Sunshine in sky

The curator wrote me an email and asked for a meeting on April 29 at 10 am. I haven’t answered yet, but am very stoked about this 2027 project. 

 

Spring Song

Everything suddenly golden still, the sun a hovering golden bird.  Nothing moves.  Soft clouds wait like floating houses in the sky and the storm beyond the horizon waits.  Planets stopped in their tracks as if forever was now and the grass roots knew it all.  

But they don’t you know and here I am with both hands high under the skirts of the world.  Trying to figure it out. 

Everything rearranged itself from is to was.  The white moon tracks her silver self across the purple night replacing time with a celestial hour glass.  

Al Purdy

Lament

The texture of a life devoted to poetry is activist, in the deep sense.  Quite often it is not activist in the superficial sense.  You come at poetry with the momentum of having failed.  It’s only when other communication is impossible that a poem HAS to exist. 

A response to the catastrophic situation were in.  The suffering has gone beyond what the mind can manage.

Alice Oswald