If you place a fern under a stone, the next day it will be nearly invisible as if the stone has swallowed it. If you tuck the name of a loved on under your tongue too long, without speaking it it becomes blood, sigh, the little sucked in breath of air hiding everywhere beneath your words. No one see’s the fuel that feeds you.—Naomi Shihab Nye from Fuel
“I have always loved the gaps, the spaces between things, as much as the things. I love staring, pondering, mulling, puttering. I love the times when someone or something is late—there’s that rich possibility of noticing more, in the meantime…Poetry calls us to pause. There is so much we overlook, while the abundance around us continues to shimmer, on its own.”
Make up a story. Narrative is radical, creating us at the very moment it is being created. We will not blame you if your reach exceeds your grasp; if love so ignites your words they go down in flames and nothing is left but their scald. Or if, with the reticence of a surgeon’s hands, your words suture only the places where blood might flow. We know you can never do it properly—once and for all. Passion is never enough; neither is skill. But try. For our sake and yours forget your name in the street; tell us what the world has been to you in the dark places and in the light. … Language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names.
The mother, in a flannel dressing-gown,
holds her thin flame-haired daughter on her knees,
the Shorter Version of her energies.
Here three girls lark on the muddy lawn,
her two in shorts despite the chill of June
in Dublin, mine in paisley jeans, a sixties
rip-off, taller, smiling, almost at…
I’m learning to fly, to levitate myself. No one is teaching me. I’m just learning on my own, little by little, dream lesson by dream lesson. Not a very subtle image, but a persistent one. I’ve had many lessons, and I’m better at flying than I used to be. I trust my ability more now, but I’m still afraid. I can’t quite control my directions yet. - Parable of the Sower.
In a rare 2007 interview Cormac McCarthy told Oprah that he does not know any writers, and much prefers the company of scientists. I can’t imagine what my world would be like without my writer friends.
jeffrey alan love