Still: A Poem About Writing, and Home

May 22, 2009 · by Joanna Paterson · in

I had lots of fun in Sardinia with poems that popped into my head, seemingly of their own accord. It was one of the many spin-off benefits of working with creative prompts and writing as part of a group.

I wrote a couple of poems on the first day about trying to settle into the new environment, and find my writing voice. Or even, just write anything at all.

I think I had the words of Sage Cohen still running through my head:

The next time you feel discomfort, poetry can help you find someplace to go with it.

The poems I wrote when I was away haven’t been edited.  I’m not really intending to do anything serious with them, and they’re really for my own pleasure and enjoyment. I was however (gently) challenged by Davina to publish a poem here… and she’s right.  I should.  And here it is.

Still

Still
She sat, waiting
For the words to come
Listening to the stillness
Of the air and the
Quiet whispered conversations
Still
Not yet adjusted
To the light and the heat
And the clear hot brightness
And the
Still,
Quiet calm of the warm
Sunshine air
The breath of early summer
And the dog, barking still.

She wished she was home
By the river
With the blue hills beyond
The highland air on a
May day morning
Still
With the promise of discovery, and love.

“Still,” she said,
“I’m here, and will learn as I go
It’s a place you can stop,
For a while,
And allow yourself,
Maybe,
If you dare,
To be
Still.”

Still,
She felt the disconnect
The brightness of the light
And the warmth of the air
The promise of the day
Discordant with the
Moods of her body,
Missing, homesick,
Still wishing she were
Smiling with the
Kiss of Scottish springtime,
The rhythm of the river
And the ferries crossing, still.

Still, the quiet
Of the air and
The movement
Of the pen
Allowed her even so
Despite the brightness of the day
And the glare of expectations,
Allowed her mind to settle
And be still.

To let her speak her mind,
Of where she’d left her thoughts,
Of where her heart was lying,
Of where her words were,
Still.

Joanna Young, May 2009

I’ve taken a double dose of confidence pills and recorded myself reading it too.  Well, I did tell you I’d discovered how much fun it was to read my work out loud.  The sound quality isn’t brilliant between a few technical hitches and my voice being hoarse with a cold… but I thought it was worth an experiment with anyway.

Just click the play button in the screen below to hear the poem (RSS and e-mail readers, you might need to click through to the site to play it.)

Reblog this post [with Zemanta]