THE NAMES OF THINGS

Taking off Emily Dickinson’s Clothes
gazes out at me, behind the window frame,
half content to be in Billy Collins’ world,
half wishing to be me;

cross-legged in the evening sun,
drinking rose petal tea.

I can name the Yellow Rose, the Frilly Poppy,
the Bee, longing for that same tea;
the half-eaten, bruised cherries,
the guzzling, drunken, blackbird feast.

Deep in the shadows, lazy snakes
of ivy curl, and the wind is a Tempest again.

I walk among the unnamed things,
the secret, hidden lives;
I pronounce the names of Latinate things,
and trip on the words and smile:

Cerastium tomentosum, snow in summer.
Gallium odoratum, stars in spring.
Lavendula angustifolia,
where the herb garden sings.

© Shaista Tayabali, 2020

Taking Off Emily Dickinson's Clothes is the title of one of Billy Collins' poetry collections. He is one of my favourite poets, a playful and compassionate storyteller. Our cherry tree is slowly turning brown. If only the bright white blossom would last longer, but alas the winds have tumbled the petals down. These are slow times, which suit the person used to slowness (however much she may have fought the way it was forced upon her). I hope you are all coping with the pace newly forced upon you. I am determined to learn the names of things, which a poet really ought to know... but what else are we here to do, other than learn, forget, and promise ourselves we will learn again?  

WALKING WITH DAD THROUGH A TIME OF UNCERTAINTY

Over the course of this week, beginning Monday 23rd March, I have had a swathe of texts from the NHS Coronavirus service. The very first one instructed me to stay home for 12 weeks and this morning’s told me to make sure I phone a friend or relative everyday. I’m phoning in this way, through my blog and vlog.

The willow and cherry trees sandwich our home and I try to keep my mind steady. In some ways life is unchanged for me, and in other ways everything is new because everyone else is experiencing it for the first time - this global disorder to the sense your life made to you. I have experienced a microcosm of this disorder every single day for the past twenty years... and still make little sense of it.

So I walk on ... as you do... taking one step at a time.... que sera sera ... except we don’t really believe that, or adhere to it. We don’t want it to be what it will be. We want to make it what we want it to be. Who wins this? The men in power keep speaking in war analogies. No room for softness and gentleness even in this time of great vulnerability. My walks with Dad can only be described as gentle and vulnerable. Especially now that I can’t manage them anymore. I have a heavy cold, cough and sore throat, have re-started antibiotics on the recommendation of my immunologists and need to stay away to protect him, and Mum, for a while.  I’m glad we walked when we could.