Dragonfly's Poetry & Prolixity: Sometimes When the Light by Lisel Mueller

Sunday, March 11, 2018

Sometimes When the Light by Lisel Mueller

My fence steaming after a rain... Louisiana light is magic.

SOMETIMES, WHEN THE LIGHT

Sometimes, when the light strikes at odd angles
and pulls you back into childhood

and you are passing a crumbling mansion
completely hidden behind old willows

or an empty convent guarded by hemlocks
and giant firs standing hip to hip,

you know again that behind that wall,
under the uncut hair of the willows

something secret is going on,
so marvelous and dangerous

that if you crawled through and saw,
you would die, or be happy forever.

By Lisel Mueller

From: "Alive Together: New and Selected Poems" by Lisel Mueller

6 comments:

Kelly said...: I really like the images this one brings to mind. It always amazes me how, when taking my morning walks, the shift in light in a matter of minutes can change the entire view.; March 11, 2018 at 1:08 PM
Marion said...: I know, Kelly. I call it Godlight. xo; March 11, 2018 at 4:30 PM
erin said...: oh yes. that light has the power to save lives. (and the absence of it is terrible.); March 11, 2018 at 8:31 PM
Marion said...: Indeed, Erin, indeed. Unfortunately, I know this absence all too well. But Spring is almost here, thankfully... xo; March 12, 2018 at 11:21 AM
Cro Magnon said...: Marion. I have just read your comment on Weaver's page. So often the victim becomes the accused, but the truth will always break through. I send you my sympathy and understanding. Stay strong! Cro x; March 12, 2018 at 11:49 PM
The Weaver of Grass said...: Thank you Marion for your comment on my blog. I underline what Cro says above - he - and many others kept me going last year when I lost my beloved to a brain tumour. I send you my love.; March 13, 2018 at 9:54 AM

I Love Lorrie Moore!!

“You’re not a poetess, I hope,” said the English geologist next to her. “We had a poetess here last month, and things got a bit dodgy here for the rest of us.”

“Really.” After the soup, there was risotto with squid ink.

“Yes. She kept referring to insects as ‘God’s typos’ and then she kept us all after dinner one evening so she could read from her poems, which seemed to consist primarily of the repeating line ‘the hairy kiwi of his balls.’”

From: “Birds of America” by Lorrie Moore, page 266, ‘Terrific Mother’

Miranda July's Best Book:

"Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It's okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise." From: "No One Belongs Here More Than You Stories by Miranda July", Page 11

A Dreamy, Drug of a Book

"The minute you land in New Orleans, something wet and dark leaps on you and starts humping you like a swamp dog in heat, and the only way to get that aspect of New Orleans off you is to eat it off. That means beignets and crayfish bisque and jambalaya, it means shrimp remoulade, pecan pie and red beans with rice, it means elegant pompano au papillote, funky file z'herbes, and raw oysters by the dozen, it means grillades for breakfast, a po' boy with chowchow at bedtime, and tubs of gumbo in between. It is not unusual for a visitor to the city to gain fifteen pounds in a week---yet the alternative is a whole lot worse. If you don't eat night and day, if you don't constantly funnel the indigenous flavors into your bloodstream, then the mystery beast will go right on humping you, and you will feel its sordid presence rubbing against you long after you have left town." ~Tom Robbins, "Jitterbug Perfume", page 240