Earlier in my residency, I wrote a post titled “Poetry of a Day.” The prompt was to notice the small things throughout a day that make our lives poetic, to notice the things that shine as we move through a day and string them together into a poem.

I will say, it’s been feeling especially difficult to notice these small, sparkling moments.

So this week, we’re trying it again.

I picked up a book of poems by W.S. Merwin from the library recently. Merwin was a poet who dedicated years of his life to restoring the forest on his property in Hawaii. To tend to land like that requires a commitment to presence, and Merwin’s poems often reflect a sort of observation-oriented way of exploring the connections being made in the space he found himself in.

In this book,”Finding the Islands,” Merwin offers meandering but specific poems that written in three-line stanzas without punctuation, “each of which evokes the impression of a certain moment through a few magnificently juxtaposed images.” That’s according to the book’s dust jacket, and I agree.

Here’s the beginning of a longer poem in the book which transports the reader into the progression of summer:

Summer Canyon
By W.S. Merwin

Some of the mayflies
drift on into June
without their names

Spring reappears in the evening
oyster cloud sky catches in pines
water light wells out of needly after sundown

On small summit pine hollow
field chickweed under trees
split white petals drifting over shadow

Two crows call to each other
flying over
same places

In high mountains
the late grass
grows as fast as it can

Because of things not even remembered
we are here
listening to the water

I love the rhythm of the three-line stanza repeated over and over to slowly reveal a moment over time, a small moment revealed in each new image.

I began taking my own notes in this form this past week. Here are few lines I jotted down.

May morning rain
feels like November
time is a circle

Coffee grows cold
in a mug from my grandfather
no longer here

Baby wakes early
wants to be held
needs only me

Bleeding hearts hang heavy
I remember the bush
planted at my grandmother’s

Walking the dog
the neighborhood lap
he delights in the repetition

The sun came out
I watched the irises bloom
all in a Friday afternoon

I’ve enjoyed the ease of this writing practice, the quick exercise of noticing with a form to adhere to as well. I’d recommend it, and I’d love to see where you practice takes you.

As I’ve got about month and a left in my formal residency post, I’m looking for poems from you! Send a Racine-based poem my way at sklblauren@gmail.com.

Best,
L.A. Sklba