National Poetry Month 2018
See more posts at Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life .
Afternoon Light by John Gibson
Sometimes it’s in the details of the day,
these spokes of wheel, pattern of brick, leaf fall.
Sometimes it’s the conversation you hear,
standing by, eavesdropping, that gossip-talk.
Sometimes it’s the way you walk to and fro,
wandering through tall grass and stepping into light.
–Margaret Simon, (c) 2018
“A poet needs to keep his wilderness alive inside him.” Stanley Kunitz
As I write a poem every day to my father’s incredible art, I feel unworthy, like a child waiting for a parent’s approval. When I wrote the poem above and many of the ones I’ve done this month, I hear the echo of a first line in my head. I go with it and follow it through the path to a poem. Sometimes I don’t think it’s really me writing. More like scribing. The Stanley Kunitz quote above speaks to this wilderness inside me where poems live. I’ve decided to trust this voice even when I don’t really understand her.
Reflections on the Teche 
You are really good with repetition. The pairing of poems and art is beautiful. I hope your Dad is enjoying this too!
He is. He has made a point of telling me so. Thanks.
The picture is amazing and absolutely haunting. What a wonderful project, no doubt a very emotional experience for you. And thanks for the insight into what motivates you to write. It sounds like you are definitely channeling that inner voice, and should continue to do so if these are the results!
Thanks. I am trying to trust the process and not question (judge) too much.
Margaret, I feel an incredible connection between your father’s art and your poems. I’ve been thinking about it as I’ve read your posts… and now you write “As I write a poem every day to my father’s incredible art, I feel unworthy, like a child waiting for a parent’s approval. . . .I hear the echo of a first line in my head.” Also, I’ve wondered if I, the reader, knowing the relationship between artist and poet, use a different lens and feel a different level than I do with poet and illustrator. But you and your father aren’t poet and illustrator. Your poems are birthed from his drawings, from a life that you share. And, perhaps it is because you include your thoughts about your poems in your posts. And I find myself wondering about your father’s drawings, wanting to know more. This is powerful. I really think you have the makings of a wonderful book.
Thanks. Your comment brought tears to my eyes.
I think it’s truly amazing that you have the gift to write and express the words bubbling up to accompany the illustrator’s work-even more special that it’s your father. I do hope you continue the written journey with his illustrations as the canvas for conveying a deeper message.
Exquisite work-art and poem great marriage of the two together, Margaret,
Thanks!
The artwork and your poetry are profoundly beautiful. I am reminded of the natural harmony of family singers; it’s a perfect blend. The last line of your poem is my favorite – “wandering through tall grass and stepping into the light” – I love it because it can simply be literal or can mean so many things. Mostly I think it is a great metaphor you learning to trust the process (per previous comments)- that’s so like wandering, but knowing the light’s there.
Thanks. I did mean the line to be metaphorical even though it fit the literal interpretation of the image. I’m so glad you saw that.
Margaret, this is so beautiful. Like many others noted, the final line is my favorite. There’s such trust and inherent optimism in it. I also appreciated your sharing your thoughts on your writing process. Keep following that echo–it hasn’t led you wrong yet. I hope you’re finding as much joy in creating your poems as I am in reading them.
Margaret — It’s as if he created this art specifically so you could create your art to accompany it. Just gorgeous. I love the idea of writing down the first line that jumps into your head and just letting it sit. The rest will come. xx
I echo some of the other comments here: I have been moved by much of the conversation between your poems and your father’s art. I don’t know if it’s the pictures, the poems or the way you talk about the work you are doing, but something here is working. I look forward to reading your poems each day. Glad you are trusting that first line.