the material and the dream joining

By the time you read this I will be in Michigan, again, this time for the babyshower of my old college roommate, College Kim. Bestie L and I are throwing a small affair with mostly College K's co-workers. Do you see the pattern lately? Babies, babies, babies. I know at least 5 people who are pregnant now--insert unhealthy distrust of pregnant people and you can almost hear my blood pressure going up--and don't even get me started on how this will again be a summer of weddings: 3 more to go this year beginning in June.

I am looking forward to a (fast) weekend away and hopefully to finishing a few books and reading some Gary Snyder poetry. Speaking of poetry, American poet Adrienne Rich passed away this past week. I came to know her work during my last sememster of my undergrad when I took a Women Poets class; the class was awesome and introduced me to the likes of: Adrienne Rich, Rita Dove, Jorie Graham, and Elizabeth Bishop. I came to know these ladies and be inspired to again take a stab at writing poetry again. I think back to that time and how different my life was; as I finished that class I was also packing for a trip to Spain and a move to New England--how those places changed my life!

Get outside and enjoy spring this weekend and read poetry and feel nostalgic. I will be doing all of these things, I am sure. Happy weekend!
In the old, scratched, cheap wood of the typing stand
there is a landscape, veined, which only a child can see
or the child’s older self, a poet,
a woman dreaming when she should be typing
the last report of the day. If this were a map,
it would be the map of the last age of her life,
not a map of choices but a map of variations
on the one great choice. It would be the map by wh...
she could see the end of touristic choices,
of distances blued and purpled by romance,
by which she would recognize that poetry
isn’t revolution but a way of knowing
why it must come. If this cheap, mass-produced
wooden stand from the Brooklyn Union Gas Co.,
mass-produced yet durable, being here now,
is what is is yet a dream-map
so obdurate, so plain,
she thinks, the material and the dream can join
and that is the poem and that is the late report.
--Adrienne Rich


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