Evasion

On my morning walk, a young couple asks me where is ***? and I point and hear myself say y'ur look'n attit -- and who would guess that this fat, slow woman, with her ungroomed dogs and wild hair, comes home to write elegant poems?

I have been feeling -- evasive -- (this is not on the imood list) -- not wanting to pause, to notice, to feel -- what? -- anticipatory, rekindled grief, perhaps -- fended off with television, news magazines, the internet. Then I feel angry with this stubborn, evil world.

Women hide in Iraq as the fundamentalists assassinate them for not wearing their cloaks of invisibility. Now, in 2005, young American mothers rediscover their shared difficulties, without, of course, using language like consciousness raising or the personal is political. A maker of model cars discovers it has a great market for nearly-naked model toy women.

So  I take refuge from grief, in anger. It's almost as though rage is a place, a room in my house; always there, always open, always pleased to receive me.

This week's Joan of Arcadia used Emily Dickinson for the moral: this recluse who never published a poem in her lifetime, but we read her today and are moved. And of course this is what I want to believe, that my life has some meaning that may not be apparent in this painful, lonely now, but that will extend out past its ending.

               bright morning
                    kingfishers
                              call

Comments

[Patia]

Yeah. The ugliness of the world just piles up higher and higher if you let it. Personally, I've been taking a break from most hard news since the election, and while I have moments of guilt and regret, my mental health is a lot better. Perhaps some mental spring cleaning is in order? Whatever that might mean to you -- a break, an infusion of good news, volunteer work, cleansing letters to politicians ....?

Hang in there.

[Ken]

If all there was to humanity was history, why would we keep going?

I suspect there is something more than history to being a human being, to sharing humanity.

Poetry and music hint at that something, as do memories of those we love.

[Barbara W. Klaser]

I've been evading the news, myself. That story you linked to on the Women of Iraq, though, is a haunting reminder of a dream I had this morning that prompted me to write a short story as soon as I woke up, titled War Wound. (Not posted anywhere, since I'm planning to send it off.) Thanks for the link, but I agree with Patia. We need breaks from this, a complete disconnect at times. So much information comes at us so swiftly we don't have time to process it all. I believe you can get post-traumatic stress from the news alone.

[jenni russell]

I avoid the news most of the time, it seriously gives me panic attacks. Jack loves that show, COPS--I can't watch it, it makes me too upset. I do like Forensic Files, which is often disturbing, but I can get passed that because of the science, which is very interesting to me, but the show makes me paranoid sometimes, I think twice when someone knocks on my door now.

As far as life having meaning--that's a bad topic for me, i tend to lapse into pessimism. But then I think about my daughter and it doesn't matter if my life has meaning or not, as long as hers does.

oh and I like your fever poem!!! sometimes I'll through and read old poems and I'm surprised, most are pretty dreadful-- but once in awhile I'll find one that has a "spark" and i'll start revising it and it's a cool feeling.