So much gold. My treasure chest is full. And I don’t know where you came from. I went for a long walk yesterday. Following the contours of newborn lake. All around the edges I went, like so many others before me, as evidenced by their tracks. Mine were the only two legged ones. The shores were impassable at times, littered with blown down fir and spruce as the birth pangs slowly subside at the outermost edges of something bigger than me and the valley and every living creature present. This poem was as if heaven sent this morning.
Word sound is one of our things as custodial species I think. Alliteration one of our magics. Our language seems more bent to it than rhyme even. I am tryin to relearn The death prayer in Aramiac, the Kaddish. It begins with alliteration. Kiss the sheep for me.
Andrew, your recitation of the poem brought me to tears. Thank you so much for taking the time to record your voice, something powerful comes through in your cadence that plucks my heartstrings and isn’t accessed in my just reading your mysterious words. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Heather. So glad it came through. I had just finished it, and never really read it aloud. It has some tricky tongue twist in it and there might have been more than twenty takes with the terrible record feature here and some rather shameful outbursts cursing that tongue. Prayer and curse. I did contain multitudes. Not legions though. There was laughter.
Yes! Hearing poetry read in the voice of the poet is the best way to hear its song. Keep that up if you can, Andrew! By the way, I’ve found a way to do it without a thousand restarts. If that is a thing for you, give me a tap if you’d like to know how I do it—but maybe you’re fluid enough to not have to re-record over a thousand mistakes or you have already figured out how to do it without the unforgiving widget on Substack.
Thanks very much for saying so. Michelle. And the kind words on the note thingy.
The circle of writers forming on here is pretty sweet. Sometimes, when I feel I might be too long in posting I look at yours and a dozen other writers just in my subscriber list, see the content that even in that tiny slice I can't keep up enough with, and realize how rich the human is, long side how broken at times.
I get it, Andrew. I love being a writing creature in a growing new niche in an abundant ecosystem. The “note thingy” seems to be one of the economies of generosity, but I’m also wary of it and have yet to understand its mysteries: how does one actually make a connection there? Mostly it’s “crickets” on my posts, but I’ll not stop sending out the little flares for folks and beautiful writing I want to be seen—and you and your gorgeous poetry will be among them. The real abundance is the poetry you offer, not your number of posts. ✨
Solidarity of the unsurnamed here. The one Steve and the one Andrew, both so obviously famous that we need no other moniker to be recognized by all, brought together around Graham's fire.
Hey Abbey! Big shoes in those kind words but I can wrap my feet in the yards of the fabric of the generous circle here and try to keep them on for short stroll when I get doubts. Ha!
Ok, so I backspaced to delete those big shoes several times and ended up retyping them every time. It drew me to think of that (in)famous place of suffering and beauty. Thank you for that.
Just to be transparent...it was good to be read like that. I let my partner know this post early on. Don't worry though. She is a Sicilian with a sharp eye for egoic delusions and will always apply adjusting spells as needed.
In a moment I will present to her the idea that as a writer of such things I should be able to leave my boots and towel where I wish. There may be blades involved in the response.
This did me a lot of good
Fair trade for the same in past exchange.
“to the place you stand
when the place you stand
is the way you wish home.“
“as glass calls back through fire
to sand while dust stirs in clay
and clay rings in rib and rib and rib”
“of what-once-was-presence
in each print pressed”
“by a love for Here still sworn
in the heel-kiss of every step”
“from a heart on all fours, ear to the grail”
So much gold. My treasure chest is full. And I don’t know where you came from. I went for a long walk yesterday. Following the contours of newborn lake. All around the edges I went, like so many others before me, as evidenced by their tracks. Mine were the only two legged ones. The shores were impassable at times, littered with blown down fir and spruce as the birth pangs slowly subside at the outermost edges of something bigger than me and the valley and every living creature present. This poem was as if heaven sent this morning.
Shari! We have new water body filling here too. Beaver-work. So cool. Great glimpse of your world there. In solidarity of the cupule's filling.
I love this so much, Andrew. I swoon for alliteration. "Contour the cusp" brings cadence to the building call to prayer.
Word sound is one of our things as custodial species I think. Alliteration one of our magics. Our language seems more bent to it than rhyme even. I am tryin to relearn The death prayer in Aramiac, the Kaddish. It begins with alliteration. Kiss the sheep for me.
Andrew, your recitation of the poem brought me to tears. Thank you so much for taking the time to record your voice, something powerful comes through in your cadence that plucks my heartstrings and isn’t accessed in my just reading your mysterious words. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Heather. So glad it came through. I had just finished it, and never really read it aloud. It has some tricky tongue twist in it and there might have been more than twenty takes with the terrible record feature here and some rather shameful outbursts cursing that tongue. Prayer and curse. I did contain multitudes. Not legions though. There was laughter.
Peace.
Yes! Hearing poetry read in the voice of the poet is the best way to hear its song. Keep that up if you can, Andrew! By the way, I’ve found a way to do it without a thousand restarts. If that is a thing for you, give me a tap if you’d like to know how I do it—but maybe you’re fluid enough to not have to re-record over a thousand mistakes or you have already figured out how to do it without the unforgiving widget on Substack.
What a beautiful thing to wake up to, Andrew. Thank you.
Thanks very much for saying so. Michelle. And the kind words on the note thingy.
The circle of writers forming on here is pretty sweet. Sometimes, when I feel I might be too long in posting I look at yours and a dozen other writers just in my subscriber list, see the content that even in that tiny slice I can't keep up enough with, and realize how rich the human is, long side how broken at times.
I get it, Andrew. I love being a writing creature in a growing new niche in an abundant ecosystem. The “note thingy” seems to be one of the economies of generosity, but I’m also wary of it and have yet to understand its mysteries: how does one actually make a connection there? Mostly it’s “crickets” on my posts, but I’ll not stop sending out the little flares for folks and beautiful writing I want to be seen—and you and your gorgeous poetry will be among them. The real abundance is the poetry you offer, not your number of posts. ✨
Deeply, mysteriously beautiful. Thanks as always, Andrew
Solidarity of the unsurnamed here. The one Steve and the one Andrew, both so obviously famous that we need no other moniker to be recognized by all, brought together around Graham's fire.
One of the best descriptions of the cross of Golgotha I've ever read.
Hey Abbey! Big shoes in those kind words but I can wrap my feet in the yards of the fabric of the generous circle here and try to keep them on for short stroll when I get doubts. Ha!
Ok, so I backspaced to delete those big shoes several times and ended up retyping them every time. It drew me to think of that (in)famous place of suffering and beauty. Thank you for that.
Just to be transparent...it was good to be read like that. I let my partner know this post early on. Don't worry though. She is a Sicilian with a sharp eye for egoic delusions and will always apply adjusting spells as needed.
In a moment I will present to her the idea that as a writer of such things I should be able to leave my boots and towel where I wish. There may be blades involved in the response.
Yikes! : D