How to catch a poem that behaves like a bird.
Last night, while watching TV with E a poem peeked in on me.
A line dangled, as if to ask, “you ready?”
Without hesitation or words I scrambled out of bed, tripping over books, and went rummaging through my purse for my blue notebook and yellow pencil. My lips were pursed shut; inside I was repeating the line carefully with the cadence it arrived.
E asked me if I was okay, what’s wrong, but I couldn’t speak. I could not even look at him. I could not put everyday words before the poem.
When I sat and started writing, he understood, paused the TV and began to silently start ironing his work clothes.
Perhaps my scramble and fall towards my notebook was too much. Too much frantic energy. I could feel a swarm inside me, but could not order the words. If you checked in on the page this poem first attempted to land, there are broken lines, repeated and scattered stanzas with words crossed out, then circled with alternatives floating above them.
Within thirty minutes I knew. I don’t remember falling asleep or anything after, “Un pause the TV, the poem is not ready.”
This morning, within minutes of waking I was sitting in my garden. And there, the poem fell.
"Quiet as clouds in winter
we sleep on our backs with
eyeglasses, pencils, sweet biscuits
while brown birds rest
their wings in our walls..."
(Excerpt from "Monthly," by Kiandra Jimenez)
Words are skittish, like hummingbirds and leaves tumbling in the wind. I find for me to catch them, I must sit still yet quickly place a net beneath them to gather what falls. Neither too slow nor fast, I must let them know they can safely land here.
Looking back and seeing the path this poem took through and to me, I believe part of the balance is stillness, but also faith.
You must know that the right words will fall. Give them space, time. Place yourself where they like to land.
Faith means being ready. Getting yourself to the place your words feel safe (physically, mentally, spiritually) and giving yourself over to the process. Completely. You must get out of the way and allow the process to unfurl.
When words peak into your life, even those most inopportune moments, do you lay down nets? Are you listening, alive and open, seeing them running towards you?
Being ready also means exercising patience. Tuning your ear so that you may hear the difference between the coming, the arrival, and the landing. Trust in the process—if it is coming, it will arrive and become.
Throughout it all, you must believe you are a worthy steward.
How to catch a poem that behaves like a bird:
1. Believe yourself a worthy steward, and act like one.
2. Stay alive, open, and alert.
3. Lay down nets, safe places for them to land.
4. Frequent places they often appear.
5. Be still, quiet, and give them space to land.
6. Be patient.
7. Learn the difference between the coming, the arrival, and the fall.
8. When a poem arrives, speak it, and don’t muddy it with everyday words (non-poems).
9. Have faith and give yourself over to the process.
10. Thank the poem for choosing you.
Love and peace,
Kiandra