my farm-cation

I was introduced to so much stuff when I lived at the Farm; this amazing 5 years of my life where pop culture fell away and I was stuffed with things I'd not yet really experienced: folk music, scores of poets off the beaten track, novels I'd never heard of. I'd like to pretend that I didn't fight it tooth and nail at first, but eventually, it started to stick...

And now I miss those days of sitting around and reading poetry aloud, or listening to a song with a friend and really hearing it. So, in honor of my Farm-cation (Farm education) I will post things I met and fell in love with when I was living in New England, over this next week while I'm at the Farm.

I head out for my 11 hour roadtrip tonight, so will begin today. Thank you, B1 for Sharon Olds:

"I Go Back to May 1937"

I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,

I see my father strolling out

under the ochre sandstone arch, the   

red tiles glinting like bent

plates of blood behind his head, I

see my mother with a few light books at her hip

standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks,

the wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its

sword-tips aglow in the May air,

they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,   

they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are   

innocent, they would never hurt anybody.   

I want to go up to them and say Stop,   

don’t do it—she’s the wrong woman,   

he’s the wrong man, you are going to do things

you cannot imagine you would ever do,   

you are going to do bad things to children,

you are going to suffer in ways you have not heard of,

you are going to want to die. I want to go

up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,

her hungry pretty face turning to me,   

her pitiful beautiful untouched body,

his arrogant handsome face turning to me,   

his pitiful beautiful untouched body,   

but I don’t do it. I want to live. I   

take them up like the male and female   

paper dolls and bang them together   

at the hips, like chips of flint, as if to   

strike sparks from them, I say

Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.

--Sharon Old, from Strike Sparks: Selected Poem 1980-2002