Friday, January 14, 2022

I Must Gush #1

I have to gush. When I love something that I want others to experience, I tend to wax lyrical about it. Whether a play (Next to Normal) or a book (Homo Deus) or a place (Montenegro). Part of that is the fact I want to share with people the bests parts of life.

And I will do that in a moment. But first...

There is a habit that I cannot break (although I try), I tend to mimic what I love. After I read E F Benson, the charms of Edwardian England, and his use of overly long sentences, which create a structure that is built more for meandering than get to "the point" - I express myself that way because I am somehow touched by it. I am moved by it.

When I see Arthur Miller, I look at the world through his lens, even when writing a review.

I can't do that today. Today I have to share one of Ed's throwaway Christmas gifts (that is what he called it). He bought me Amada Gorman's book Call Us What We Carry.

It is a book of poems. I hate poems, but I savor this book. It is divided into chapters, and I have to stop myself from reading too much. It is akin to eating the best food in small bits in order to make it last as long as possible. 

Amada Gorman's voice comes clearly through this. Her first chapter is called Requiem and looks back what Covid has done to us. And her, particularly as she just graduated college, but without the actual ceremony. It is so much memory and emotion captured so eloquently  - that I find myself leaping to scream ME TOO inside.

Get it.

It is hard to grasp most of her words and meaning with  context of the entirety of the poem, but I have to try. This is a sinpet from the first poem in the book, explaining what she is doing. To us and to herself.

Ship's Manifest


To be accountable, we must render an account:

Not what was said, but what was meant.

Not the fact, but what was felt.

What was known, even while unnamed.

Our greatest test will be

Our testimony.


There is more of this piece both before and after the short passage above. But it is hard, if not impossible to read her words without hearing her voice in your head. To be granted this access to emotions without honoring her cadence.

Her words are heartstopping, in the best possible way.

Warning, it will be your gift, if we exchange gifts. If we don't exchange gifts, then buy the book for yourself and let her words help you to heal. Or just be happy they help me to heal. No one likes a cranky Scooter.

1 comment:

  1. Thanks for sharing. I actually got a physical reaction, a pleasant tingle, from he short snippet. I'm not a poetry fan but everything I've heard of hers is amazing. Wish I was that prolific.


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