and ever thus
Shakespeare's quill, or
Woolf at her desk,
or Blake beside his printing press
or Austen stealing time, away,
from household chores, and bores
We write to know
We read, because
they lived and breathed
and fought and scored
in petty, churlish wars.
And won their way
through life and love
while being just as afraid
so much more,
to re-assure my lonely heart
that I can never stand apart
from those that went before me.
- Shaista, 2011
Anne Hathaway in Becoming Jane, 2007
Rudolf Ernest, 'The Reader', 1854-1932
April is National Poetry Month and today, Terresa Wellborn, poet blogger at The Chocolate Chip Waffle, is celebrating my poetry at her waffle house. You met her once before, when I did, last December. Here is one of her creations - she writes in a way that impresses and absorbs me; when I read her I am back at university, awed by my reading of Poets who truly craft and graft into the sublime, and never did I imagine she would cross an ocean to arrive on my doorstep, and wander the cobbled streets of Cambridge with me...
The sky darkens in notes,
I wade into pines gathered like quills,
their evergreen feathers,
their infinite houses.
They speak nothing of
their windowless wisdom,
their stretch of days,
of standing so long on the same legs,
arms held out in prayer.
They absorb the shock of seasons,
the hail of years rocking down.
I know nothing of their clock tick,
their inched climb, their roots
pulling like a hymn,
© 2010 by Terresa Wellborn. All rights reserved.