I have never blogged before. I'm a blog virgin, which sounds ponderous or like a frog with indigestion and no experience. But you have to start somewhere, and when I first began writing, I started with what was in front of me: the rain. I wrote my first poem when I was around ten years old and incredibly bored, sitting in the living room in my pretty dress and patent leather shoes, forced into being sociable. My parents had company over. I stared out the window at the rain. I asked my mother if I could get a piece of paper and a pencil. When I sat back down, I wrote a poem about the rain. It was titled, "The Rain." It rhymed, it was in quatrains although I had no idea what a quatrain was or an iamb or a trochee or a dactyl. Here is the first stanza:
I'm sitting here in this chair/there is nothing I can do/but watch the rain come dripping down/so I'll write a poem for you.
Yes, you can see the budding poet there, the fine consonance of "dripping down." A moment of inspiration! This moment was over one hundred and fifty years ago, but I still recall how pleased I was with myself and my poem, absolutely thrilled. To take how you're feeling on the inside and match it to something on the outside,(already I was discovering T.S. Eliot's Objective Correlative), this was a marvel, it was marvelous magic, and I've never been bored since; I had the world of writing right there at my fingertips.
I dedicated this poem to my grandparents, Percival and Lilly. What great names, huh? Now those two are another story. Percival and Lilly met when they were sixteen. They lived in the same neighborhood. They got married when they were seventeen and didn't tell anyone. Lilly stayed in her house, and Percival in his. A year later, they finally told their parents. They lived and loved together for the next sixty some years. Happy Valentine's Day!
I have a story about meeting my husband after dating everyone from the four corners of the lost world for a couple of decades, but I will save it for another time when I have more time.
"The world is made of stories, not atoms," said poet Muriel Rukeyser. "And the rest is weather," said poet Linda Pastan.
Muriel and Linda have been great influences on my writing. We help each other along, and maybe blogging is another way to give each other the marvelous.
It's not raining today. Almost like spring, sunny, a slight breeze from the southwest. My cherry tree is just beginning to blossom. And I'm no longer a blog virgin, which sounds much better than a virgin blog.
Causes Susan Browne Supports
Run Together, A Race to Raise Money for Leukemia and Lymphoma Society