor, too!
ReplyDeleteEnjoyed how every line led into the next with such dexterity. Such a well drawn word-picture!
ReplyDeletethis is wonderful, all of it, but the triangle of robins and their vital singing, that is perfect
ReplyDeleteBeautiful, Ruth. It took me away for a moment. What a lovely photo of your chair. I'll picture you there now.
ReplyDeleteBella
So beautiful Ruth.
ReplyDeleteRuthie
ReplyDeleteFor lovely birdsong check
http://vimeo.com/6428069
xx
you describe that moment beautifully and there is a bit of magic in those last few lines. nicely done.
ReplyDeleteAhhhhhh
ReplyDeleteThat's what I have to say.
Your words composed a wonderful concert in my mind.
I read this aloud to Dr. M - we both enjoyed it so much. Thanks for writing it!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Shari. I know I'll do well, I hope the plant survives.
ReplyDeleteThat's fun, Willow. I just love James Cromwell.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Pauline.
ReplyDeleteAfter your poem on the telephone pole, I will be looking with new eyes at them on the drive home.
Thank you and welcome, Juliet. I'm glad you liked that bit, it was a late arrival to the poem, not an early bird, heh.
ReplyDeleteHello, and thank you, Bella. Don't picture me there on hot days please.
ReplyDeleteWell thank you, Sandy.
ReplyDeleteOh, Gemma, I love that, it's so creative, isn't it? I love seeing people take inspiration from nature and be so ingenious!
ReplyDeleteBrian, thank you for feeling magic here.
ReplyDeleteSue, well I like your mind then, and us making music together.
ReplyDeleteDear Dana, thanks to you and to Mr. M. :)
ReplyDelete"Down they fall, like eyebrows."
ReplyDeleteYes. I feel it.
I love the easy flowing telling in this poem. It flows so that I am rapt.
Ruth, you are a master, through and through. Beautifully writ.
Terresa, oh thank you, that's an amazing word. Master. Exactly. For you. I mean that sincerely.
ReplyDeleteThat bloody tractor has some attitude!
ReplyDelete