We all know Lois Maassen as someone who wears many hats at Hope Church and beyond. (I won’t even begin to name them, because I would inevitably miss some important things!) I know her as a person who loves the written word, and so I was pleased when she agreed to be a part of this collection of folks who love reading and writing. I especially appreciate her affirmation here that while so many of us can be intimidated by poetry, poetry is not reserved for those with degrees or special knowledge – it can be found everywhere, and is open to all. Lois invites us to view the world around us this month with the eyes of a poet! ~Rhonda (for R&R)
Seeing the Poetry in Life
As a writer and a reader, I’m more often drawn to prose than poetry. Somehow the stakes seem lower. Poetry too often seems a luxury that requires time, which is often in short supply these days, as well as a lot of magic (also known as hard work). A review in The Paris Review challenged that assumption last month, for which I’m grateful.
The review is of James Tate’s upcoming (though posthumous) collection, The Government Lake. The conclusion of a poem titled “The Argonaut” is quoted:
I sad down in a garden. A woman came along and sat
down beside me. She said, “Nice day, isn’t it?” I said, “Yes, very,
I like it.” “What do you do for a living?” she said. “I’m an accountant
in the government,” I said. “That must be nice,” she said. “But most
people I know think I’m a Communist,” I said. “That’s a joke, right?”
she said. “To me it is,” I said. “To me, you look more like an
Argonaut,” she said. “What’s an Argonaut?” I said. “It’s somebody
who swims in the deep waters of the ocean in search of treasure,” she
Said. “I found a penny in my bathtub once when I was a kid,” I said.
“Then you’re an Argonaut,” she said.
What I love about this snippet of poem is its celebration of the mundane, its conversational, un-precious tone. It prompts me, somehow, to consider that “poetry” is not confined within “poems.” Poetry is everywhere there is insight, beauty, feeling. It’s a matter of seeing and feeling, and it can be recognized in an instant.
In the spirit of seeing, here’s a poem I wrote about an interaction with a stranger.
Morning ~ by Lois Maassen
She’s dressed in white, a baker, not a nurse.
She’s a mushroom, sprung up on a wet overnight,
established on the park bench by morning.
She pages through her newspaper, glancing up at every passerby.
She sees me watching from my balcony.
The newspaper pages turn themselves.
One hand smooths her hair from its side part.
Her chin sets.
She glances at me without lifting her head.
I look away.
She subsides into the bench, the newspaper, into her lap.
Folding the newspaper, she stands;
her cardigan holds her image on the bench.
She drapes the sweater over her arm, newspaper in her hand.
She turns east, into the sun.
She looks at me just once, over her shoulder.