My heart, once
cool and quiet
is now alive
More and more, short poems come to me when I sit down to write. As I've thought about this, I'm reminded how poems often feel like a cross between language, the visual arts, and some unnamable spirituality. The don't lecture. They invite or unveil or create an opening of some kind. Similarly, I'm often surprised by the photos I choose to go with them.
For example, what possible link is there between this poem and this photograph, beside the fact that my non-verbal artist side chose this image of split lengths of wood to go with a poem about light? First of all, I know that I responded to the warm quality of the color and light of the split wood, and the red bark on the piece of wood in the lower right. The sideways light in this scene reveals the texture and grain of the wood, as well as shadows that add dimension. On a deeper level, the split wood suggests both the warmth it will provide, and its own kind of mortality. What a paradox! Not long ago, these pieces of wood were whole in their trees. Yet I don't feel daunted or dismayed - the scene is beautiful in its unique way, and by creating an image of this wood inspires my gratitude and respect for it.
What about the poem? Having used words to reflect on the picture of wood, I offer you silence to make room for your experience of the title and the poem.