"A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write . . ."
- - - Virginia Woolf
"I'll settle for a pen that no one steals."
- - - Mama Zen
There's no real place,
just a space in my head
between the elephants to juggle
and the chicken to fry -
sometimes, I write a poem there.
There's no play of light
or white, wind swayed curtains -
just a sudden seed of something
tendrilling up
through the concrete everything.
It's not a room of my own,
it's just a space in my head -
bare and spare,
bare and spare,
but for my breath and my beginnings.
Sometimes, I write a poem there.
Still being edited.
23 comments:
What a great poem for writers.
(By the way, I was thumbing through your newest book, and was blown away by one I read last night--the one about the stepfather and the school counselor. Powerful stuff.)
Boy isn't that the truth! Loved this MZ!
I love the description of the seed "tendrilling up" through the concrete everything.
Sometimes you write a book there, too!
This one speaks volumes ... just ordered your newest book which will arrive on Friday .. in time for me to pack and take with me to Los Angeles! A week away from gloomy, cold snowy weather. Yea!
Bless the tendrils and keep them coming! But no wonder for the bursts too, like bricks through walls, like wind-ups let go to riot and play with us. I think it was Toni Morrison who said she couldn't have written her many early novels if it were not for the squished one or two hours around raising her son that taught her efficiency. I'm paraphrasing a lot.
This is so perfectly true - when private space, either literal or figurative, is hard come by.. the space inside our heads is the only one we own.
there really is no real place, is there? ~
One of my favorites! So very true.
Every time I try to make a space it's invaded.
Nailed it.
Love the way you've expressed this especially the seed through the concrete.
And you do so much with so few words. Loved it.
I love it. And I love the phrase 'tendriling up through the concrete everything.' wonderful and apt.
LOVE that tendrilling up through concrete. Did I ever mention I think you ROCK in that space in your head?! ♥
So true...I have journals everywhere, but it is at my desk I put it in a form the web can digest. :)
This is why you are so productive, I think, MZ -- no space required, just a spaciousness of mind in a moment and enough ink to write on the wind. Eavan Boland once said she had to learn to write poems piecemeal throughout the active motions of motherhood -- and what a gift it is to learn that, as you almost daily exhibit here. My study is in my head more than anywhere else.
I get that...I use to write non-stop now I can only do it in the dark and still...I've lost
Love this as always, mama zen
I have a hard time finding a space to call my own in my house, but at least there's always that space in my head too!
The original cubicle, monk's cell, garret and scriptorium--the space that insists on making itself, and gives us the strength to keep living our words. I also liked the tendril phrase.
i know this place. :)
I am glad that you let us sample that little space those
"sometimes", Mom Z.
Thank you for explaining how this is with you.
..
"just a sudden seed of something
tendrilling up
through the concrete everything."
Loved the imagery in this! Words, ideas climbing through the cracks. Nicely captured.
…still being edited. Sheesh. You unfinished poems run circles around most others. Adore the whole thing (I've got elephants to juggle and chicken to fry as well :) Fun.
I love the first stanza...and everything that comes after it, too. You are a fantastic poet.
K
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