A. Anupama
Water moves fast, and petals fall slow. And sweeping petals and pollen off of the porch is slower. And painting or writing about the garden is an increment of slowness that becomes something faster than water. How can this newness always catch me off guard? Writing poetry in springtime is more difficult than most people…
Startled from a swollen seedpod, they look up. We look up. Call it hope. A gesture captures attention far faster than an image. When a peace lily growing next to my kitchen window taps my friend on her shoulder as she’s getting a cup of punch, it’s like a poem just slapped my face. Call…
Wind speed is a factor. The more you can use it, the better. To be airborne, born into poetic flow, and fluid with each gesture, we need to embrace experiences. In artistic practice at our best and most honest, we trace the line of flight from birth to death. We balance on life’s axis. I’m…
Everything in the heart is a burning device. Ovens, tiki torches, gas lighters, camp stoves, soldering tool, water heater, mosquito coil, hot glue gun, toaster. You know which your loved ones are. Device and desire are so close, when we are moving around in a piece of creative work. Using rhyme or a steady line,…
Waiting for my car at the dealership's service department this morning, I gaze at the flat-screen television in front of me, admiring a beautiful, crackling fire that should be framed by a magnificent fireplace. Yes, a little strange, but not in an unwelcome way. The Fireplace 4K experience erases some of the cold, alienating, new-car-smell,…
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.…
The curve of each line of each branch in each tree smiles at us. Clear, dark skies keep pouring heaps of stars into the lines. Silhouetted in the shrubs next to the road, several deer watch us pass by. Gratitude moves in all directions. I wish all poems were like this. It might take me…
Landscapes fade to gold around here. Gold is their resting state, revealed only just before the dark. Whole hillsides melt into caramel. Sunrise seems to last all day long, but the light dissolves a little more week by week. Light a candle before you read a poem at night. To make anything with this landscape,…
Perfect for a Diwali mood, I’m listening to the live broadcast of the Ragas Live Festival, a 24-hour cycle of ragas and raga-inspired world music at Pioneer Works in Brooklyn, 8pm 10/22 until 8pm 10/23. Listening in on WKCR is an annual tradition for me. A transcendent night, just begun. Already at 9pm, a pair…
At least it’s an affordable luxury, this craft of poetry. Catch a phrase loitering around the alley of your mind, and find a place to keep it. Pretty phrases are as plentiful as the red-gold leaves turning the road into a bed of glowing embers. I'm pretty sure I spend more on my poetry practice…
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