I really missed writing this blog. My life has been a little hectic over the past couple of months, and I started to feel that posting here was a chore. So I definitely needed to take a break. But during this time away I began to appreciate the fact that when everything else in life stresses you, that’s exactly when you need some kind of creative outlet. Life’s too short to just go through each day checking off items on a to-do list.
I’ve changed a few things around here, as you have no doubt noticed, trying to lighten up the look and the mood. But some things won’t change — such as the Wednesday Poetry Break. I happened upon this poem by at The Poetry Foundation, and it truly speaks to me on this re-launch of Nailing Jello to the Wall. Enjoy!
What You Have to Get Over
Stumps. Railroad tracks. Early sicknesses,
the blue one, especially.
Your first love rounding a corner,
that snowy minefield.
Whether you step lightly or heavily,
you have to get over to that tree line a hundred yards in the distance
before evening falls,
letting no one see you wend your way,
that wonderful, old-fashioned word, wend,
meaning “to proceed, to journey,
to travel from one place to another,”
as from bed to breakfast, breakfast to imbecile work.
You have to get over your resentments,
the sun in the morning and the moon at night,
all those shadows of yourself you left behind
on odd little tables.
Tote that barge! Lift that bale! You have to
cross that river, jump that hedge, surmount that slogan,
crawl over this ego or that eros,
then hoist yourself up onto that yonder mountain.
Another old-fashioned word, yonder, meaning
“that indicated place, somewhere generally seen
or just beyond sight.” If you would recover,
you have to get over the shattered autos in the backwoods lot
to that bridge in the darkness
where the sentinels stand
guarding the border with their half-slung rifles,
warned of the likes of you.
— Dick Allen