Tuesday, May 25, 2010

A Mirror, A Summer, A Street

I can't describe it quite,
but there's something in time
that has sailed away forever.
There are faces now I'll never
see in my mind again;
and perhaps there's a mirror, a summer, a street
that already go under the echo of one more futile shade.

from "Boundaries" by Jose Emilio Pacheco

Once, long ago, when I was preparing to leave New Orleans with my sixteen month old son, a friend suggested that I keep a weblog so that those I left behind could stay in touch with me. I was opposed to the idea initially because it seemed very self-absorbed to write a journal for everyone to read as though everyone cared about my little daily trials and triumphs. However, I did keep the weblog for over a year before I abandoned it, and I enjoyed it during that time.

Because I suspected that someone might stumble upon it and read it, I tried to write about subjects more philosophical and poetic than my daily consumption of honey buns, though I did address that once. I grew as a writer during that time because I anticipated an audience. I grew as a thinker because I weeded through an overgrown garden of thoughts for the those that might interest someone other than me.

I'm not sure why I quit posting, but when I did, for all means and purposes, I quit writing. I dabble now, but I don't write in earnest. I don't practice. I think that I think less also or less clearly or less imaginatively or less selectively. I would like to rectify that. Something has gone awry in my life. Something is slightly off. I'd like to know what it is. To know if it is mendable.

And so I'm writing again.

The title of this weblog comes from the poem "Boundaries" by Jose Emilio Pacheco. My first weblog "The Sound the World Makes" also received its title from Pacheco's poem. I still love it. It still speaks to me. I chose to start with a fresh title because my life is different now. However, I am essentially the same. I am still awed by the variety of birdsong on a May morning, inspired by the round green leaves of pumpkin seedlings, amazed by the way sounds travel on invisible currents. And so I plan to take those as my subjects.

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A Mirror, A Summer, A Street by Autumn Crisp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.