If Haikus take those things that we feel and experience but somehow can't express in regular speech -- nature, the Divine, our innermost complexities -- and distill them down to their verbal essence, then the first Haiku I ever heard danced through my head throughout my childhood.
I wrote this week's poem in the spring of 1987. It still feels true, almost 30 years later.
This week I thought I would juxtapose one poem I wrote in my mid-twenties with one I wrote in my mid-fifties. . . and let them have a thirty-year conversation.
Nine weeks across America deserves a poem
But I can't seem to write it
I began writing poetry when I was in the seventh grade -- encouraged by an extraordinary educator named Sally Jordan. I had always loved poetry. My father read poetry to me as a child, and when I was old enough, he paid me to memorize them -- a buck a poem. He started me out with Shakespeare. Because, well, why not?
To read two poems and learn more about my poetry practice of joy, please see this post.