Hello, Poetry Friend
“Megan had lost her mind.”
L.L. Barkat’s The Novelist
Strange that this should be my favorite line in Laura Barkat’s novella, The Novelist. It’s being said with an eyeroll by the fictional Laura. But in the story, it is not Megan who has lost her mind; it’s Laura. Not irrevocably, of course. She thinks the only thing she has lost is her tea basket, but she’s lost herself along life’s way. The book is about Laura becoming un-lost, with poetry and tea as companions.
I don’t know why Laura Barkat gave the character my name. Unlike Megan Willow, I do not own a tea empire. The Megan in the story is strong, insightful, and not the least bit crazy. Perhaps that’s why I love that one short line about Megan losing her mind. Perhaps there is a craziness to Megan.
I like that side of me. The side that had to shower at the gym one morning, while men installed new counters in our bathroom, and I had a fancy luncheon to attend, so I walked out of the communal shower wearing my My Fair Lady dress, flip-flops, and pink curlers in my hair. Of course I saw people I knew. I said hi to all of them, and we all laughed at my get-up. By noontime I had on heels and a hat worthy of Audrey Hepburn.
One great gift Laura Barkat gave to me was to write the By Heart column at Tweetspeak Poetry, which forced me to memorize one poem a month. At the time it seemed a crazy ask. No way could I do that. Now I can’t not do it.
My poetry memorization time is at the end of my writing day, when I’m tired. I make one more cup of tea. I spend 5 minutes with the poem I’m learning by heart. Then I review one I learned previously.
It’s crazy how a line will pop into my mind, and suddenly I am un-lost.
This poem was inspired by one I memorized, Abitail Carroll’s “What Men Die for Lack Of.” Like hers, mine incorporates the lines of other poems — all ones tucked deep in deep.
Glory Be
Glory be to God for all things counter, original, spare, strange
for three long mountains and a wood
for coffee at this table, for the secret of life
in a sudden line of poetry. Would I love it this way
if these very birds were not singing? Don’t you fall now.
The bright stillness of the noon, a hawk,
a crow’s dust of snow,
a tall ship, sea-gulls crying,
aqua Ford convertible, a sack of red apples.
Something bids my hair stand up because
the wolf is in the music.
And here is a smaller gift:
sparrows, still singing.
– Megan Willome, no tea empire required
Poetry Journal
Can you name the poems and poets I shamelessly stole from in my poem? Most of them have been covered here at Poetry for Life, somewhere or other.
When you get lost, what poems find you?
Write a poem incorporating lines from poems you love. If you like, email me what you write at megan.willome@yahoo.com.
Happy poeming!
Megan
I love that poem! Where dd you get the lines from?