"I’ve come to believe you can say a whole lot of what appears to be nothing, but if you get the rhythm just right it can be enough." <--- This is basically my entire newsletter, haha 😂
The thing I always appreciate about Mary Oliver is how she distilled such beauty from tremendous pain. How can a person who survived that kind of childhood grow up to write as she did? It makes her poetry even more powerful for me.
I've known people who've had terrible childhoods and turned it around to make sure no one in their life is subjected to that kind of pain. They're empaths now, ever mindful of the vibrations someone in distress gives off. They've decided to love life, which probably is the greatest revenge.
I love your newsletter, possibly because it's 'comfortable'. So whatever you're doing, don't stop now!
I suspect rhythm is why I always read my writing out loud to myself repeatedly before I finalize it. It's also why I love Mary's poetry. I can imagine her reading it out loud to me. Poetry is meant to be heard, I think, and not simply read on the page, so it's inherent rhythm can be felt.
I feel that same way about poetry, Asha. It needs a voice. I often feel I'm missing something as I read it--I don't always understand the poet's mind--so if it appeals to me in some way, I'll read it out loud, too. It does make a difference.
There's a line from a song 'The rhythm of life is a powerful beat...' and I believe if we surrender to that rhythm it can be the most perfect thing we could do for ourselves. But being humans, we're constantly bending the rhythm out of shape to fit into what we believe is a necessary routine.
If however, we can meld both, an intertwining of gentle purpose and mindfulness, then I reckon we might be spot on. It's giving ourselves permission to illuminate purpose with uncomplicated moments of great beauty.
I'm not sure I'm making sense - so here's an example. My dog needs walking every day. I need to walk to slow down and breathe. In that combined purpose, I find moments of great beauty - watching dolphins arc along a winter wave break, finding a weedy piece of coral in amongst washed up seawrack. Feeling the breeze teasing my hair and with it smelling the scent of the sea. And all because the dog needed walking.
The city overpowers, smothers natural rhythm with noise and city spume. Give me an island, a shore, water, birds, trees and a dog that needs walking any day.
Thank you for prompting my grey matter... Best wishes.
Prue, forgive me for not answering this more promptly. I absolutely love this:
My dog needs walking every day. I need to walk to slow down and breathe. In that combined purpose, I find moments of great beauty - watching dolphins arc along a winter wave break, finding a weedy piece of coral in amongst washed up seawrack. Feeling the breeze teasing my hair and with it smelling the scent of the sea. And all because the dog needed walking.
The city overpowers, smothers natural rhythm with noise and city spume. Give me an island, a shore, water, birds, trees and a dog that needs walking any day."
Do you ever take your comments and use them in essays? I do I hope you do, too.
Oh my gosh, thank you, Ramona, for your kind words. I think I might use a little of my observations in the novels I write, But I've never written an essay (except in the heady days of Eng. Lit at school and university centuries ago). Thanks to Substack, I'm reading many more essays which absolutely sing with wordage, so maybe I should have a go. Food for thought...
I urge you to read your comment above. Now tell me that's not the start of an essay! Aren't most blogs and newsletters essays? I see them that way, and when I write them I write them as essays--meaning they have a beginning, a middle, and an ending that wraps it all up and ties it with a handy string.
"I’ve come to believe you can say a whole lot of what appears to be nothing, but if you get the rhythm just right it can be enough." <--- This is basically my entire newsletter, haha 😂
The thing I always appreciate about Mary Oliver is how she distilled such beauty from tremendous pain. How can a person who survived that kind of childhood grow up to write as she did? It makes her poetry even more powerful for me.
I've known people who've had terrible childhoods and turned it around to make sure no one in their life is subjected to that kind of pain. They're empaths now, ever mindful of the vibrations someone in distress gives off. They've decided to love life, which probably is the greatest revenge.
I love your newsletter, possibly because it's 'comfortable'. So whatever you're doing, don't stop now!
Beautifully said, Ramona, especially "They've decided to love life, which is probably the greatest revenge." Amen.
(And thank you for your kind words!)
You're more than welcome. See you here and there!
I suspect rhythm is why I always read my writing out loud to myself repeatedly before I finalize it. It's also why I love Mary's poetry. I can imagine her reading it out loud to me. Poetry is meant to be heard, I think, and not simply read on the page, so it's inherent rhythm can be felt.
I feel that same way about poetry, Asha. It needs a voice. I often feel I'm missing something as I read it--I don't always understand the poet's mind--so if it appeals to me in some way, I'll read it out loud, too. It does make a difference.
There's a line from a song 'The rhythm of life is a powerful beat...' and I believe if we surrender to that rhythm it can be the most perfect thing we could do for ourselves. But being humans, we're constantly bending the rhythm out of shape to fit into what we believe is a necessary routine.
If however, we can meld both, an intertwining of gentle purpose and mindfulness, then I reckon we might be spot on. It's giving ourselves permission to illuminate purpose with uncomplicated moments of great beauty.
I'm not sure I'm making sense - so here's an example. My dog needs walking every day. I need to walk to slow down and breathe. In that combined purpose, I find moments of great beauty - watching dolphins arc along a winter wave break, finding a weedy piece of coral in amongst washed up seawrack. Feeling the breeze teasing my hair and with it smelling the scent of the sea. And all because the dog needed walking.
The city overpowers, smothers natural rhythm with noise and city spume. Give me an island, a shore, water, birds, trees and a dog that needs walking any day.
Thank you for prompting my grey matter... Best wishes.
Prue, forgive me for not answering this more promptly. I absolutely love this:
My dog needs walking every day. I need to walk to slow down and breathe. In that combined purpose, I find moments of great beauty - watching dolphins arc along a winter wave break, finding a weedy piece of coral in amongst washed up seawrack. Feeling the breeze teasing my hair and with it smelling the scent of the sea. And all because the dog needed walking.
The city overpowers, smothers natural rhythm with noise and city spume. Give me an island, a shore, water, birds, trees and a dog that needs walking any day."
Do you ever take your comments and use them in essays? I do I hope you do, too.
Oh my gosh, thank you, Ramona, for your kind words. I think I might use a little of my observations in the novels I write, But I've never written an essay (except in the heady days of Eng. Lit at school and university centuries ago). Thanks to Substack, I'm reading many more essays which absolutely sing with wordage, so maybe I should have a go. Food for thought...
I urge you to read your comment above. Now tell me that's not the start of an essay! Aren't most blogs and newsletters essays? I see them that way, and when I write them I write them as essays--meaning they have a beginning, a middle, and an ending that wraps it all up and ties it with a handy string.
But, yes, you must have a go!