The patience of ordinary things
Ok. I confess. I stole the title from a poem. A beautiful poem. And because I like the poem so much, I am not going to stop with the title. I am actually going to copy-paste it here so all of you (yes, all you seven of my readers - ok, I've inflated the number but you know who you are) can enjoy it as well.
The Patience of Ordinary Things
by Pat Schneider
It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How soles of feet know
Where they're supposed to be.
I've been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?
"The Patience of Ordinary Things" by Pat Schneider from Another River: New and Selected Poems. © Amherst Writers and Artists Press, 2005
Wonderful poem. The fondness with which she expresses her love makes me take a deep breath every time I read it.
It's been a busy bunch of days. I've thought abt writing a few times over these couple of weeks but today I don't feel like talking about any of that.
I have realized a few things over the past few weeks. Yes, when you start with as little knowledge as I do everyday, then realizations come pretty often. But this was profound. When I was a kid, I'd find myself thinking pretty often : "When I grow up, I will/things will ........" . I've realized that I had never really grown out of that mode. Every time things get messy, I catch myself thinking "As soon as I am out of this mess,... " or "once I get all this done ..." - "my real life will begin". But that's the thing. This is the real life. This mess is your real life. This uncertainty is your adulthood. This crazy bunch of people that you hang out with - are and will be your buddies for life. This clueless, seemingly unbalanced, restless, planless, issue-ridden person is you. And you have to get on with it. I don't know if this is a really poignant piece of wisdom or just inane brain farts of a tired, sleepy mind. I really don't. But this is me. And that is not a bad thing. It is actually a comfort. That means that there's nothing that I need to get to, nothing to achieve before my real life starts. No agonizing on whether the decisions I make will get me to right starting point. It means I've jumped off the bridge already and I might as well enjoy the free fall rather than worry about whether I packed the parachute.
The Patience of Ordinary Things
by Pat Schneider
It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How soles of feet know
Where they're supposed to be.
I've been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?
"The Patience of Ordinary Things" by Pat Schneider from Another River: New and Selected Poems. © Amherst Writers and Artists Press, 2005
Wonderful poem. The fondness with which she expresses her love makes me take a deep breath every time I read it.
It's been a busy bunch of days. I've thought abt writing a few times over these couple of weeks but today I don't feel like talking about any of that.
I have realized a few things over the past few weeks. Yes, when you start with as little knowledge as I do everyday, then realizations come pretty often. But this was profound. When I was a kid, I'd find myself thinking pretty often : "When I grow up, I will/things will ........" . I've realized that I had never really grown out of that mode. Every time things get messy, I catch myself thinking "As soon as I am out of this mess,... " or "once I get all this done ..." - "my real life will begin". But that's the thing. This is the real life. This mess is your real life. This uncertainty is your adulthood. This crazy bunch of people that you hang out with - are and will be your buddies for life. This clueless, seemingly unbalanced, restless, planless, issue-ridden person is you. And you have to get on with it. I don't know if this is a really poignant piece of wisdom or just inane brain farts of a tired, sleepy mind. I really don't. But this is me. And that is not a bad thing. It is actually a comfort. That means that there's nothing that I need to get to, nothing to achieve before my real life starts. No agonizing on whether the decisions I make will get me to right starting point. It means I've jumped off the bridge already and I might as well enjoy the free fall rather than worry about whether I packed the parachute.
Comments
Beautiful poem... or Not. Mixed feelings.
I have a problem with bromide. If you start assigning beauty to functional things, then there wont be words left for the truly extraordinary. You know what I am getting at, dont you? If an ordinary story like mine were written with such poise and millions read it, it would be an insult to the really great text like Mahabharatha.
neways, good to see you still writing.
Luv
DI