#236: Poetic healing 🌱

“Give light, and the darkness will disappear of itself.” -Erasmus

Dear reader,

I’ve been a little lost, a tiny bit unlike myself. But the coming back to myself has been a slow, beautiful process. This newsletter comes with 8 poems that helped me process the going-ons of my mind. And a playlist for June. Enjoy! 🌺🌺

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Poetry Corner

Purging through these poems that capture such a multiple of feelings. I love how these poets have articulated and given words to the wilderness of life. Oof.

Painting by the amazing Kurt Solmssen

1. Summer Solstice by Rose Styron

Suddenly,
there's nothing to do
and too much—
the lawn, paths, woods
were never so green
white blossoms of every
size and shape—hydrangea,
Chinese dogwood, mock orange
spill their glistening—

Inside, your photographs
and books stand guard
in orderly array. Your
half of the bed is smooth,
the pillows plump, the phone
just out of reach beyond it.

No one calls early—they
remember your late hours.
The shades are down, so
sunlight's held at bay
though not the fabulous winged
song of summer birds
waking me as ever, always in our
favorite room, our season.
Yesterday's mail on the desk
newspaper, unread. Plans for the day
hover bright out all our doors—

Don't think of evening.

2. After A While by Veronica A Shoffstall (Excerpt)

“after a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure…
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth
And you learn and you learn…"

Read the full poem here.

3. Ways to Disappear by Camille Rankine

In the dark
Down a stairwell
Through the doorway
Gone west
With a new wish
In daylight
Down the sidewalk
In a wool coat
In a white dress
Without a name
Without asking
On your knees
On your stomach
Gone silent
In the backseat
In the courtroom
In a cage
In the desert
In the park
Gone swimming
On the shortest night
At the bottom of the lake
In pieces
In pictures
Without meaning
Without a face
Seeking refuge
In a new land
Gone still
In the heart
With your head bowed
In deference
In sickness
In surrender
With your hands up
On the sidewalk
In the daylight
In the dark

Trunks and Foliage (1925), Johann Walter-Kurau

4. The Universe Continues to Expand at 6 a.m. by Jo Brachman

Standing under a faded sky, what you are feeling,
whatever you have tried not to feel, arrives.
You begin mourning like an ancient,
as if you remember a pre-dawn more star-filled.
Bright flash gone missing, the sky withers down
on all towns of the earth, their bodies of water
reflecting kitchens with people devoted
to explosions of their present moment.
Monstrous beauty escaping, the sky burns up
dropped edges of the trees. Gravity lets go
what you had hoped to keep. Your body numbs
as if you are the space in-between,
as if you have already gone.

5. A Mosquito in the Cabin by Myra Stilborn (heh)

Although you bash her,
swat her, smash her,
and go to bed victorious,
happy and glorious
she will come winging,
zooming and zinging,
wickedly singing
over your bed.
You slap the air
but she’s in your hair
cackling with laughter.
You smack your head,
but she isn’t dead --
she’s on the rafter.
She’s out for blood --
yours, my friend,
and she will get it, in the end.
She brings it first to boiling point,
then lets it steam.
With a fee, fi, fo and contented fum
she sips it
while you dream.

6. Song by Mamang Dai

The loyal cicada with folded wings
sings outside my window,
singing as if the silence is breaking his heart.

Take good care of my baby.
My baby forgets rooms and houses
and wanders freely, singing like a bird.

Adulthood, Hilma af Klint

7. Confession by Countee Cullen

If for a day joy masters me,
Think not my wounds are healed;
Far deeper than the scars you see,
I keep the roots concealed.

They shall bear blossoms with the fall;
I have their word for this,
Who tend my roots with rains of gall,
And suns of prejudice.

8. Letter to the person who carved his initials into the oldest living Longleaf pine in North America by Matthew Olzmann

Tell me what it’s like to live without
curiosity, without awe. To sail
on clear water, rolling your eyes
at the kelp reefs swaying
beneath you, ignoring the flicker
of mermaid scales in the mist,
looking at the world and feeling
only boredom. To stand
on the precipice of some wild valley,
the eagles circling, a herd of caribou
booming below, and to yawn
with indifference. To discover
something primordial and holy.
To have the smell of the earth
welcome you to everywhere.
To take it all in, and then,
to reach for your knife.

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Recommended Listening

The June playlist is here. Happy listening.

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Here’s to staying vulnerable and keeping it real! 🤷🏻‍♀️
And to the longest day of the year ahead.

Good night!
Rohini

via