Tuesday, February 11, 2014

sun hunger

I sat in the sun

by Jane Hirshfield

I moved my chair into sun
I sat in the sun
the way hunger is moved when called fasting.

{from Poetry Foundation}

You Reading This, Be Ready

by William Stafford

Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?

Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?

When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life –

What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?

Yesterday, I sat at the kitchen table, not without sun hunger, and worked on my edits for Asking - my upcoming book of poem-essays. So this is really coming up quickly - I should see an actual copy of the book by middle of March or so.

I was sitting there, drinking some tea, when I noticed how the light was falling on the sticky notes I was using to mark the pages where I found errors.

Starting here, what do I want to remember? The way, late winter, light comes into my kitchen, just when I was starving for it, when winter had thinned me out.

Photographers talk about using natural light as much as possible. If your subject is not in natural light, move the subject to the light. Go to where the light is. This is probably the best advice I've ever received about photography.

But it works for other things, too. Writing. Getting through the dregs of winter.

Go to where the light is. Sit there. Move your chair into the light.

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