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Monday, October 3, 2011

Awake Early


Hello to all you early risers.  All of my plans to wake up early and write have been side railed by the wonderful cold/flu thing going around for the past while.  But this is the week.  Waking in the early dark. Drinking coffee, reams of coffee.  Scribbling in my notebook.  So beautifully, blissfully quiet at this time of day.  Which is not to say that some mornings it's hell dragging oneself out of a warm bed.  Not so bad right now, but wait a month or so.  It's nice, though, knowing that others are doing the same.  Carving out a space to write, to create, before the day is upon us, full and loud and clamoring.

Have you read Mary Oliver's poem?  It's lovely, simple.  Here it is below, and I'm going to follow it with a darker one I wrote (in Blue Feast).  Written when our daughter was young, in the dark of winter, up early, wanting to stay with the darkness.



Why I Wake Early
by Mary Oliver


Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who make the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and crotchety–
best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light–
good morning, good morning, good morning.
Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.



Waking into Darkness

from Blue Feast, Shawna Lemay

Unmoored, this is the time for measuring
kinds of emptiness.

Within the blindness of winter
waking into darkness.

The sun begins to rise
and instead of relief
a renting of the flannelled soul.

If only
the snow would have fallen thick
blocking out the sun this morning.

The collected data, incomplete, is tucked into the sleeve
as a mother stows tissue for her unhappy child
forgets it until her black shirt has gone through the dryer.
The garments, clouded.

At first it seems the emptiness has made the insidious mess.
Touched everything.

That you've watched a star-show of deferred sorrow
dawns more slowly
the careful measure of light clinging obstinately 
to dark.


1 comment:

  1. Hey! There's a picture of you! Light on the outside, dark on the inside. I like that....

    ReplyDelete

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