See If You Can Stop
A poet thrust his poems into Robert Frost’s hands. “Mr. Frost, should I go on writing?”
Frost replied, “Well, see if you can stop.”
During August I came upon/was gifted/surprised by the work of some poets you have never read. Thanks to Rapid River magazine of Arts and Culture, I have the opportunity to share words of real people, from a twelve-year-old girl to a couple of retired curmudgeons, and a woman who sent poems to me. Each of these writers reminded me why I write:
I want someone to read my words.
I want someone to know I was here.
“If a poem is anything, it is an overture of friendship to whoever reads it and receives the poet’s meaning. We’re listening for words that could be uttered among friends who listen for an answer.” (Ester Cameron, editor of The Deronda Review) say, “Yes! Yes! to it all.”
Poet, Susan Marshall writes of “days of displacement/and journey.” Her poem, I EXIST, is a testament to choice.
I Exist
I am.
I breathe,
breathe again
and remember my choice of
this human existence.
I choose not to wrestle
with the demons of undelight,
only to remember and remember,
and if I can’t remember,
imagine that light.
The demons still prance,
but with less of a dance.
I have the power and I nod to them
remembering nostalgically,
you may influence me,
I see you.
I once loved you
and believed in your darkness.
Yet now I know,
it is not you who holds the key,
it is me.
I choose light.
I choose to exist this night.
The following poem is by twelve-year-old Eliza Howard. Here she is in a “Mary Oliver moment,” intimate with nature.
Morning By The River
Upon the river bank I stood,
To smell the air so sweet and good.
I stroked the water with my hand,
To touch the bottom if I could.
The day was misty and cloudy, but brigh t-
For it was dawn and not the night.
The water flowed around my feet.
The sun appeared and glowed with light!
I waded in up to my knees.
The water was cold as it could be.
It was colored green and blue.
The mist was gone so I could see.
The water reflected the glittering light –
And everything seems just quite right.
And it was oh, so very bright!
And it was oh, so very bright!
Texas poet, Mario Sakran was searching for a home for his poetry children, and found Rapid River Magazine on-line. He lets us know he is here.
Unknown
A voyage starts from what is clearly known,
a place of recognizable stillness.
The passageway at first the wise condone,
it leads to what they claim they do witness.
The time does move as things do blur away,
the path quickly goes to a novel land,
the wisdom of the claims does blur away,
the recognized recall now quickly banned.
A place of new with signs that can’t be read,
with those that move and those which seem so still,
unusual gray mists follow with dread,
and seem to block the force of hoped-for will.
But time does move and mists may disappear,
if will read signs the land may be now clear.
When I read the first line for the first time, I thought Mario had written, “A poem starts from what is clearly known.” Interesting. The poem could work that way also.
Tom Graham send me his book, The Dust Of My Bosom, published by the curmudgeon himself. This book is a patchwork of poetry, storytelling, essay/memoir of a life lived in full. Tom quotes Virginia Woolf, “No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anyone but oneself.”
The Promise
God sends Sol’s light westward,
while His sunset signals,
“I’ll send Sol back tomorrow
morning, at first light.
I’m very good at this.
I’ve done it a long time.
Trust me until tomorrow.
Until morning comes, go
admire my moon and stars.”
These disparate poets write because they can’t stop, because they want to share their awe, journey, and their selves. They want to be heard.
Should you go on writing?
See if you can stop.
