I have been dilatory at blogging recently – plenty to reflect on but …. And here come excuses, but I have just read Anthony Wilson’s excellent blog on blogging and suddenly a penny has dropped. It’s not ‘blogging’ it’s writing. And to paraphrase Dorothy Parker, whom he quotes, there’s nothing quite like the feeling of having written.
In one of the poetry therapy groups I ran over a few years, one regular participant would write intensely in response to a particular prompt or poem and then emphatically put her pen down hard on the table, sit back, cross her arms and give a loud humph of satisfaction. Whatever it was (she didn’t always share her work), it was better out than in.
So blogging, like writing, like meditating, like going to church, like gardening, like walking the dog, like cooking is essentially a practice. A pleasurable one. A manageable one – my limit is five hundred words max. A sociable one. One to aim to do every day that I’m early enough at my desk.
I’m also just reminding myself of the premise of this blog – to reflect on a poem that in turn illuminates some aspect of my daily life – which is the premise of poetry therapy, which is my calling.
And as I haven’t blogged for ages, and it’s an easy one to choose, and you all know it, and poetry works with what Anna Akhmatova called ‘the blessedness of repetition’, I offer you Mary Oliver’s The Summer Day.
It’s clearly not summer (although we’ve had glorious autumn days) but I am about to head to the station to meet the wonderful Mary Reynolds Thompson who is committed to working with the wild – simultaneously in our inner and outer worlds.
She lives in California so it’s a treat to have her here to deliver a workshop based on her new book Reclaiming The Wild Soul. Then we’ll have lunch in the Veg Box – the best vegetarian food in Canterbury.
Ha! I’ve blogged! Time for breakfast. What are you all doing today with your one wild and precious lives?