This rainbow greeted me at dawn on the first day of the year — 01012021
Hers was the last essay in the book, only because of alphabetical placement by author’s last name, but it was the most uplifting and positive way to end the collection. Winkler presents excellent evidence that Shakespeare did not write the plays but was a con-man. Attribution is given to Amelia Bassano Lanker, born in London in 1569 to a family of Venetian immigrants -– musicians and instrument makers who were likely Jewish – – she was one of the first women in England to publish a volume of poetry, “ suitably religious yet startlingly feminist, arguing for women's liberty and against male oppression.”
It really pleased to me to consider that title; it certainly seems possible.
My New Year’s Resolution is to ask a beautiful questions. What if?
Somehow that all fits in with Amanda Gorman’s inspiring inaugural day address.
“Now more than ever, the United States needs an inaugural poem,” Gorman said. “Poetry is typically the touchstone that we go back to when we have to remind ourselves of the history that we stand on, and the future that we stand for.”
Hearing her (and lots of other young voices online) gives me hope for a future. The human possibilities/imaginations give greater hope than technologies to straighten out the mess we have caused. Art saves lives.
I realize I want my art to be ‘perfect’, but am not patient enough to achieve it. My life seems to continually spiral back into itself, back to repetition, back to art, it is all good.
Here’s some of my recent/imperfect poetry:
Writer Aerobics
Perhaps
maybe
we’ll see
it might be possible
under consideration
can’t decide
rewrite
try again
Again
Arrival
What are the semantics of place
Return
Agency
Questions – –
Haunting loops
an in-betweenness balancing act
my words are placeholders
finding own sense in color and rhythm
I will know
When we get there
Today
We might agree this is today
but I'm not sure
yesterday and someday are lost
the feeling of Monday is certainly gone
Monday was full of expectation, energy
Another day came and left
this day or that day
having only the now, and forced
meditation on impermanence
Epistemic Poetry 101
1
Birth — we begin
Mimicking the language(s) heard
using those words to gather more words
A web commences like
Escher’s hand drawing a hand.
Off we go, out and in —
macro leaps of ideas, micro dives into reason
All without knowing ourselves or how we fit in
And the magical part is, we don’t need to know
for it all to knit together
into family and community
each adding to the pattern — the swirl of life
2
Gathering knowledge, sharing, coming to agreements
how we live together.
We agree to drive on the right side of the road
or the left, it is arbitrary, but life assuring
Leaving home in the morning, rounding
the necessary bases of daily life,
confident of returning home
bound in web of traffic agreements
Agreements are fluid, change continual
Freeways, super-stores, trade deals pushed through
with lives bypassed/discounted
Notions of exceptionalism disguise, disregard
How can I not feel responsible
recognizing the global destruction
overwhelming collateral damage —
We could agree to do no harm
3
My clicks through the ether are tracked by systems I cannot comprehend
our patterns of searching, posting, following, have value —
how do we share that wealth, who really owns it?
What else could be done with it?
What can I know about me?
What is known about me?
Who decided, who could decide
who profits from all that information?
4
Life has been defined as “a self-sustained
chemical system that is
capable of Darwinian evolution.”
But that tells me nothing about my life
Self-reflection — absurd attempts at seeing myself
in the past-future, in a future-past, in the slippery-now
As I use my memory, it changes
Let the masks fall — I was, once never / I will, forever no longer be
Living with contradictions and constant possibilities
a life-game we play alone/together
Let’s make it a loving, playful game
5
My task is to unmask myself, hold my roiling
contradictions up for all to say, ‘see, that’s who she is’
Perhaps if I were to step outside of myself —
but again like an Escher drawing, the exit leads back inside
Drawing my words adds to the texture of life’s web
creating unique paths, new connections, solid anchors
In this tangled mess, looping through time
is there another me who sprinted off on a different path
But she would be someone else, and
would we even recognize each other?
Or did my choices throw that draft away
leaving me to carry on - often unsure, hesitant
But sometimes delightedly dancing on
— on a high of ideas and possibilities
Compulsively playing, replaying, this life-game with
self-modifying rules and unknown perimeters
Choices skewed by illusions of
free will, entitlement, exceptionalism
Yet, amazingly, I know I am alive
that much knowledge is enough
It took four years, but my first plumeria bloom is perfect, the scent pure pleasure
