“Dempster” by Steve Schutt (antique mohair, black shoe button eyes, hand puppet made by Jama, 1987)
The Loneliest Job in the World by Tony Hoagland
As soon as you begin to ask the question, Who loves me?
you are completely screwed, because
the next question is How Much?
and then it is hundreds of hours later,
and you are still hunched over
your flowcharts and abacus,
trying to decide if you have gotten enough.
This is the loneliest job in the world:
to be an accountant of the heart.
It is late at night. You are by yourself,
and all around you, you can hear
the sounds of people moving
in and out of love,
pushing the turnstiles, putting
their coins in the slots,
paying the price which is asked,
which constantly changes.
No one knows why.
~ from Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty (Greywolf Press, 2010)
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♥ This week’s Sunday Bear Hug is brought to you as always by Mr. Cornelius, who is busy counting his change. There can never be too much love in this world, he says, or hugs. Hug at least five people today, or the same person five times.
“Cornellia” by Barbara Whisnant (German distressed mohair, antique baby dress, 1989)
Woman’s Work by Julia Alvarez
for Judy Yarnall
Who says a woman’s work isn’t high art? She challenged as she scrubbed the bathroom tiles. Keep house as if the address were your heart.
We cleaned the whole upstairs before we started downstairs. I sighed, hearing my friends outside. Doing her woman’s work was a hard art
to practice when the summer sun would bar the floor I swept till she was satisfied. She kept me prisoner in her housebound heart.
She shined the tines of forks, the wheels of carts, cut lacy lattices for all her pies. Her woman’s work was nothing less than art.
And I, her masterpiece since I was smart, was primed, praised, polished, scolded, and advised to keep a house much better than my heart.
I did not want to be her counterpart! I struck out . . . but became my mother’s child: a woman working at home on her art, housekeeping paper as if it were her heart.
~ from She Walks in Beauty: A Woman’s Journey Through Poems, edited and introduced by Caroline Kennedy (Hyperion, 2011).
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♥ Today’s Sunday Bear Hug is brought to you by Mr. Cornelius, who is eating three extra cream scones today in honor of mothers everywhere, past and present. Have a beautiful Mother’s Day, everyone!
Forgiveness. The ability to forgive oneself. Stop here for a few breaths and think about this, because it is the key to making art and very possibly the key to finding any semblance of happiness in life. Every time I have set out to translate the book (or story, or hopelessly long essay) that exists in such brilliant detail on the big screen of my limbic system onto a piece of paper (which, let’s face it, was once a towering tree crowned with leaves and a home to birds), I grieve for my own lack of talent and intelligence. Every. Single. Time. Were I smarter, more gifted, I could pin down a closer facsimile of the wonders I see. I believe that, more than anything else, this grief of constantly having to face down our own inadequacies is what keeps people from being writers. Forgiveness, therefore, is key. I can’t write the book I want to write, but I can and will write the book I am capable of writing. Again and again throughout the course of my life I will forgive myself.
♥ This week’s Sunday Bear Hug is brought to you by Mr. Cornelius, who admires you and your writing. “Please eat an extra piece of chocolate pie for me,” he says, “after you finish your work today.”
“Eloise” by Barbara Wiltrout (vintage baby dress, antique cameo and beads, Spring bonnet, 1992)
A Dream of Trees by Mary Oliver
There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company,
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.
There is a thing in me still dreams of trees.
But let it go. Homesick for moderation,
Half the world’s artists shrink or fall away.
If any find solution, let him tell it.
Meanwhile I bend my heart toward lamentation
Where, as the times implore our true involvement,
The blades of every crisis point the way.
I would it were not so, but so it is.
Who ever made music of a mild day?
~ from No Voyage. and Other Poems (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 1965)
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Last Week’s Door Prize Winners
♥ Declaration of Interdependence by Janet Wong: Libby from Libby’s Book Blog, Gail Gerwin, and Myra from Gathering Books ♥
♥ A Stick is an Excellent Thing by Marilyn Singer and LeUyen Pham: Leslie Muir ♥
♥ A Suitcase of Seaweed by Janet Wong: Katya from Write. Sketch. Repeat ♥
♥ Won Ton: A Cat Tale Told in Haiku by Lee Wardlaw and Eugene Yelchin: Candice Ransom from Under the Honeysuckle Vine ♥
Congratulations to all the winners! Please send your snail mail address to: readermail (at) jamakimrattigan (dot) com.
A big thanks to everyone for commenting!
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Still to Come:
April 30: Lee Wardlaw
May 2: Wrap Up and Potluck Giveaway Winner!
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♥ Today’s Sunday Bear Hug is brought to you by Cornelius, who is busy making his own music (but wants you to send him a nice doughnut anyway).
“Hilda” by Barbara Ferrier (cream mohair, hand knitted sweater, hand stitched pink nose, gold locket, 1992)
Spring Azures by Mary Oliver
In spring the blue azures bow down
at the edges of shallow puddles
to drink the black rain water.
Then they rise and float away into the fields.
Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy,
and all the tricks my body knows —
the opposable thumbs, the kneecaps,
and the mind clicking and clicking —
don’t seem enough to carry me through the world
and I think how I would like
to have wings —
blue ones —
ribbons of flame.
How I would like to open them, and rise
from the black rain water.
And then I think of Blake, in the dirt and sweat of London — a boy
staring through the window, when God came
fluttering up.
Of course, he screamed,
seeing the bobbin of God’s blue body
leaning on the sill,
and the thousand-faceted eyes.
Well, who knows.
Who knows what hung, fluttering, at the window
between him and the darkness.
Anyway, Blake the hosier’s son stood up
and turned away from the sooty sill and the dark city —
turned away forever
from the factories, the personal strivings,
The President’s Stuck in the Bathtub by Susan Katz and Robert Neubecker: Linda Baie from Teacher Dance
UnBEElievables by Douglas Florian: Tabatha Yeatts from The Opposite of Indifference
CONGRATULATIONS LINDA AND TABATHA! Please send me your snail mail address so I can get your books out to you: readermail (at) jamakimrattigan (dot) com.
Thanks for all your wonderful comments, Everyone!
***
Week of April 23 – 30, 2012
Guest Poets:
April 23: Doraine Bennett
April 24: Janet Wong
April 25: Jill Corcoran
April 26: Kay Pluta
April 27: Heidi Bee Roemer
April 30: Lee Wardlaw
Door Prizes:
The Declaration of Interdependence by Janet Wong (Poetry Suitcase, 2012)
Won Ton: A Cat Tale Told in Haiku by Lee Wardlaw and Eugene Yelchin (Henry Holt, 2011)
A Stick is an Excellent Thing by Marilyn Singer and LeUyen Pham (Clarion Books, 2012) – Previously unannounced surprise door prize!
**Comment on any post (April 23-28) to be eligible to win!
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♥ Today’s Sunday Bear Hug is brought to you by Cornelius Oliver, who has renamed himself after his favorite poet. He requests that everyone wear blue today in Mary’s honor.
Jama's Alphabet Soup 