 Poetry: January 24, 2018 Issue [#8724] |
  Poetry
This week: Buried Treasure Edited by: Fyn  
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It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life. Where you stumble, there lies your treasure. ~~Joseph Campbell
Treasure the things about you that make you different and unique. ~~Karen Kain
(this includes your writing!)
A box without hinges, key, or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid.~~ J. R. R. Tolkien
(ahem --far more than a simple egg. Your writng, perhaps?)
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Listening, for the first time, to a piece of music, Old and Lost Rivers composed by Tobias Picker, sent me off on a journey. The composition is peaceful, meandering, flowing --much like an old river. Rather than observing in mind's eye, I splashed in and went for a ride back in time. Initially, it sent me back through childhood's days of living on the water and yearning to reach the small island in the middle of the lake. Later on, I floated by memories of canoeing and rafting down the Ramapo, Battenkill and Au Sable Rivers. Faces of my youth blurred into focus. Lost loves, wanted but never 'had' loves, good friends paddled quietly by. I remembered things I'd written long ago and was inspired to read them yet again.
Some had made their way here into my port where they docked and sat waiting by the shore. Others that I remembered-- I had no clue if they were stored on old floppy disks, the non-floppy floppy disks that followed or were printed out and piled in a box or trunk in some back corner of the basement. There was one that was suddenly essential that I find, dig up, read again ... and remember. This was at ten in the morning.
Off on the side of our basement is a cinderblock room lined with boxes and trunks. These are piled high to still leave room for several bodies (and a pooch) should a tornado come roaring by as that is its function in the first place. However, over time, it has become additional storage for whatever we can't fit anywhere else!
Standing there, looking at the daunting pile of trunks, boxes, totes, and baskets, I see a trunk that stirs vague memories going back to 1996 when I packed up to move to Canada on my way to New York ... and Massachusetts ... Maine and then back to Michigan. Got to be the right one. On the bottom, of course. Three trunks, two totes, (big ones!) and several boxes on top of the totes. Of course, there is no room inside this safe room to re-pile them, so each object gets pulled, carried, dragged or (in one case) tossed out into the party side of the basement. Twenty minutes later (huffing and puffing) I collapse on the couch with this five-foot-long wooden trunk open in front of me.
After all that work, I am so glad it was the right trunk. Spiral bound notebook journals, folders of every color and print possible, each loaded with loose papers covered in scribbled lines. Stapled print-outs. I'd long since forgotten the old-style printer papers. The kind with the little holes on the sides and all in one long, long, long piece of paper because the places where you'd tear them apart always seemed to have a line printed on it!
Poems. Oh my goodness! So many poems. It would take me months to retype them all. My port is not even big enough to hold them all! Reams of them. Treasure rediscovered.
Lunchtime passed unnoticed untill I realized I needed coffee. Brought the entire pot back down in a thermos. Shrugged and thought, Why not? and built a cozy fire. When my hubby got home after six, I was still curled on the couch, semi-buried under piles and stacks of papers. The fire had long burned out. I giggled and laughed, cried and remembered. I am sixty-three years old and I'd been on a journey going back clear to my teen years.
Poems written during trips abroad, about my first boyfriend in 8th grade (wonder whatever happened to him?), and about college ;loves (when this writer dated men with last names of 'Story' and 'Reimer' - they didn't last long - think about it!) I read poems of lost loves and unrequited ones. I found the poem that started this journey but kept going. (and yes, it is now in my port!) Poems written to my kids before they were born. I found some wrapped in ribbons that I'd intended to give my kids one day, and still may. I read of ice caves and mushrooms, of lilacs and rotting docks, of tree forts and sword fortes.
I discovered piles of short stories, the modern day Excalibur novel that I thought had been lost forever and the beginnings of books now published. Since 1996 that trunk had been packed away. A twenty-two-year-old time capsule!
So bleary-eyed I headed upstairs, wanting to collapse in bed, but, because of habit or sheer craziness, I went to the office first and logged in here. And began digging back through the almost thirteen years here. Even poking through my port was a quest for buried treasure. I've spent the last few days meandering and perusing the stuff I've written. It has been an enlightening journey.
I read back and saw, when looking at poetry on some of the same subjects, how I have written my way through healing from physical abuse and rape. I saw how my writing on those difficult subjects changed, how my voice strengthened. I read of my healing. On another level, I discovered when the idea of writing dialog ceased to terrify me. I saw my writing become more confident. I read and realized how I have grown from feeling worthless to someone who is comfortable with who I've become. The past few days have been quite illuminating!
So when was the last time you read back to the pieces you wrote way back when? When or have you ever gone back to rediscover things you'd forgotten ever writing? I know it happens occasionally when I get a review and have to go look because I have no clue what they are talking about! But have you gone back and really read, almost as if for the first time stuff you wrote years ago?
I bet you find out a number of ways your writing/poetry has improved. I bet you discover how much you've grown.
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Went looking for pieces written years ago for folks to rediscover or find for the first time!
|  | in this age (E)
the last launch of a space shuttle took place 8 July 2011
#1791174 by Rhyssa  |
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