The past several weeks, I have felt stalled. I pick up a pen and put it down. I open a file, read a few lines, then close it. I am choking on emotions.
There is something in me desperate to emerge, but I can't find words for it right now.
So I decided to look for a book of poetry exercises that was recommended by several writers I respect, Sage Cohen's "Writing the Life Poetic." After a tai chi class this morning, I stopped by a local bookstore to buy it, but they didn't have a copy in stock. I browsed the writing books and ended up buying "Wabi Sabi for Writers" by Richard R Powell.
I started reading it and was struck by the elegance and terrible simplicity of what wabi sabi is.
Then a few house later, a friend sent me the link to this article in the Boston Globe, an editorial by Elissa Ely, a Boston area Psychiatrist and writer, on Living Life in Poem.
And I read this:
"Putting things in Poem is more than poetry, it’s prayer and pillow talk. For instance, someone once told me that the Zulu translation for the English phrase “far-away’’ is, “Where one cries, Mother, I am lost.’’"This struck me to my core, reverberated like a gong. I hear the echoes still. And in the piece, Ely talks about Wabi Sabi.
As Ely puts it:
". . . wabi, “the unpretentious suchness of the ordinary,’’ and sabi, “a sense of hopeful sadness or recognition that nothing lasts, nothing is perfect, nothing is finished.’’"
I am nearly undone by this, by Ely's words, by Powell's writing, by my dear friend thinking to send this to me, this day, this moment in time.
Hiya! If you send me your address, I'll mail you a copy of Writing the Life Poetic! : )ReplyDelete