What a beautiful tribute to the divine ordinariness of life. It feels reassuring, like a warm blanket on a chilly autumn morning (which it is here in the southern hemisphere). Thanks for sharing
There's something about this poem that reminds me of Mrs. Dalloway: the cadence, but also the content--a woman, walking in a city street when she catches a glimpse of her reflection.
Yes. I share your love of this sentiment. Not in the cell-rearranging way it struck you perhaps, but a deep appreciation for what she says.( and I will seek out the rest of her poems) I especially remember when, 17 years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and thinking "what do you do now? You make pancakes."
That brilliant realization when she sees herself reflected back in the store front window. Reminds me of a sentiment I often share in my role as a curator of chamber music concerts- to remind our audience members how they need art and beauty in their lives, and to seek it out, even the most mundane, where we can. They will find that it's abundant, even in times of crisis.
Marie Howe
What a beautiful tribute to the divine ordinariness of life. It feels reassuring, like a warm blanket on a chilly autumn morning (which it is here in the southern hemisphere). Thanks for sharing
There's something about this poem that reminds me of Mrs. Dalloway: the cadence, but also the content--a woman, walking in a city street when she catches a glimpse of her reflection.
I hope you savor your very well-deserved break!
This is beautiful Jane! Reading this in the middle of a work day, and it did re-arrange the cells in my body as well. Hugs to you for sharing!
This is one of my very favorite poems. Reading it again this morning was like seeing an old friend. And also I cried. Thank you for sharing it!
Thank you so much for sharing this, Jane. I've never read it before. It's stunning.
Yes. I share your love of this sentiment. Not in the cell-rearranging way it struck you perhaps, but a deep appreciation for what she says.( and I will seek out the rest of her poems) I especially remember when, 17 years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and thinking "what do you do now? You make pancakes."
That brilliant realization when she sees herself reflected back in the store front window. Reminds me of a sentiment I often share in my role as a curator of chamber music concerts- to remind our audience members how they need art and beauty in their lives, and to seek it out, even the most mundane, where we can. They will find that it's abundant, even in times of crisis.