Drew Myron's Blog, page 14
March 27, 2022
On Sunday: Rest
In you the heart
seeks no barrier.
Clouds come and rest.
— Drew Myron
A friend wrote recently:
My poems get shorter because there’s too much to say.
I’m there too. In the throes of steady high alert — health, war, injustice, econony — I’m both paying attention and turning away. I’m holding in and back, holding on, conserving every emotional expense. There’s just so much and I’m both enlarged with frustration and reduced by fatigue.
But the world beyond my head lifts in hope: sun strains to shine, lilacs urge to burst, and everywhere trees bloom in glorious color and scent.
All is now, now, now, this, this, this. All is well.
And all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
— Julian of Norwich
February 27, 2022
Shall We Drink?
Thought 179, an erasure poem by Drew Myron
Dear You,
The days wear on, and I think of you often.
Are you healthy, happy, well?
We are doing the best we can, feeding heart and mind with memories and wine, trying to find light in dark days. You know how it is. You do what you can do.
We find solace in small things: walks, talks, bike rides, sun and snow. I read and write. We forget more. Quiet lives.
I don't have much to say these days. It's not sadness I feel, though this letter has taken a tone — but maybe it's a grey day in late winter and a sense of resignation has taken hold. You must know this feeling too, a suspended state that tilts toward acceptance but with a resistance that pulls away.
We hope to travel again, to see you soon & hold you close. Though the heart strains to contain the world, we have not forgotten how to love.
Love,
Drew
Thought 179:
Shall we drink?
My dear friend,
I have misjudged time!
My friend, I have opened
my heart, weeping.
Shall we drink?
— Drew Myron
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The world turns on words, please read & write.
February 20, 2022
Well Read: Keeping the Mind Fed
Oh winter of our hibernation. Like fields, we go fallow, into deep rest and restoration. I’ve gone deep into books and it’s been a good reading season.
Here are a few of my latest favorites, along with lines and passages that struck a chord.
FICTION
Someone by Alice McDermott
A slim, subtle novel of substantial beauty. The novel, says the author, grew out of the belief that on some level, we more or less all struggle with the same things.
“We turned onto the last landing. Going out with this guy, I thought, would involve a lot of silly laughter, some wit — the buzz of his whispered wisecracks in my ear. But there would be as well his willingness to reveal, or more his inability to conceal, that he had been silently rehearsing my name as he climbed the stairs behind me. There would be his willingness to bestow upon me the power to reassure him. He would trust me with his happiness.”
The Five Wounds by Kirstin Valdez Quade
A tender and redemptive novel spanning one year in a family of five generations.
“What no one appreciates is that it takes courage — and considerable dramatic flair — to show up and insist you belong, to invoke genetic claims and demand food and love and housing.”
The Last Thing He Told Me by Laura Dave
An easy mystery with a quick page-turning pace.
“This is the thing about good and evil. They aren't so far apart, and they often start from the same valiant place of wanting something to be different.”
NONFICTION
Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion by Gregory Boyle
A practical memoir of radical love from a priest who spent 20 years working with Los Angeles gangs.
“Here is what we seek: a compassion that can stand in awe at what the poor have to carry rather than stand in judgement at how they carry it.”
Your Turn: Are you in hibernation, too? What books are feeding your mind & soul?
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The world turns on words, please read & write.
February 10, 2022
Thankful Thursday: Bad Advice
Reminder 13: Bad Advice, by Drew Myron
In my early days of poetry, I attended a writing workshop in which the instructor gave a list of don’ts:
Do not write about the moon.
Do not use these words:
muse, moonlight, soul, eternity, thee, thus, lavender
While I agree the world needs less musing, I love lavender. But because I was green and eager-to-please, I did not question authority. It took me years to sneak lavender into a poem. I still shrink from mentions of the moon.
Advice sticks. Good or bad, it tends to hang around in the head.
Growing up my mother warned us to avoid white bread and McDonalds. Good advice that still hounds me today. But she also frequently told me to “Go play in traffic.”
You take the good with the bad, and hope for the best.
It’s Thankful Thursday, a weekly pause to express appreciation for people, places, things and more. Why give thanks? Because joy contracts and expands in proportion to our gratitude, and these difficult days call for more peace and joy. On this Thankful Thursday, I’m grateful for advice — good and bad — that got me here, still alive & writing.
What are you thankful for today?
More Reminders:
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January 30, 2022
Under the Influence
What are you reading, watching, singing?
How are you sleeping? What are you eating?
Who whispers in your ear? What roars?
What’s influencing you?
We know that everything is grist for the mill of the mind. Everything is material. We read, read, read, write, write, write, muddle, miss the mark, toss, turn, and start again.
Who knows how the mind filters and files — what to keep, what to toss, and why?
“Your triggering subjects are those that ignite your need for words,” writes Richard Hugo in the seminal book The Triggering Town. “When you are honest to your feelings, that triggering town chooses you. Your words used your way will generate your meanings. Your obsessions lead you to your vocabulary. Your way of writing locates, even creates, your inner life.”
Ten years ago, I was struck by this poem by Olena Kalytiak Davis.
Two years ago, I snapped this photo while driving across eastern Oregon.
Earlier this month, a storm delivered days and days of heavy snow.
Two weeks ago, our writing group was prompted to write about the new year.
Holiday, weather, postcard, pandemic, darkness and light, pressure and pleasure — one influence after another. Experience forms feeling, words stir, a poem takes shape.
I don’t know how the mind sifts and sorts. I’m not trying to write anything; I’m trying to write something, everything. The mystery of writing keeps me trying.
What’s influencing you?
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The world turns on words, please read & write.
January 19, 2022
Switch & List
Hello Writers, Readers, Thinkers & Feelers,
How are you — I mean, really?
These are the spiral days. The pandemic surges on, nerves fray, winter feels chronically gray, and the mood is a long swirling plummet.
Maybe this is not your story. Maybe you’re meeting up, dining out, and thriving. Your creativity is off the charts, your skin is glowing, your hair bouncing, and your body is leaner and cleaner than ever.
Good for you. I’m not there and I envy your ease.
We’re in fractured worlds, and I’m among those living with health conditions. We tread lightly and with trepidation, while the rest of the world feels healthy and strong, sure they’ll recover from a health bump in an otherwise smooth road.
Because nearly every topic now divides, I no longer share my worries, details or opinions. I’m trying not to sneer at the unmasked and unconcerned. But it’s hard to hold back the fear and frustration. And really, aren’t we all exhausted?
Among writer-friends, I’m seeing a new sort of writer’s block — a creative numb. Externally, the world swirls in a succession of bad events and information while internally the creative world plods along weary and worn.
I feel like I’m living this poem:
The Well
It's not that the well's run dry.
The walk feels too far. It's uphill
in the snow both ways, and
who has the strength to carry
those dangling buckets balanced
on their shoulders now? I'll stay
on this secondhand chair, wrapped
in my mother's holey shawl.
Make another cup of tea, stay quiet.
Grief sits with me by the fire.
Out the window, tiny birds track
hieroglyphics across the icy ground.
This week our writing group-by-email was prompted to write a list poem. The work trickled in slowly and, well, listless. This poem seemed to capture our collective mood:
Nothing Today
No juncos.
No kudos.
No innuendoes.
No Spaghettios.
No crows.
No jokes.
No hope.
No hoboes.
No heroes.
No romance.
No spotted thrushes.
No applesauce.
No asparagus.
No appurtenances.
No tennis shoes.
No aphorisms.
No witticisms.
No chickadees.
No maladies.
No vitamins.
No robins.
No ravens.
No eagles.
No sea gulls.
No guile.
No homilies.
No similes.
No turns.
No terns.
No adverbs.
No apologies.
No advertisements.
No boots.
No coots.
No comment.
No point.
Tell me: How do you keep the pen moving along the page? (Yes, I still prefer pen and paper). How’s your writing, your head, your heart?
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The world turns on words, please read & write.
January 9, 2022
What’s In Your Book Stack?
Is there anything better than a stack of books and a comfy couch (except for maybe a stack of books and a warm beach)?
I’m in deep winter mode — snow, ice, cold — and starting the new year burrowed in fiction, poetry, memoir, self-help, and more. Some of the books were gifted to me and many were gifts to myself. Have a book lingering on your want-to-read list? Go ahead, treat yourself.
Here are a few of my latest favorites:
All the Words by Magda Kapa
Poet and photographer Magda Kapa has created a beautifully designed and stunning “poetic dictionary” comprised of aphorisms, epigrams and short “naked verse.”
Mistake: mostly done again and again until it has a name.
Night: sight to the inside.
Sanity: one bank of the river
[image error]Whereas: Poems by Layli Long Soldier
This poetry collection has earned a long list of awards, including the National Book Critics Circle Award — and for good reason. Through a variety of poetic forms and styles, Layli Long Solider confronts government responses, treaties, and apologies to Native American peoples and tribes. With astounding restraint and emotional power, this poet offers song and scream with bolts of essential light.
While we’re just over a week into the new year, this book (published in 2017) is now my favorite poetry collection of 2022.
Small Beauties: Poems by Ann Staley
With six books in just ten years, Oregon poet and teacher Ann Staley is a prolific writer, and a master of small moments. She’s an inspiration, a light, and a friend to all.
What saves us is our love for each other
and the moments we recall
at the end of any ordinary day.
What went well? Maybe this poem.
Your turn: What are you reading in this new year?
January 2, 2022
The World in a Word
New year, new page, new start.
Sure, right, whatever.
Even in a good year — and 2021 was a soul crusher — I’m not a fan of resolutions. The performance of commitment seems, well, a bit much. All that dogged determination wears me out. I don’t ring in the new year as much as let it creep across the floor and hope the draft is warm and the light is soft.
Sometimes I choose a word to guide the way. Remember when everyone was doing that choose-a-word exercise (everyone = poets, writers, bloggers)? One year useful called to me; I mean, really, I was adrift and feeling useless. The more I looked for ways to be of use, the more useful I became (that was a good year). But lately, aside from read, rest and wine, there is no resounding word. Nothing calls me.
Remember when we were urging each other to fail better? That too felt like overreach.
Last night I watched what I thought would be an annoyingly sappy movie — It’s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (Netflix) — and much to my surprise I cried all the way through. I suspect the tears were stirred not just by the movie but by a wave of emotion that pulled me under because for so long now the world feels both sharp and fragile. My tears were cathartic catch and release. (Today I found the magazine story by Tom Junod that formed the seed of the movie, and I was awed by the writing, and now the movie has moved me even more).
In these endings, and these beginnings, in these days of uncertainty, of sickness and struggle, of unexpected laughter followed by rushing tears, I often feel about to topple. It can be a stinging tone or a car too close. It’s the frozen pipe, the broken furnace, the sour milk, the icy step. All is glass and slick and I’m losing my feet, my head, my heart. This feeling won’t last, I’m sure, but good lord we’ve all been on this road for so damn long.
This year, not a word. Not a list of self-improvements. This poem calls me. The Work of Christmas by Howard Thurman is the work of every day. I’d like to live this poem. Maybe that’s my word — live — and my resolution, too.
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The world turns on words, please read & write.
December 19, 2021
What You Give
Be radiant light. Shine on.
- Drew Myron
1.
When we most need light, which is to say hope, the holidays arrive. Is it chance? It can’t be coincidence that the giving season takes place during the darkest, coldest time of the year.
2.
I keep thinking of the poem When Giving Is All We Have by Alberto Rios.
We give because someone gave to us.
3.
Life is a bustle of lists, gifts, food. We light candles and trees, and wrap ourselves into folly. The days are short, nights long, and we’re clinging to any slant of light. When our need is most pressing, we get the nudge that urges us to step out of ourselves, think of others.
We give because giving has changed us.
4.
For months I’ve been trying to write about Pearl and Doris and Walt and Addie and the many others I meet while delivering Meals on Wheels.
Like small stones worried smooth, each person is now lodged in my heart. I think of the man who waits at his door each week to greet me with full-smile and small talk; the woman too sick to chat; the man with a nurse who thanks me for the hot meal; the woman who invites me inside to admire the glow of her Christmas tree.
We give because giving could have changed us.
5.
Maybe I read too much into a moment. Maybe I want to feel something other than the dread and sadness I often carry. Maybe this is nothing more than a weekly task and I’m turning a small scrap into a warm quilt.
6.
But I keep thinking of the woman who can hardly hear and barely see, whose house smells of too many cats.
Each week I’m a new mystery to solve. Still, she often gives a smile and her eyes turn a dazzling blue. She comes to life, and we laugh about nothing, and I like to think we’re both happy — even briefly.
Then she roots around the pocket of the tattered cardigan that hangs from her frail shoulders and offers me a wad of bills.
“Oh thank you,” I say, suddenly flustered and grateful and sad. “You keep that. Spend that on yourself.”
She nods and smiles, and we wave our goodbyes.
You gave me what you did not have.
* For privacy, names have been changed.
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The world turns on words, please read & write.
December 9, 2021
I Was Moved: Books of 2021
Read any good books lately?
I’m always reading something, and get nervous when my reading stack runs low. And though I read every day, I’m not often moved. I’m occupied, engaged, and sometimes engrossed, but it takes a lot to move me. The most wonderful reading experience is when I don’t want to do anything that will take me off the page. The writing is so good, the characters so real, the feelings so vivid that I want to binge on the pleasure but also don’t want the story to end. It’s a rare book that can deliver this delightful mix.
In 2021, these books moved me:
[image error]What Could Be Saved by Liese O'Halloran Schwarz
The memories of their parents were like that, sometimes filled with fury, sometimes love, sometimes sorrow. Unforgivable things mixing with dumbfounding things and tender things, the same event in equal parts hilarious and enraging. There was no one way to think of their childhoods.
Set in 1972, this suspenseful literary mystery is a masterfully woven tale of family, siblings, secrets and hope. Stellar writing both comforts and transports.
Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng
Before that she hadn’t realized how fragile happiness was, how if you were careless, you could knock it over and shatter it.
In this profound portrait of family, culture, and belonging a story of beautifully aching characters is built. This is Ng’s debut novel, published a few years before Little Fires Everywhere, the bestselling novel that was turned into a television series.
She’d thought she was memorable. How clear it was that she was not. It wasn’t a quality you possessed, she thought now. It was a quality other people endowed you with.
In this deep and heart-full novel about the complexities of love, marriage, and grief, Sue Miller is master of the details of daily life.
The Magical Language of Others by E.J. Koh
Neither happiness nor sadness are ever done with us. They are always passing by.
A powerful and aching love story of mother and daughter, told in letters. A beautifully written memoir rendered with a poetic detachment that provides space to hold the pain.
Rules for Visiting by Jessica Francis Kane
Others get to midlife, look around — sort of the way you might reexamine your living room when you need a new sofa — and say, What do I have here? What is this room I’ve made? Halfway through life, I wasn’t sure what I’d made.
Don’t let this cutesy cover fool you. What seems a lightweight tale is a wonderfully quiet and charming novel of friendship and self-examination.
The Second O of Sorrow by Sean Thomas Dougherty
Why Bother
Because right now, there is someone
out there with
a wound in the exact shape
of your words.
This poetry collection gathers together a striking blend of short powerful poems and lyrical prose pieces from a poet described as “a blue-collar, Rust Belt romantic to his generous, enthusiastic core.”
Your Turn: Read any good books lately? What books moved you?
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The world turns on words, please read & write.
