A. Anupama
Where did someone get the idea of a poem with only 44 words and, strangely, no other constraints? And why is it named after a dance? Are they supposed to be silly as Lewis Carroll's "Lobster Quadrille," or are they supposed to be as slippery as sea creatures often are? I tried one. Quadrille If…
Poetry is the art of sneaking up on someone. Like crocuses -- a magic trick in the lawn. Wonder is a pocketful of significance that can be taken as an antidote to most kinds of despair. Gentle is when cup-like purple flowers lie underfoot while we still need to wear winter boots. Darkness is a…
Artists have routines and work habits like everyone. Sometimes these grooves are invisible because artists so often seek out new experiences and novel ways of doing things for the sake of inspiration. I would argue that our habits are core to the quality of what actually comes out of artistic practice. One useful habit is…
Poems are not about anything. Their titles aren’t the subjects, usually only indicating a partial opening into the movement of language. Maybe poems indicate where we’ve been or where we’d like to go (or not go), but that’s just the outermost part. What they are deeply about is the same thing that alarm clocks are…
Counting syllables, counting on images to carry you, counting the stanzas in the back of your mind, counting on soul to show up in the lines. Do we count the number of fishermen laughing in January chill along the river while on our Sunday walk, and do we count on the river to carry away…
It's a little bittersweet to think about how it is at the end of every semester — that mishmash of relief, pride, and sadness at wrapping up with a group of students. I'd be getting in the mood to grade a bunch of creative portfolios over the winter break if I were teaching. But I'm…
When it is cold and windy at night, the morning often reveals many deer lying in the garden, sheltering in the downslope under dogwood and forsythia. Here, they find a break from the breath of December on their not-quite-winter coats. The rest of the yellow leaves from the maple fell last night, making golden beds.…
At least it’s beautiful when the feminine divine is completely enraged. Does someone point out the real beauty to us? Will it help us shift into what is good? My cousin sent me this viral video today— a bharatanatyam and hip-hop fusion dance. Laughing and smiling is a good break from roaring. https://youtu.be/Saj65ySCOSo This morning’s…
I wonder if I’m noticing enough, even as I pause over fresh red leaves in the roadside next to the curb. There’s pleasure in writing poems, even breathless with exertion of reluctance. The last robin in our neighborhood to fly away for winter might have gone already, or might not yet. A poem waits and…
I had forgotten about the way I kept “teaching shoes” in my car after this year-and-a-half in virtual classrooms. It’s so good to be with students, in living presence, and there’s no equivalent for it. Now that the school semester is fully underway, most of my thought and energy is in the lectures, discussions, assignments.…
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