know! Who’d have thought it? Actually, for all that I whinge about teaching, I do love it. Just not without reservation.
I’m working hard, and will hopefully have something I’m prepared to put up here soon. But just for now, a slip of e. e. cummings, who has often made me soar, ache, dance, still and bleed, because a student reminded me of this fact in writing a creative piece filled with her own inspiration, and that in turn recalled the gorgeous simplicity of my mother’s black, calligraphy-penned script of this poem which hung above her desk, perhaps my first exposure to words which evoke and invoke and do not anchor…
may my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living whatever they sing is better than to know and if men should not hear them men are old
may my mind stroll about hungry and fearless and thirsty and supple and even if it’s sunday may i be wrong for whenever men are right they are not young
and may myself do nothing usefully and love yourself so more than truly there’s never been quite such a fool who could fail pulling all the sky over him with one smile