thoughts on the sirens

The Writer's Almanac poem yesterday was one of my favorites. Read this through slowly and then again. It brought me to a few reflections, below.

Sirens 

by Billy Collins 

Not those women who lure sailors
onto a reef with their singing and their tresses,
but the screams of an ambulance
bearing the sick, the injured, and the dying
across the rational grid of the city.
We get so used to the sound
it’s just another sharp in the city’s tune.
Yet it’s one thing to stop on a sidewalk
with other pedestrians to watch one
flashing and speeding down an avenue
while a child on a corner covers her ears
and a shopkeeper appears in a doorway,
but another thing when one gets stuck
in traffic and seems to be crying for its mother
who has fled to another country.
Everyone keeps walking along then,
eyes cast down—for after all,
there’s nothing we can do,
and today we are not the one peering
up at the face of an angel dressed in scrubs.
Some of us are late for appointments
a few blocks away, while others
have the day off and take their time
angling across a broad, leafy avenue
before being engulfed by the green of a park. 

“Sirens” by Billy Collins from The Rain in Portugal. © Random House, 2016. Reprinted at The Writer's Almanac with permission.  

At what point(s) in life did I tune out the sirens? Growing up three and a half blocks from a hospital, I would hear the sirens, especially at night, of ambulances rushing to get to it. This was not every night mind you. I didn't grow up in a large city. But it was often enough.

I would pause and say a silent prayer, "go with God" to that person or persons in the ambulance and to the driver and paramedic. This exercise went on for about 10 years from that childhood bed before I headed off to college. I wasn't a particularly religious kid. Like most kids, I was just "me." I imagined that maybe other people did this too and together, we helped send some comfort, some hope. No one taught me to do that. It was instinctive. I guess you could say it was automatic, momentary spirituality. I would send a brief moment of imaginary light toward the ambulance. It was all in my head. (I played a lot with light there...)

During my first two years in college, I don't recall hearing the sirens. I was in a busy, happy place, (immature place) and it definitely wasn't the real world. Then, some friends and I moved into the small city nearby our university. When college students move off campus, they move into city neighborhoods, and the homesteads I had over the next couple of years into my grad school years could be described as student slums. I started to hear the sirens again, and my old habit returned.

As an adult in a small college town, I hear the sirens now and then. I mostly pay attention and say my little prayer. Sometimes my imagination gets the better of me and prayer turns to worry and empathy as I have an 18 year old who drives. And sometimes I hear the sirens and I am just too busy to say a prayer, to engage in other people's pain, to recognize what those sounds I am tuning out signify. They mean emergency, urgency, frailty of life. And I head to my meeting? Write a report? Get a cup of tea?

After this election, I hear the sirens. I say a prayer for the ones who need the life saving as well as for myself to keep listening. Keep engaging. I may have the privilege to go on with my ordinary life due to my skin color, educational level, decent job and socioeconomic status. (Then again, I may not . . . ) Please, let me keep hearing the sirens and let me not just get used to them as something ordinary and expected in this world.

happy birthday, mary oliver!

Today is poet Mary Oliver's 81st birthday. I am so glad she came to be in this world. I am so grateful to have found her poetry.

“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.”    ― Mary Oliver

earth day play

It's a day late, but I had some fun over at magneticpoetry.com and created this little poem for yesterday, Earth Day 2016. 

© Nan P

eternity

© Nan P.

I made this poem over at the Magnetic Poetry fun site. This poem is for anyone suffering a broken heart. Check it out: here.   

sea glass

polished piece of glass
sharp edges worn smooth
by elements - water, sand, and motion
rounded almost silky
in my palm
cool, hard, comforting
this glass
can't cut my flesh
anymore
time has made it
something changed
from what it was

© nan, 2016

Just a quick poem this evening as I think about the ocean, and beating waves, and warmth, and beach walking, barefooted. I like to think about time and change -- what we don't notice and then what we do. It is mid-February and cold where I live. It is a hard time in winter. In my previous jobs, I always managed to have to travel somewhere warm in February or March. No such luck this year or last - although I do have a little travel planned next month and in early April... it is for nowhere warm. This little poem popped up. Ciao.

i took it as a sign

A couple of posts ago I talked about how I joined a concert band in the next over city. At the time my friend asked me to play because they needed flutes (hardly ever a need for flutes), I felt it was a kind of sign... a wake up call to get back to something that used to bring me a lot of joy. Two weeks down and fairly regular practice begun, its true. I am enjoying it very much. The tendons in my right hand are sore, but I think that will subside.

On Thursday, at the weekly noon interfaith worship hour I go to on campus (some readings from various faiths, some singing, some meditation, some joys and sorrows), I decided I would share a joy and that the joy would be joining this concert band. I am usually pretty quiet at these things even though it is a small and comfortable group of people. Before I left my office to head to the service, I thought I had better find and return a book of poetry that Reverend Vicki had loaned me last spring...a book called I Hear God Laughing -- a collection of poems by the Sufi poet Hafiz (or Hafez). I had enjoyed flipping through the lighthearted, interesting, spiritual poems, but I hadn't opened it in months.

Before returning a book, and especially a book of poems, I like to play this little game where I open the book up to a random page to read something where the opening occurred, and try to keep that as symbolic. Wherever that random break occurs is to me like a crack into the light of the larger universe, and I am supposed to take in that slice of light. It is worth paying attention to it and trying to hold it a while.

So to add a layer to the "taking it as a sign" meanderment here, this is the poem that I read when I opened the book randomly to page 54:

How fun is that? I did share my joy at the Interfaith Center, and I read this poem. And now, if I were to open a book of poems, would it be about collecting a year's worth of documents and figures to get the tax prep folder ready? This is not the most fun "hour" (it will take me more than an hour) to spend, but it has to be done. It is my goal for the day. I am also a good procrastinator, so I have a feeling there are other things I will need to get done first. Cheerio.

revenant

there is a memory

locked in your brain

silent now

against the roar of the ocean

along your path

imperceptible

amidst the bustling

of daily life

it pulls at you

to engage

you dismiss it

for the fluctuations

of the now

you drop-kick the nagging

distraction

but it pilots up

from a deep shaft in your mind

to claim conscious thought

to not be ignored

to seek its own justice

and you sigh

with wry smile

in acquiescence

to honor

what you are trying

to suppress:

the revenant

© nan, 2016

No, this poem is not about the Oscar nominated film, and I haven't seen the movie (although I did read a description of the plot). This is my independent take on the words this Sunday from The Sunday Whirl: engage, pilot, shaft, claim, justice, roar, sigh, revenant, fluctuation, drop, dismiss, and bustling. Wordles are so much fun. I am also posting over at the Pantry. Now off to read others' submissions!

abyss

I walk along its edge
alone
look down and do not wobble
nothing affects my balance

the secret is remembering
that even if I fall
beyond the flesh
is the holy and the hidden

nonetheless I drift further
from the possibility
pretend to exert control
over accident’s tide

fears drift
they pass --
a fine mist
in light wind

breath
tames
mind


© nan, 2015

[Note: Just putting some words together from The Sunday Whirl for some morning fun. Posting there and at the Pantry. The words: mist, fall, abyss, flesh, light, secret, holy, hidden, tide, pass, drift, and tames. I like this kind of stream of consciousness stuff . . . reminds me of one of my favorite Beatles tunes. Can you guess which one? Nothing's gonna change my world. (Or so I'd like to think.)]

truths and the everyday

Jessica Hagy - thisisindexed.com

Hello blogosphere. If you happen to be stopping by, I hope you are doing well. We have been enjoying abnormally warm for November (and welcome) temperatures in the 60s this past week. I haven't written in this space in more than a week - hard to believe. I am having a bit of a lazy Saturday morning before heading off for a visit with friends. My yoga teacher is unfortunately sick and so there is no class this morning.

Last weekend we saw a great movie called The 46ers. Recommend. Halloween was fun. We never did carve our other pumpkin, so it sits on the porch as an autumn decoration. We had quite a few trick-or-treaters, but still we managed to have leftover candy. Tragic, I know. And the spouse has given up sugar again, so let's just say I have had more than my share of Skittles (minus the green yucky ones) and Sour Patch Kids in the past week.

The week was fairly busy at work. I showed a film on campus Thursday evening called The Hunting Ground. If you haven't heard of it, it is an expose of sexual assault on college campuses and how some colleges have done an incredibly poor and shockingly unethical job of handling reports. It will be shown on CNN on November 19th. Catch it if you can. It is by the same makers of The Invisible War from a couple of years ago - available on Netflix. This is the subject matter that I work with at work quite often. The added excitement came when the location of the screening had to be closed for the evening due to toxic fumes from a construction project. The announcement came at 4:30 p.m. and the film was set for 7 p.m. I knew quite a few faculty members were bringing classes or offering it for extra credit, and I had worked on getting the film in our library collection with presentation rights for months, so with the help of a colleague, we got it rescheduled to another location, blasted email and social media location changes and put signs up on all the doors of the lecture hall that had closed. We managed to get about 175 in attendance in the new location. That was pretty great.

The next day, yesterday, I gave a talk as part of a Women Working Together community lunch and lecture series. I had written my notes last Sunday and practiced them once to be sure I wasn't over the 30 minutes, and actually was quite nervous about doing it. Public speaking on a training topic is something very comfortable for me. I do it all the time. Public speaking about myself - personal stuff- is definitely outside my comfort zone. I have only ever done one other talk like this a few years ago in my home town for one of my mother's social groups, and I talked about open adoption, so it really wasn't "all about me." As it turned out, not having over-practiced worked to my advantage. I had some friends in the audience and they put me at ease. I decided to tap into the inner calm that we all have, smile, and I just spoke from my heart (and glanced at my notes). I even read a few of my poems. I had never read any of my poems out loud in public before. It was fun! I ended it by reading my all time favorite poem, The Summer Day, by Mary Oliver. It ended up going well and yesterday afternoon I felt a very nice TGIF relief that was greater than most weeks.

So today we are off on a jaunt to visit some old friends. Tomorrow I have tickets to a fundraiser kitchen tour, and later in the week I head to NYC with a friend to see Jon Kabat-Zinn. Good things are ahead, and I am trying to keep all my attention on all that is right now. I will try to check in when I can.

bright side

Oh good. I just got 2% of my daily allowance of iron by eating one of my favorite indulgences...Justin's dark chocolate peanut butter cups. I feel great! And iron too!

Last night I wrote this depressing little ditty:

you can distract yourself-

you're lucky.

i feel like i've been pushed out of the spaceship.

and i can't breathe.

Yes, dramatic. And yet, I was feeling some pretty deep, albeit temporary, despair. Instead of allowing myself to stay there, I watched the sinking feelings from a distance and went to bed early. I woke up, resilient, looking out at beautiful morning light, autumn sun rays over everything wet on the daybreak after a cold, autumn, night rain last evening. Even though I wanted to sleep in a bit, I made myself get to yoga, and that gave my day a really good start.

It was a full week with some hard things to deal with. We had a house guest for a couple of nights, an international colleague of Tom's. Today was cleaning and laundry day and we are off to a dinner with Tom's colleagues in the next town over. It should be enjoyable, even if on the obligatory side of things.

Tomorrow the house will be full of happy noise as my family will be visiting to celebrate two October birthdays. I am looking forward to it. Our family is adjusting to the loss of a longtime member of the family as my sister's marriage is ending.  While in the end things will probably be better on  many levels, right now it is really hard and sad making this change after having someone in your family for about 20 years.

What we have is each moment. What we have is onward. Ciao.

nexus

one maple tree

with its straight trunk

branches outstretched

flush with greens and reds, haloing round

calls autumn to order

swearing in the hundreds of leaves

some blowing around in the wind

some assembled below

I feel threats of winter come

pressing in to share its chill

onto the surface of my tender face

infiltrating fingers and toes

I list to the left, with gradual freezing

I whimper

to no one

who can hear me

© nan, 2015

[Written for The Sunday Whirl and posted over at Poets United.]

carry that weight

virginia
from across the pond
uttered a cry for help
-- not for she alone.

her mental health
was delicate
we know that now,
though not necessarily poor.

with friends and money
and killer intellect
she was a trapped soul --
a woman in a world
that would not let her be.

how narrow the confines
of the existence from which she wrote
so much for herself, for me
for humanity.

she contemplated death
-- the only way to escape
these teeth, these organs,
this DNA --
this cell of captivity.

she would not jump
from a tower or bridge.
she walked, breathing steadily,
stones in her skirt pockets
into the sea
with all her power
leaving us irony and symbolism.

her lighthouse sends out
its signal still
round and round and round . . .
wave after wave after wave . . .

and the ocean
keeps beating
like humanity’s
collective
heart,
as we carry the weight
she left behind.

© nan, 2015

[Note: This is written for The Sunday Whirl and Poets United from Whirl words: organs, tower, money, poor, pond, cell, DNA, friends, teeth, bridge, signal, and skirt. It has been far too long since I've attempted a poem. I've been thinking a lot, lately, about how some groups just can't shake their burdens - depending on the time or the place or the prevailing regimes. Women have not had it easy, and some times and places have been or are worst than others. These words reminded me of the brilliant Virginia Woolf, who influenced my early thinking. When her light went out, she left the lighthouse lantern eternally burning, but she left the weight for others to carry. I carry that weight.]

beach self

it is a lucky thing
to experience beach self.

you know the self...
that one that throws on
yesterday's tee shirt
because it's still pretty clean
the one that walks along cool sand
in bare feet
at 6 a.m. watching the sky
brighten
as the sun rises higher.

whoever you may briefly pass
along the walk
is experiencing beach self too
so all is needed is a quick hello
or nod or maybe no greeting at all.

it doesn't matter
who is a wall street executive or
a new widow
or a worker on a coveted vacation.
beach self is precious and levels all.

beach self swims in the cool ocean
lets her hair air dry all crazy
and takes Instagram photos of waves
and birds
and everything she tries to keep.

everyone has a beach self --
if only they can get to an ocean
loving the sounds of the sea roaring
ocean salty air blowing gently
waves pulsing here here here

like breath inside us
coming in and out
whether we are tired or rested
hungry or full
poor or comfortable
in pain or in joy or in peace.
mind occupied or empty.

wave after wave
one foot in front of the other
walking the sand
avoiding sharp things
and sea weed.

gulls fish and flutter and fly
sandpipers poke and scramble
sea birds sometimes cry out.

we vaguely listen.

© nan, 2015



[Note: I started this poem on my phone this past week. It is a work in progress.]

oak stance

the big oak tree
stands
present for all
the happiness of birds
singing
and flitting through branches
woodpecker tapping
chipmunks racing
inch worms booking it
down and up the trunk's bark

she is there in gentle breezes
with sunshine filtering through
rustling leaves
and through tumultuous storms
rain and wind and snow and hail

observing, in equanimity,
when the sharp-shinned hawk
slices through the air and picks
off the robin's nest of eggs
or the beautiful northern flicker
or a baby rabbit

birth and death
celebration and pain
summer, winter
and everything in between

© nan, 2015


I wrote this after thinking about the oak stance I tend to take when things are going well. I am ever conscious that even when celebrating something good, others may be experiencing pain or loss or hardship. It isn't that I don't want to be happy. I do - and I am. I am just trying to remember to keep things in oak stance and remember equanimity as often as possible.

Back in December, I mentioned that I returned to my former campus for an interim position. I knew the position would eventually be searched, and it was earlier this summer. The process of the search can take at minimum a couple of months. I formally applied at the end of June, and then at the end of July had a phone interview. I went on vacation not knowing if or when I would get the in-person campus interview (although I felt that I would since the past eight months have gone very well and I have worked very hard to show the powers that be that this was a very good mutual fit).

Three days into vacation, I got an email (I had told them I wouldn't have much cell service) asking me to have a formal campus interview on the day I was due back in the office - last Monday. I said yes, and found it interesting that I had no time to buy a new suit (or anything new to wear) or even really prepare. (Certainly though, actually serving the position as long as I have and a thoughtful job application process did prepare me...) I had not brought my materials with me on vacation. I went in a week ago today and did a decent job of the day-long interview. The other finalist came in the following day. By Friday afternoon, I had a verbal offer. It is time to celebrate! (And I did... both Friday and Saturday nights!) I am off today, a planned vacation day, contemplating how much changed in just one week.

Things can change in an instant. Sometimes for good and sometimes for bad. During this celebration, I am conscious of some very challenging times that some people I love are going through. I won't let it take away my joy, but I am keeping joy in appropriate check. Equanimity, please. I'd like to keep this oak stance going, thanks.

method of entry

the only way to get in
is to first walk in quickly
(no backing up; no pausing to acclimate)

then start to run, with big splashes
and before you can
stop the momentum
take a shallow forward dive
in and under
the cold water

jump into the air
and then pop back down in again
moving around quickly

exhale and inhale
powerfully
make some noise
(mostly joyful with some
genuine shock and alarm)

an august swim
in an adirondack lake

there is nothing like it


© nan, 2015

highway flowers

the highway flowers

along route 67 east

are the prettiest wildflowers

i've ever seen

periwinkle blues, 

shiny lemon yellows,

golden brown-eyed susans

and bright wispy queen anne's lace

daisies and bright orange day lilies

cat tails with all shades

of greens and browns 

sprinkle a patchwork spectrum

all the while,

high telephone wires

pull me

forward, faster, faster,

like a spaceship 

hurtling
horizontal
through a starry night sky

- the beauty whizzing by

© nan, 2015

aspiration (and other poems)

I want to write you
a letter
that spills the contents
of my heart --

my messy, jumbled heart
where time ripples
and space disappears --

smiles and tears,
skips of raw joy,
dull, throbbing pain
collide
pulsing energy and warmth
my blood pumps through
chambers

-- the words won’t write themselves
onto the page.

© nan, 2015

[Note: So I was at a work retreat the past couple of days. Sometimes poems come to me at odd times. The good thing about being at a retreat is that while taking notes, I can jot poems into the margins. And so I did. Then I typed them up here.  They are mostly bad. But even bad, they were written, which is more than I can say for all the poems I haven't written lately.]

Here are a few more:

shrieking sentry

robin egg’s blue

on padded shoulders' jacket

the shrieking sentry

filibusters with a purpose

to stunned 

silence.

© nan, 2015

secrets are bad for you

the truth

lodged in her

throat

between her lungs and tongue

it choked her

would not let her 

breathe

a word.

© nan, 2015

save, fave, lave, crave, stave, pave, shave, cave, gave, rave

save a life

save the queen

save your money

saving face

save good linens

and bone china
save recyclables

save the evidence

saving grace

© nan, 2015

“my second cup will be decaf”

so what you know is this:

I plan to have another cup.
this first one has provided

all the excitement I need

for now

or at least has me humming

at some level

and who needs things

to get too crazy?

I don’t want those 

caffeine jitters

that might prompt me to

bolt

out of my seat

before the work retreat

is done.

© nan, 2015

at this moment

the light of this computer screen
in front of the white-gray of the sky
out the window
coming through horizontal lines

tap tap tappita sounds
of a woodpecker on the maple bark
punk rocker red cardinal friend
chirps and calls from the oak top
black capped chickadee whistling
fee-bee, fee-bee
digital sounds of a blue jay and
rapid musical notes
from the orange-breasted robin

buzz of hummingbird wings
near the vine geranium pot
carrying deep red blooms
goldfinches chattering away
along with red-winged black birds and more

sounds greet aroma of freshly brewed coffee
fragrance meets moist, near-rainy fresh air
cool on my skin

mouth and tongue readying for
the taste and texture of some toast and blackberry jam
-- don’t forget the melted butter

(what I see, what I hear, what I smell, what I feel, what I taste
early this morning)

© nan, 2015

Up early this morning, watchful and taking it all in. It was the perfect time to gather a few observations into an "at this moment" post -- something I haven't done for a time. It is meditative to do this practice, and to write it down is just fun. Not writing down much poetry, lately, this may help to scratch the surface... to bring thoughts and feelings up and out. Try it.

stubborn

just off the edges
of two runways
and three parking lots
at the small county airfield,
ten or twelve banks of grayish-brownish tinged
crystalline snow,
hug the asphalt
adjacent to greening grass fields.

even with days in the 60s and 70s,
some rainy and some sunny,
which call
teenagers to don shorts and t-shirts,
the flattened piles persist
in various stages of receding --
melting away imperceptibly
day by day,
and disappearing entirely one rainy night,
unnoticed.


© nan, 2015


[For the Pantry over at Poets United.  They say you should write about what you know or observe. This is a poem about the stubborn snowbanks that seem to hang around much longer than is scientifically possible. I see them every day in April on my way to and from work. Spring has come very late and is so appreciated. I think everyone is surprised to see remnants of winter hanging on. Yet, no one will notice the last day that the last speck of snow actually melts. And there may be a moment of surprise, when we actually notice that all the banks are now gone. Perhaps it steals away one rainy night. At the rate things are going here, I imagine some of those banks, evidence of how much snow was plowed, and how high, we will have bits of evidence in a few select places until later in May.]

plagues

there are plagues

that come from monkeys.

diseases tear bodies

down

whole towns and villages

decimated

there are plagues

born of belief systems

and brainwashing

powerful minds listen

for the rustling of blasphemy

to quell

what would you choose?

a landscape of physical illness

in which independent

thought lives (sweetly) before it dies

a grim and painful death?

or a dry deck of desert sand

upon which your parched mind

is a kept man…

© nan, 2015

NOTE: It's the Ides of March and all that. Here in CNY it is lightly snowing in a steady hurry. I haven't written a poem in a while. This is for The Sunday Whirl and Poets United. The words to use were:  plague, monkeys, deck, born, dry, whole, keep, sweet, blasphemy, rustling, and tear.