The Best Year of Her Life

The Best Year of Her Life by Gerald Locklin

When my two-year-old daughter
sees someone come through the door
whom she loves, and hasn't seen for a while,
and has been anticipating
she literally shrieks with joy.

I have to go into the other room
so that no one will notice the tears in my eyes.

Later, after my daughter has gone to bed,
I say to my wife,

"She will never be this happy again,"
and my wife gets angry and snaps,
"Don't you dare communicate your negativism to her!"
And, of course, I won't, if I can possibly help it,
and of course I fully expect her
to have much joy in her life,
and, of course, I hope to be able
to contribute to that joy --
I hope, in other words, that she'll always
be happy to see me come through the door--

but why kid ourselves -- she, like every child,
has a life of great suffering ahead of her,
and while joy will not go out of her life,
she will one of these days cease to actually,
literally, jump and shriek for joy.



"The Best Year of Her Life" by Gerald Locklin, from Men of Our Time. (c) University of Georgia Press, 1992.

"This is the true joy in life...

"This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of nature instead of a feverish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy."

George Bernard Shaw (1856–1950)
Irish playwright and critic

A Vitality

There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening

that is translated through you into action,

and because there is only one of you in all time,

this expression is unique.



If you block it,

it will never exist through any other medium

and be lost.

The world will not have it.

It is not your business to determine how good it is;

nor how it compares with other expressions.

It is your business to keep it yours, clearly and directly,

to keep the channel open.



You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work.

You have to keep it open and aware directly

to the urges that motivate you.



Keep the channel open.

No artist is pleased.

There is no satisfaction whatever at any time.

There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction;

a blessed unrest that keeps us marching

and makes us more alive that the others.



Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille as shared to me by Ronald Alexander

Antilamentation by Dorianne Laux

Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook, not
the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication, not
the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punch line, the door or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don't regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the living room couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You've walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You've traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the window.
Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied of expectation.
Relax. Don't bother remembering any of it. Let's stop here,
under the lit sign on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.




"Antilamentation" by Dorianne Laux, from The Book of Men. (c) W. W. Norton & Company, 2011.

Word of the Day - And something I am sometimes good at, sometimes achingly not so much

Sitzfleisch

PRONUNCIATION:
(SITZ-flaish, ZITS-)

MEANING:
noun:
1. The ability to sit through or tolerate something boring.
2. The ability to endure or persist in a task.

ETYMOLOGY:
[From German Sitzfleisch, from sitzen (to sit) + Fleisch (flesh). Earliest documented use: Before 1930.

NOTES:
Sitzfleisch is a fancy term for what's commonly known as chair glue: the ability to sit still and get through the task at hand. It's often the difference between, for example, an aspiring writer and a writer. Sometimes the word is used in the sense of the ability to sit out a problem -- ignore it long enough in the hope it will go away.

Taken from Wordsmith.org

Navigating Office Politics

Taken from the New Yorker

Poem

Thank you Garrison Keillor and your daily Writer's Almanac emails - without which my poetry intake would be severely limited.



Driving Montana, Alone by Katie Phillips

I smile at the stack of Bob Dylan CDs
you are not holding in the passenger seat.
Storm clouds have gathered. My "Wow" rises
over the harmonica for your benefit,
but you cannot see that one sunlit peak

in the midst of threatening sky. The road turns
wet at the "Welcome to Anaconda" sign,
and I pat my raincoat, loosely folded
where your lap should be. "Anaconda was almost
the state capital," I say, but that's all I know,

and you don't ask for more. You wouldn't mind
my singing and swerving onto the shoulder
for more snapshots over the car door.
And it's only when I get just south of Philipsburg
that your not being here feels like absence.

I want you to see these dark rotting barns,
roadkill of Highway One. It seems only you
could know why my eyes fill the road
with tears again when a flock of swallows
swoops through an open barn door
and rushes out the gaping roof.




"Driving Montana, Alone" by Katie Phillips, from Driving Montana, Alone. (c) Slapering Hol Press.