Dear friends,
Hallo from Ireland — where I’ve returned to a week that’s felt like it’s undecided whether it should be late winter or early spring. Sometimes jet lag doesn’t seem like it happens to me, and other times it sneaks up on me; this week is the latter, and while technically I’ve had more hours awake than I should have, I have also gotten less done than I could have imagined would be possible with all those extra hours.
All of that goes to say that it’s a short Substack from me this time.
I enjoyed reading your readings of Yeats’s “To A Child Dancing In the Wind” very much. In the midst of being unproductive this week, I have found myself returning to a rebroadcast of an interview between Eleanor Wachtel and Anne Carson. Eleanor Wachtel is a recently retired Canadian broadcaster whose programme Writers & Company was on CBC for about 30 years. Anne Carson is a Canadian poet who has taught classics for many years. As they discussed Greek mythology, writing, eros, and family (Eleanor W’s interviews often feature an extended discussion about the writer’s family of origin), Anne made reference to how, in both English and Greek, a word for desire also means lack. It’s housed in a small word: want. My want can mean that which I wish and also that which I lack. I’d mentioned “want” a few weeks ago in this Substack, but I keep coming back to it. Blame Anne Carson!
“Want” is a contronym — a word with two opposite, or seemingly opposite, meanings. Cleave, clip, and sanction are contronyms. Ravel too. (Wikipedia’s entry is helpful.) Host, depending on how it’s conjugated, can mean the role of being the host or the experience of being hosted.
Back to “want”. Want. Want. To name it is to name both my desire and my lack. What do I want today? I want (for) many things — one of which is a better sense of time having crossed an ocean.
All this week, then, whenever I hear myself, or someone else, use the word “want,” I’ve gone off on a sleep-deprived inner tangent about lack and longing.
“I want for nothing.” I’ve repeated again and again, thinking of how it can mean I am without need and also how my need is for some sense of absence, some experience of Nothing, that primal unknowing that moves us, as Emily Dickinson said in her poem #1563:
“Nothing” is the force
That renovates the World —
So I am interested if there are words that you have been repeating to yourself this week, whether travelling or not. Ordinary words that have taken your attention, words that perhaps you overlook or peruse, like overlook and peruse.
I’ll see you in the comments,
Poetry in the World
March 14 at 7pm Eastern Australia time, online
I’m giving three talks about poetry and spirituality as part of the Australian Joint Spirituality Development series; this is the third of those talks. Learn more and register here. Sadly, I won’t be in Australia for these; I’ll be zooming from Ireland.
March 14 at 7pm, London, England
I’m giving a talk at Southwark Cathedral for the paperback release of Poetry Unbound: 50 Poems to Open Your World. Registration here.
April 19–21, Round Top, Texas, US
I’m delighted to be one of the featured poets at the Round Top Poetry festival. Information and tickets here.
May 14, Pittsburgh, PA, US
For you theologically interested folks, I’ll be speaking at the Festival of Homiletics. Info here.
May 17 at 2–4pm, Camden, Maine, US
I’ll be talking about the word “you” in poetry at the Camden Public Library. You can attend either in person or over Zoom.
May 24–26, Boone, North Carolina, US
I’m leading a a 48-hour Poetry Unbound retreat, where there will be poetry readings, responding to prompts, and sharing. Information and registration here.
June 27–July 7, Patmos, Greece
I’m one of the speakers at the 10-night “Journeying into Common Good” salon, together with Krista Tippett, Allison Russell, JT Nero, and Joe Henry. More details here.
The words?
Let Go. Hold on.
I've just packed up my house in Central Victoria after 22 years of living amongst kangaroos. I let go of so much stuff but I've tried to hold on to a sense of being home, even without those walls around me.
Curious feelings.
BIG words.
Thanks so much for what you do.
Tricia
I so appreciate your writing, and how it reaches into our hearts and stories. Thank you.
I recently wrote a poem for my 88 year old father who has dementia. I am his carer. Dad is tired and would like to leave his body sooner rather than later. I share here the first four lines of the poem and it is the line 'the long sleep from which there is no morning/mourning... that touches me deeply. It has been present in my thoughts this last week as he is in respite as I travel away from home.
I read the whole poem to dad before I left. He wiped his eyes and I asked if he'd like me to read it again. Yes please, he said.
There is a power in sensing that for him there is no mourning in his leaving. It is his time—all in good time.
A Blessing for David
Peace be to my father, hungry for life
To be redeemed. Spare him his ailments
As he sits in his recliner chair wanting the night
To come—the long sleep from which there is no morning.
The whole poem can be read here: https://wendyhaynes.com/a-blessing-for-david/
Padraig, I hope you are well grounded and back in your present moment!