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Monday, September 9, 2013
Squirrels (1): "If I could write a perfect line" (for Maria)
I'd be in a blaze somewhere or just alone (reading,
too sore to stand, or
probably too clouded to see the squirrel that's
not once, not twice gone for a falling twig,
already)
As Maria told me of this remarkable squirrel's equally remarkable determination to build a nest of twigs that a cruel wind kept knocking down, well I thought of the near impossibility of writing a poetry that just as doggedly kept picking up its own discarded line.
I thought the perfection of the act lay (somehow, magically) in that repetition...
4 comments:
love this one, Conrad. thanks for sharing it.
As Maria told me of this remarkable squirrel's equally remarkable determination to build a nest of twigs that a cruel wind kept knocking down, well I thought of the near impossibility of writing a poetry that just as doggedly kept picking up its own discarded line.
I thought the perfection of the act lay (somehow, magically) in that repetition...
Who could not like squirrels?
Maybe they over-reproduce, and become pests.
But they're too cute.
Besides, they're vegetarians.
They get caught and killed and eaten by snakes and hawks and felines.
And they've inspired this fledgling old poet on more than one occasion, too.
Who could not like squirrels?
Well, people who plant gardens and grow flowers. They mess things up pretty nicely at times.
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