I'm joining the Poetry Pals/Sisters/Princesses for their monthly challenge. Tanita shared this prompt for September:
Poetry Peeps! You’re invited to our challenge for the month of September! Here’s the scoop: We’re wandering through Wallace Stevens’ “13 Different Ways of Looking…” at something. Maybe it’s not 13 ways – maybe it’s only seven. Maybe it’s not a blackbird or anything alive, but something inanimate. Whatever happens, your way of looking will be different than mine, and I’m here for it. Are you in? Good! You have a month to craft your creation and share it on September 27th in a post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals.
I'm cheating a little because I wrote this one a while ago, when my daughters were young. And saying I "wrote" it is a wee bit of a stretch since I borrowed lines from Stevens and interspersed them throughout my version. But I've always liked it and thought it would be fun to share it again, especially given this month's challenge.
(Original lines from Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird are in italics. All the good lines belong to Stevens, but hey, the children are mine.)
Thirteen Ways of Looking at an Interruption
Karen Edmisten
(with apologies and thanks to Wallace Stevens)
I
In the stillness of night,
The only moving thing
is a child.
II
I was of three minds:
sleep, motherhood, sleep.
III
I pretended not to care that I was awakened.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
There is my "to do" list, and then there is God's.
These are not the same thing.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a child
Are one.
Add, mix and stir: my daughters' "to do" lists are mine.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The life with the child
or the thought of that life.
VI
Chatter filled the long day
The company of children
Transformed a mood. Sometimes
for better. Sometimes ... not.
VII
O, dear control-freak-self,
Why do you imagine a different life?
Do you not see how the life
you've been given is unspeakable gift?
VIII
I know of a tidy life,
of elegance, rhythm and control.
But I know, too, That a child is involved
In what I know.
IX
When my children have grown,
They will mark the edge
Of one of many circles.
I will be grateful for their imprint.
X
At the sight of children
I used to say, "Not for me, please.
An unwelcome interruption."
But something shifted. I gave myself
Over to motherhood, and held on tight.
XI
Once, a fear pierced me,
that I would never rise to this task,
would not die to self.
XII
3:20 a.m.: A nightmare. She needs me more
than I need this sleep.
I rise. I go.
A child will not wait for morning.
XIII
It was nighttime all day.
I loved her and I was going to love her.
The child sat entwined in my limbs.
The interruption sweetly complete.
6 comments:
Karen, your poem is tender. I took a long pause when I read, "There is my "to do" list, and then there is God's". There is such truth in this line. Thank you for reminding me of this thought. I always talk about to do lists but never thought of God thoughts about life. Peace to you.
It was nighttime all day. I am reading this after reading Denise's post about Phoebe, and this is what won't turn me loose. xo
Thank you, Carol, for those lovely thoughts. I am big on "to do" lists too but life always has a way of interrupting my list. :)
Irene, thank you. The original line from Stevens is "It was evening all afternoon," and there are different nuances, of course, as he's reflecting on the snow and the blackbird, rather than a child, but he gave me a rich foudation.
You've intertwined Stevens' lines with your own, very personal, ones with such love, and a 'knowing', Karen. It's not easy choosing which I like best, but this one made me nod, "Yes!" "That a child is involved/In what I know." It's a beautiful and heartfelt poem!
Children are the best kind of interruption. I am grateful that you shared your heartfelt insights so eloquently! I feel the need to go call me kids (probably interrupting them now).
Post a Comment