Hello, Poetry Friend
My poetry notebooks, where I write each day, do not conform to a calendar. I start the new one when the old pages fill. But it so happens I finished notebook as 2023 dawned. On rereading the old notebook, I found an unexpected poem on the first page.
A caveat: I don’t do resolutions. I don’t make five-year plans or set goals. I don’t even choose a word of the year (although one usually reveals itself as the months unfold). I just write poems and articles and books. Occasionally I write exactly what I need.
Here’s what I’m claiming as my New Year’s poem, written last spring.
This is all I'm asking from this hot soil, swollen as if pregnant, groaning only when no one can hear. Dearest seed, are you getting what you need? Any last items to fetch from the store before you sprout? I takes so long to birth. Nine months in darkness doesn't seem enough for you, tree child. I don't even know what tree you will be.
What do you need to write, this January? Write it. Dare to share.
You just might need it in 2024.
Poetry Journal
If you have a notebook or a journal or a secret document, read back through what you wrote last year. Did you accidentally write what you need?
Read the poem “New Year’s” by Dana Gioia. (It’s also in the free sample of the Kindle edition of my book The Joy of Poetry.) What do you see today when you look across your unfootprinted “field of snow”?
Read Gioia’s poem again, aloud (if you didn’t the first time). Is there anything you notice this time that you want to add to your journal?
Write your own poem about the new year. If you like, email me what you write.
Take care, Megan