“Father” by Rachel Eliza Griffiths - this one is not exactly positive but these specific lines make me crazy: “It is difficult to stand inside of the memory / of a man who will give life to me. / A man whose wounds will drift inside / of my birth. I would like to believe / that I loved you before I ever arrived / but maybe that is just the glass-eyed / poet in me or the daughter who clings / to the romance of remembrance, the labor / of stories & histories that precede / the raw material.” also “you look down / at hands that once cupped my entire body / in one palm.” :-(
“Requiem for a New Year” by Mary Karr + not poetry but honestly her writing about her father always guts me and specifically this excerpt from Cherry
Every time I draw stars, it feels like a whole salt shaker that has been dropped into the soup. A little bit, and a little bit more, and a..oooOH, COME ON, MAN!..
Noisy as the sea, the waters rush to shore in giant, rolling waves; more turbulent than usual-matching my state of mind, it seems.
I have come to these shores once again, to think, to be cleansed and purified, and then strengthened by all of the energy I can gather from the sky and wind and water and the very shore upon which I sit.
Always, when my energy is precariously low, I run to this lake. The forces are so strong today that I can not help but make resolutions. It is as if they are being etched into my soul by the powers of the wind and water. They let me to let go of all of the things that are out of my control, and resolve to not allow them to take my energy or peace of mind from me.
There is an urgency here that tells me to accept myself as I am in this place in time. Yes, I am getting older, but there is a richness of character that goes along with that, and I must acknowledge it within myself. I am resolved to be all that I can be. To be more myself than ever before. To shine. To be more fully alive. To fine tune my gifts so that I have something really fine to give back to others. To truly love myself as never before so I am free to be me. I resolve to believe…really believe in life. To believe that it will be good. I will cherish the moments and look for the good in all things.
This time at the lake has been exactly what I needed. I have been truly cleansed and purified, and I feel new born and ready to begin again. I am nurtured and as strong as I have ever been.
Searching the beach for something to bring home to remember this day, I find a piece of cobalt blue glass, worn nearly smooth from its journey to these shores, The color is one of my favorites, for it energizes me with its intensity. This piece, with nearly all of its rough edges worn away is my sign that I too have have journeyed long enough for my rough edges to be worn away, but the intensity of my essence still remains.
I resolve to open up, count my blessing, and live.
Poetry is not a career — it is a state of being. You become poetry or are in a state of becoming with poetry. My chronological map of becoming would not be linear, rather it has been crisscrossed with arcs of events, poems, poets, arts, music, all bound and directed by history and memory.
However satisfying writing is — that mix of discipline and miracle, which leaves you in control, even when what appears on the page has emerged from regions beyond your control — it is a very poor substitute indeed for the joy and the agony of loving. Of there being someone who loves and desires you, and he glories in his love and desire, and you glory in his ever-strange being, which comes up against you, and disappears, again and again, surprising you with difficulties and with bounty.
