Sometimes things are happening...

The complete title of this blog was "Sometimes things are happening even when you don't know it." It would not fit into the little window.

Anyway, I have been getting a poem a day (for Poetry month) in my Inbox from the Academy of American Poets and it has been thrilling. No matter whether the poem has huge impact or not, just trying to wrap my brain around refreshes. I readily admit I don't always have a clue what the poet is saying. Take Mei-mei Berssenbrugge's poem, for example:

From Concordance [Our conversation is a wing]by Mei-mei Berssenbrugge
Our conversation is a wing below my consciousness, like organization in blowing cloth, eddies of water, its order of light on film with no lens.
A higher resonance of story finds its way to higher organization: data swirl into group dreams.
Then story surfaces, as if recognized; flies buzzing in your room suddenly translate to "Oh! You're crying!"
So, here I hug the old person, who's not "light" until I embrace him.
My happiness at seeing him, my French suit constitute at the interface of wing and occasion.
Postulate whether the friendship is fulfilling.
Reduce by small increments your worry about the nature of compassion or the chill of emotional identification among girlfriends, your wish to be held in the consciousness of another, like a person waiting for you to wake.
Postulate the wave nature of wanting him to wait (white space) and the quanta of fractal conflict, point to point, along the outline of a petal, shore from a small boat.
Words spoken with force create particles.
He calls the location of accidents a morphic field; their recurrence is resonance, as of an archetype with the vibration of a seed.
My last thoughts were bitter and helpless.
Friends witnessing grief enter your consciousness, illuminating your form, so quiet comes.

It is the shaping of the language, the use of words in new ways and the use of words I am familiar with but never use, like quanta and fractal and particles and morphic (morphic field?) which keeps me re-reading the poem, gently savoring it. There are many images there, and I respond to them, like "eddies of water" and "the vibration of a seed." "Words spoken with force create particles" resonates. But other than a vague identification with key words, do I have the remotest? Uh uh.

Since I am one who always wishes to share largesse, I have been sending some poems to my daughter and to my grandkids, to savor, too. But I don't get any response, so think that the poems arrived and then thud. Nothing.

Today, though, I called my daughter about the catfood recall and she was very excited about the poetry and my sending the poems has led to her checking out a bunch of volumes and reading poems aloud to her daughters. (She has been savoring poems by Emily Dickinson especially, who, as she says, speaks our language.)

While we chatted I sent her some more poems, inc. the one above and when we talked about movies, she recommended "Opal Dream." I will check that out.

So the beat goes on.