Childhood Imagination Sows Seeds of Future Brilliance
It is my great pleasure to introduce Jim Bauerlein to the plum tree. I love the quirkiness of this poem, the sudden turn mid-way to introduce the metaphor. Thank you Jim for writing our poetry corner in such a poetic way. I thought this image might suit Jim’s piece, as he gives us all a great big hug from the page.
Jim has told me that one of his favourite poems is Ramond Carver’s Gravy, so I have posted it for you Here.
Gravy by Raymond Carver.
No other word will do. For that’s what it was.
Gravy, these past ten years.
Alive, sober, working, loving, and
being loved by a good woman. Eleven years
ago he was told he had six months to live
at the rate he was going. And he was going
nowhere but down. So he changed his ways
somehow. He quit drinking! And the rest?
After that it was all gravy, every minute
of it, up to and including when he was told about,
well, some things that were breaking down and
building up inside his head. “Don’t weep for me,”
he said to his friends. “I’m a lucky man.
I’ve had ten years longer than I or anyone
expected. Pure Gravy. And don’t forget it.”
Why do I love poetry, why do i love the air? Take it away, and you will know. Gasp for breath. The light goes , grayness falls, then I am in a funk.
Yes, a dark hole. No coming out today. Logic wins, consistency, that hobgoblin, wins. I go sit in the corner.
Why do I love poetry, why do I love you?
Oh I just do dear, just do. Its in the curl of your lip, maybe the sun on your skin.
The turn of a phrase.
I love what is in between the words. Pointed beyond the words, behind and underneath.
Why do I love poetry? Because I am confused. I cannot find my way in the world, whatever I say seems often wrong, misunderstood , fraught with contradiction and then…
Ah ha: A scribbling of marks supports confusion..Lets me see how much I love you when I hate you, How I can be afraid and brave. How my old face in the morning mirror is the face of God. How my dogs heart beats still, so long after he has left this world.
Poetry makes it possible for the truth to vibrate in my soul, helps the sun to rise.