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Posts Tagged ‘The Marginalian’

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

When I was having children, I never really considered the future and what it might mean for me to be a grandmother. I had three girls. Three daughters who grew into three amazing women. And now I am Mamére to four grands and another one on the way. My youngest daughter is pregnant with her 2nd child. She has a 2 year old, June, and this one is a boy due in July. We’ve had fun calling him “July.”

Pregnancy is not an easy time. There are so many changes happening in a woman’s body. After an earlier miscarriage, Martha was full of fear. I was confident, but I understood her fears. She invited me to the 20 week anatomy scan ultrasound. I sat in awe at the image on the screen…a perfect baby.

Here is my love letter to this new baby boy:

July

I already love all four chambers
of your heart, steadily beating
showing off for the camera.
And those little toe nubs that I can’t wait to tickle.
We could see the perfect stairs
of your spine curled,
floating up in the certain space
of womb. I fell head over heals
for your tiny nose, the deep eye sockets,
the thing that tells us you are boy.

I can wait as you grow
and grow, coming to us
on a hot mid-July morning
wailing for more time
inside. It’s OK, my grandboy,
I love you already.
Margaret Simon, draft

On Sunday I read Maria Popover’s The Marginalian. She wrote about matrescence: “While mothering can take many forms and can be done by many different kinds of people, the process of one organism generating another from the raw materials of its own being — a process known as matrescence — is as invariable as breathing, as inevitable to life as death.”

In Matrescence: On Pregnancy, Childbirth, and Motherhood, Lucy Jones writes of her own experience giving birth to a girl.
“Time started to bend. I was carrying the future inside me. I would learn that I was also carrying the eggs, already within my baby’s womb, that could go on to partly form my potential grandchildren. My future grandchildren were in some way inside me, just as part of me spent time in the womb of my grandmother.”

I am grateful to be a grandmother, the seed from which my grandchildren sprouted. Honored by my daughters to be beside them as they do their best to be strong women who mother with wisdom and care.

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Poetry Friday is hosted by Tracey Kiff-Judson at Tangles and Tails.

Have you ever had a form attach itself to you and beg you for a daily poem? I’ve hoped for a daily haiku to come to me for years now. I’ve tried it on, and some days it fits just fine, but I’ve recently felt a tug toward elfchen which is a similar form to a cinquain. Five lines. However, in an elfchen (elevenie, in English) there are more specific directions that stretch the form to a higher problem-solving level, a level of Flow for me, not too hard, not too easy.

On Tuesday, I wrote about beginning this new year with a practice of notebooking with my students. I shared an elfchen there.

Do you read The Marginalian? I highly recommend it as a weekly practice. Maria Popova sends a newsletter each Sunday, and it never fails to inspire me. This is a found elfchen from Jan. 7, 2024.

Attention
high degree
be as prayer
gravity in acts of
Love

Margaret Simon, found in The Marginalian

“Perhaps this spiritual dimension of love stems from a simple equivalence: At its core, love is the quality of attention we confer upon another; and as Simone Weil observed in her timeless meditation on the nature of grace, “attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer.” All of love’s gravity and all of its grace are found in our acts of attention.” Love and the Sacred–The Marginalian.

Have you started a new poetry practice? What commitment to writing have you made?

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Poetry Friday is hosted by Buffy today.

Linda Mitchell challenged the Inklings this month to write a prose piece and use it to create a poem. I thought of how much the Poetry Friday community nurtures me and keeps me writing, so my prose and poem are in praise of you, my Poetry Friday peeps.

 We Are Starlings: Inside the Mesmerizing Magic of a Murmuration (public library) by writers Donna Jo Napoli and Robert Furrow, illustrated by artist Marc Martin. (Inspiration for the word murmurations came from The Marginalian. )

Because our kindred spirits meet each week, we read, internalize, explore words, thoughts and meanings from our virtual friends who write their hearts out, who transform small things into murmurations echoing through cyberspace.

In the sky of our world, words are offered up like kites in the wind, flipping to and fro, and sometimes taking flight, yet always tethered to its person– a human trying to make sense of the world, to take an ordinary day and make it shine like the sun or peek out from the clouds like the full moon.

I am honored by their presence inside my computer, by their comments that urge me onward or rest with me in grief. I cannot measure their worth with a single gesture. I can only take it all in as a gift, a surprise, or a nod that means everything will be fine. I am not alone. Hope is with me. 

Kindred spirits meet
Move like a murmuration
Spreading cyber-hope.

Margaret Simon

To see how other Inklings approached this challenge, visit these sites:

Linda @A Word Edgewise
Heidi @my juicy little universe
Molly @Nix the Comfort Zone
Catherine @Reading to the Core
Mary Lee @A(nother) Year of Reading

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Poetry Friday round-up is with Mary Lee at A(n)other Year of Reading

The Inklings challenge this month comes from Linda Mitchell. She charged us with writing “a poem that includes the idea of percentage or percent. Percentages are all around us in recipes, prices, assessments, statistics. Include the idea of percentage in your poem in some way.”

I put off this challenge for a while until a muse slapped me in the face from Brain Pickings (which is now called The Marginalian). This article is beautifully written: Every Loss Reveals What We Are Made Of by Maria Popova. Incorporating inspiration from Maria Popova and a quote from Maria Mitchell, I crafted a poem container of loss, aging, and rebirth.

Photo by Eriks Abzinovs on Pexels.com

We Reach Forth

The way we stand at the mirror
and see strands of hair 
overnight lose their color,
devoid of fresh light
gone gray in the way
a leaf loses the green of chlorophyll.

We lose our vigor.

The way I collapse on the sofa
after the grandchildren leave–
how it sags from years
of holding us.

The way, like branches, we reach forth
and strain every nerve, 
but we seize only a bit of the curtain 
that hides the infinite from us.*

How 96 percent of the universe
is dark matter 
invisible to us, how can we know
what tomorrow will bring?

The way we shed more color,
fall to the ground,
crush into mulch,
then hatch from darkness
and find light
find light
find light.

*Maria Mitchell

Margaret Simon, draft

Below are links to my fellow Inklings and their responses to the % challenge:

Linda@A Word Edgewise
Heidi @my juicy little universe
Molly@Nix the Comfort Zone
Catherine@Reading to the Core
Mary Lee @ A(n)other Year of Reading

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