Dear Graduates: of life, men, and the problem with experience

This past Sunday was a busy day. Not only was it Father’s Day, but it was also the day of my youngest daughter’s high school graduation.

As I thought about my hopes and dreams for her, I couldn’t help but reflect upon the hopes and dreams I had for myself at that age, and the hopes and dreams my father probably had for his only son. When you’re 18 and graduating, the questions abound. Should I go to college? Should I work? If I go to college, what should I study? If I go to work, what will I do? Should I do what my parents want, or what I want?

In considering all these thoughts, worries, and concerns, something occurred to me:

Maturity changes everything.

Looking back over my post-high school years, I realize now what I did right and where I went wrong. I can also see multiple instances where there was no right or wrong. Life experience may be great, but it’s also a problem.

They say experience is the greatest teacher; unfortunately, it’s all on-the-job training.  You don’t get a probationary period. You don’t get a chance to learn the ropes, then go out and live your life.  We’re all in the position of tackling the world with only as much information and experience as we have at that moment – and it is only after we fail or succeed that we get our report card.  No matter how much we think we know – we never know what we need to know until after the fact.

Life is a perpetual game of trial-and-error, and I doubt most graduates realize how many ‘errors’ they will end up accumulating over the long haul. This very realization is, itself, one of the blessings of maturity.  Once we accept the fact that we don’t know everything, that we will likely fail as often (if not more) than we succeed, and that we need the knowledge, experience, and support of others to get us through…life becomes easier. And harder.

You see, maturity is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, you see things more clearly and understand better how life and the world operate, which allows you to move forward with wisdom and confidence. On the other hand, you see all your past mistakes with laser-pinpoint accuracy - and although it’s helpful, it’s sometimes painful to watch.

The man I’ll never be

I should probably know more about men than I do, considering I call myself one. I don’t know if they have the same doubts, hopes, fears, and insecurities I have…but I’m sure I’m not the only one who believes:

I’ll never be the man my kids think I am, I’ll never be the man my wife deserves,
and I’ll never be the man my father is.

I think it is due to personal inadequacies I have created, based upon the standards I have set for myself…and again, I wonder if other men share this concern. I don’t think I’m a bad person, but could I do better? Could I spend more time with the kids, teach them more, listen to them more? Could I do more for my wife, help her more, support her more? Could I be a harder worker, better-skilled, more involved with the community?

Certainly.

And it’s not like I don’t try to improve myself in these areas. I just keep falling short of those pesky standards I was talking about. Maybe it’s the perfectionist in me, but I doubt I’ll ever reach them. I’m willing to accept that. But it won’t keep me from trying.

The big surprise awaiting graduates

Taking into account the experience, wisdom, and surprises that come with the blessing/curse of maturity, my recognition of past failings, and my desire to constantly improve myself, I felt it’s important that graduates know one important thing. Whether they go to college or go to work, stay at home or move away, get married or stay single, there is one truth that is universal. It surprised me years ago, and it still surprises unsuspecting young people.

Ready, graduates? Here it is:

Life is harder than you realize.

Are you surprised? No? Well, you should be. If you don’t think it’s hard, just wait. And if you think it’s hard already, it’s actually harder. I’m not trying to scare you or anything – just helping you to be prepared, based on years of life experience and >ahem< maturity.

Life is fun, life is sad, life is exciting, life is boring, life is anything you make it out to be and will take you anywhere you want to go – but it’s up to you to do the driving. Sometimes, life is, indeed, easy. It will often be hard, too. That should never keep you from enjoying it and getting the most out of it.   Hard work can be enjoyable and rewarding, and so is life. Just remember that

Life is harder than you realize.

If you want to do something you think is difficult, do it anyway. Can’t do it? Figure out a way. Never accept impossibility as an option. The best things in life might be free, but the most rewarding ones usually don’t come without a great deal of work, sweat, and perseverance.

Are you ready for what’s ahead?

And by the way, if your personal situation is nice and stress-free, what about your neighbor’s? Are they struggling with some sort of problems? There’s probably something you could do to lighten their load. No, I don’t mean just offering them money or food. That’s easy. I mean taking some time to get to know them and actually lending a real helping hand. Being a true neighbor. True, that might be hard to do, but then again…

Life is harder than you realize.

If life is not hard, then you’re either extremely lucky, or you’re doing it wrong.

So be careful out there.

Poetry Friday: “More Than We Are”

Where does the time go? One minute your kids are starting kindergarten and the next thing you know, they’re heading off to prom and graduation and the rest of their life.

Whew, that was quick.

My youngest daughter, Katherine, is graduating high school this weekend, so there was no question for me as to what poem I should share today.  Katherine is a very talented young woman, whose photography has graced more than a few blog posts here. She was selected as a New Hampshire Scholar for her above-average course load while in high school, and I’m very proud of her.

I wrote this a little over a year ago – and although it’s not really ‘about’ her, the message was created with her, her older sisters, and all young people in mind.

(Good grief, I just used the phrase “young people.” That makes me think I might not be one of them anymore.)

Anyhoo…for all of today’s Poetry Friday festivities, visit Margaret at Reflections on the Teche!

“More Than We Are (for Katherine)”

An astronaut’s an astronaut,
But may be someone’s dad
Who takes his daughter fishing
When she feels a little sad.
A banker is a banker
But might be a mom, as well,
Who shows her son the alphabet
And helps him learn to spell.

A teacher is a teacher
But could be a singer, too;
The janitor at school may wish
He ran the local zoo.
His son might be a doctor
Who is saving someone’s life;
The lady at the store today
Might be the doctor’s wife.

Each homeless person on the street,
Each writer of a song,
Each boy or girl you chance to meet
Has somewhere they belong.
There’s always more than what we see,
And as we learn and grow,
We’re all more than we seem to be –

And you’re more than you know.

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- © 2012, Matt Forrest Esenwine

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A Sad Way to Begin National Poetry Month

In honour of National Poetry Month, I’m planning on featuring poetry in all of my April blog posts (each Tue. and Fri.).  I’ll be spotlighting a different poem of mine each friday for Poetry Friday, as I always do, but each Tuesday I’ll also have some poetry news or information to share.

I had some fun plans for today. I was going to offer some ideas about how you can get kids involved in enjoying and creating poetry, involving books and cookies and magazines and scissors…but all that will have to wait.

New Hampshire has lost its poet laureate.

Walter E. Butts (Sept. 12, 1944 – March 31, 2013)

Butts succumbed to his battle with cancer on Easter Sunday at the age of 68.

He spent most of his life in the northeast, living in New York for years, organizing poetry readings and open mics, before moving to Boston, Mass. and then eventually to NH, where he was most recently professor of English at Hesser College.  He also taught a low-residency Creative Writing Program at Goddard College in Vermont.

Butts was a prolific poet, publishing eleven books and chapbooks.  The most recent is Cathedral of Nervous Horses, a collection of new and collected poems from previous books, which was published last September by Hobblebush Books of Milford, NH. His poems were also featured in numerous independent literary journals, as well, like The Atlanta Review, The Saranac Review, and The Fourth River.

Of life and death, family and friends

Butts drew inspiration from his memories growing up in the small town of Le Roy, New York:  the deaths of his parents, the questionable friends he hung out with, and the gritty yet beautiful scenes of a working-class community all figure prominently in his work. Take, for instance, his recounting of the loss of three family members and the touching honesty with which he tells the story, in “Inheritence,” from The Required Dance (Igneus Press, 1990). After noting that he was only eight years old when his uncle died and nine when the family dog was buried…he jumps ahead ten years and recalls the sight of his father lying on the floor, too weak to get up. It was at this point, he tells us, he was truly afraid:

I watched him at the hospital,
his frail body curled
like a fetus, and realized
he was going back, and I wanted
to take hold of those shrunken hands
and lead him there myself.

(© Walter E. Butts)

But like he so often did, he did not dwell on the negatives of the difficulties associated with these sad moments; instead, he would look for a positive way to continue on. In this case, after describing the emotional pain and turmoil his mother went through dealing with his father’s death, he concludes the poem with the realization that, “I understood, I was now the man she loved.”

Cathedral of Nervous Horses: New & Selected Poems (Hobblebush Books, 2012)

Upon receiving the poet laureate nomination almost exactly 4 years ago, Butts said, “I really believe that poetry, in many, many ways, is the literary form that we
have that is closest to expressing the human condition, the human spirit.” (New Hampshire State Council on the Arts, March, 2009) 

I encourage you to pick up a copy of Cathedral.  While some of the poems are new, most are from previously-published collections, so it is a great introduction to Butts’ work.  His term as our state’s poet laureate was to continue until 2014; there has been no word on whether someone will be chosen to fill the vacancy.

On a happier note, because it is National Poetry Month, I’m pleased to be participating in Irene Latham’s 2013 ‘Progressive Poem’ at Live Your Poem - a poem that started with one blogger April 1 and will travel from blog to blog each day, with each blogger adding a new line to the poem. (By the end of the month, we’ll have a completed poem!)

Today’s tagged poet is Joy Acey - and I’ll be adding the third line to the poem tomorrow, April 3 – so please check back, and follow along with all the bloggers!

April
1  Amy Ludwig VanDerwater
2  Joy Acey
3  Matt Forrest Esenwine
4  Jone MacCulloch
5  Doraine Bennett
6  Gayle Krause
7  Janet Fagal
8  Julie Larios
9  Carrie Finison
10  Linda Baie
11  Margaret Simon
12  Linda Kulp
13  Catherine Johnson
14  Heidi Mordhorst
15  Mary Lee Hahn
16  Liz Steinglass
17  Renee LaTulippe
18  Penny Klostermann
19  Irene Latham
20  Buffy Silverman
21  Tabatha Yeatts
22  Laura Shovan
23  Joanna Marple
24  Katya Czaja
25  Diane Mayr
26  Robyn Hood Black
27  Ruth Hersey
28  Laura Purdie Salas
29  Denise Mortensen
30  April Halprin Wayland

Of one-armed strollers and turkey dinners

How often do you do things without thinking about why you do them?

Recently, I took my 3-year-old son out for a walk. He doesn’t usually need the stroller for these little jaunts, but today he felt like riding.  After awhile of relaxing and enjoying the scenery, he asked to get out and push. I obliged. He got behind the stroller and started pushing as best he could. The stroller veered to the right and careened to the left and got stuck in the ruts of the road. It was tough going.

I kept telling him it would be easier if he’d use both hands.

But, no – he insisted on using his right hand, and his right hand only.

Why? I wondered.

Then it occurred to me:  he was doing it the way I had taught him.

Immitation ≠ Flattery

You see, I’m a fairly tall fellow, and pushing the stroller with both arms is uncomfortable because I have to hunch my back slightly to reach the handlebar. But I found that by standing upright and just using my right hand – positioned near the left side of the handlebar – I could control the stroller fairly easily and still walk normally.

He had seen me do this, and figured that was the way it was done…and no amount of exhortation to the contrary was going to change his little steel bear trap of a mind.

This was the way dad does it, he probably reasoned, so this is the proper way to do it.

This rationale, however, is not only the bailiwick a 3-year-old.

Doing something just because someone else did it?  You’d never fall for that…

I was reminded of a (supposedly true) story I heard several years ago about a young wife who was preparing Thanksgiving dinner for the first time. When the turkey was about to be carved, several guests were surprised to see the bag of gizzards (liver, kidneys, etc.) inside the bird.  Rather than take the bag out and cook them separately, she had roasted the bag right there where it was when she bought it.

When asked why she did that, she said it was the way her mom had always cooked it. But since her guests seemed taken aback at the concept, she decided to ask her mom a few days later.

Her mom’s answer? Because that was the way her mom had always done it.

So the young wife went to her grandmother and asked again: why cook the bag of gizzards inside the turkey, instead of taking it out of the bird and cooking them separately? Her grandmother laughed and explained that it had only happened once, when the young woman’s mother was just a child – the grandmother had accidentally forgotten to take the bag out. The experience, however, had stuck with the child, and that was how she subsequently prepared every Thanksgiving turkey.  Consequently, that was how her daughter, this young wife, had learned to do it. Like mother, like daughter.

Two generations of families,preparing their Thanksgiving meals based on a mistake.

Don’t accept the premise

Don’t always accept things at face value. Some things are exactly as they seem – speeding on a highway and spitting into the wind rarely yield positive results – but there are many circumstances we come across every day that could use a closer look:

Do we speak a certain way because that’s the way we were told to? Are there processes or systems where we work that seem cumbersome? Are there family issues that might be resolved by trying something different?

If you’re a voice actor, do you always position your mic the same way? Is it hanging down or standing up? Do you speak to the top, to the front, to the side, which side? Do you get so close you’re eating it, or do you back off 10 inches or more?

If you don’t like poetry, is it because you can’t understand it? Is the poet writing above his/her audience? Does the poetry use antiquated language? Or do you feel like you could write the same kind of thing? Then find poetry you can understand, find poetry that’s more contemporary, or write your own!

When confronted with an issue, ask yourself why…consider an alternative…and then ask, why not?

If I’m told a client always runs a particular type of commercial, I question why I can’t completely change it around the next time.  If I’m told that something has to be done a certain way, I ask why. If I’m told, ‘that’s just the way it’s done,’ I look for answers.

Sometimes they’re good answers. Sometimes I need to come up with new ones.

Don’t settle for the answers you’re given. Don’t assume there’s only one way to do something.

And don’t roast your turkey with the giblet bag.

Little books = Big impact

When was the last time you thought about the books you read as a child?

Were the kids tiny or were the animals huge? It didn’t matter. To me, the pictures were cool – and that’s all that mattered!

It occurred to me the other day just how big a role picture books and other books for children play in developing not just reading ability and comprehension, but developing personality.  Of course, it’s not breaking news that children who read develop language and communication skills, bigger vocabularies, and better attention spans and memory retention. But I’m talking about how those books shape who we are today.

I’ve previously talked a little bit about the impact our experiences as children have on our adult lives.  In one of my very first posts, I wrote about how my love of old-time radio drama lead me into the world of radio and voiceovers, and asked readers to think about that one ‘defining moment’ they may have had as a child that is probably responsible for where they are today.

This time around, I’d like to ask you to think about your most memorable children’s books. Not necessarily your favourite books – although you certainly can – but those books you remember reading as a child that, for some reason, you still remember today. And I’ll bet that if you look at them as a collective, you’ll see yourself in a new light.

(Imagination + compassion + attention to detail) ÷ sense of humour = Matt

Looking back at the books I remember most fondly, I can definitely see why I am the person I am.  One of my favourites when I was very young was Mr. Snitzel’s Cookies, by the wonderful Jane Flory. The story is simple, but teaches a classic message of giving:

Mr. Snitzel, a baker, has only a handful of flour and a couple of raisins left in his otherwise bare cupboard – so he closes his shop for the night, wondering what he’ll do. That evening, a poor beggar comes along and asks if Mr. Snitzel could spare any food. Mr. Snitzel kindly explains the situation and says if he had anything, he’d be more than happy to help. The beggar suggests that Mr. Snitzel look in the cupboard again. To his amazement, there is, indeed, enough food to make something, which he does.

When the beggar asks if he can sleep there, Mr. Snitzel obliges, although he doesn’t have much room. (My memory is foggy, but Mr. Snitzal may actually give up his bed for the beggar) When morning comes, the beggar is gone. Mr. Snitzel goes to his shop and opens his cupboards, expecting barely nothing – and what do you know, they’re full of flour and raisins and candy and all the things that a good baker needs to make wonderful treats and be happy!

A familiar tale, told in a different way, with a golden message.

As for the bizarre iamgination…

Look no further than this absolutely mind-blowing book written by Johnny Gruelle, the creator of Raggedy Ann & Andy. The Magical Land of Noom is part Wizard of Oz, part Alice in Wonderland, part magic mushroom ride. A large hardcover, this was a hefty book, filled with beautiful yet eerie illustrations of horses dressed like grandmothers, odd toadstool-like trees, and Mad Hatter-ish characters.

It was both intensely intriguing yet also freakishly unsettling – almost scary – in a way. Not scary as in Please-stop-the-nightmares scary, but scary in an Aliens-just-landed-and-although-I-should-run-I-just-have-to-see-what they’re-going-to-do-next! sort of way.

As for the story, I don’t recall. But I’ll never be able to get the picture of that grandma horse out of my head.

Speaking of imagination…

What better way to spark a young child’s imagination than with fantastic, strange, and ominous creatures that actually EXISTED here on earth, millions of years ago? Dinosaurs: A Little Golden Book by Jane Watson was another one of my favourite books.

I would stare at the pages over and over again, paying close attention to the colourful scales of brachiosaur, the armor of ankylosaurus, and long, sharp teeth and claws of Tyrannosaurus Rex. I probably learned how to pronounce – and spell - words like archaeopteryx and pteradactyl long before I learned the names of other animals that are actually still in existence.

I’ll tell you something else: I can’t guarantee that all these dinosaur names are correctly spelled because I didn’t bother looking them up – but I’ll bet you good money I got ‘em all right.  Tell me picture books don’t help develop attention to detail.

Who doesn’t love Snoopy?

My folks, who gave me all of the books I’ve spotlighted here, knew I liked Peanuts. I still have the Snoopy coffee mug they gave me nearly 40 years ago, and both of my daughters (nearly 18 and 21) AND my 3-year-old son have all used my original red-and-white Charlie Brown knitted winter hat. Yes, it’s at least 40 years old. No, it doesn’t look like it. They made things to last, back in the good ol’ days.

Whoops, sorry.  Started to sound like a grumpy old man there. I guess it’s my genes.

Anyway…this was a collection of comic strips put together in picture-book format, so it didn’t look or feel like a collection of strips. I just loved reading about Snoopy pretending to battle the Red Baron, crash landing across enemy lines and making his way back through barbed wire, stopping at a little French cottage for some vichyssoise (potato soup) with a pretty maiden, then becoming emotionally torn when he has to say goodbye…

It’s classic Snoopy. Fun stuff, and something I can definitely point to as helping to shape my appreciation for humour.

That, and the fact that my dad and I would watch Monty Python, The Goodies, and Fawlty Towers for hours on end. I’m thinking that had something to do with it, as well…but that’s another post.

What about you?

Can you think of those childhood books you loved so much? Or even the ones that might not have been favourites…but which for some reason stick in your memory? Make a list of four or five books, and spend some time looking them over and thinking about what impact they may have had on you. These books I’ve mentioned were not the only ones I loved or remember – I enjoyed Dr. Seuss and Maurice Sendak and others – but these are the ones that immediately come to mind as having shaped who I am today.

These are the books that spurred me to start reading the Hardy Boys mysteries, Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series, and all the other books I fell in love with through high school and college. I see now that I am a product of not just my genetics and my environment, but of my experiences reading.

How about you? Want to learn more about your literary geneology? All it takes is a little trip down memory lane to that library in your head!

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QUESTION: My first book of children’s poems contained this poem: “Little green inchworm, inchworm, inch./ You don’t bite and you don’t pinch./ Never did anybody any harm./ So take your little green walk up my arm.” Does anyone have ANY idea what this book was, who wrote it, or who published it? I used to love it – and it obviously set me on my current poetry path – but I can’t find it anywhere!  >sigh<

Thanksgiving Day: The one blessing we overlook

Thanksgiving Day in the U.S. will be here in two days, and everywhere you turn, people are talking, writing, and blogging about all the things they’re thankful for.  I, for one, am growing weary of it.

Now, please don’t get me wrong; it’s good to be grateful.  Indeed, we should be thankful – and display that thankfulness – every day of our lives.  We should reflect upon our blessings on a regular basis and never hesitate to show our appreciation for what we have.

My problem is not so much with the thankfulness; it’s that we’re missing an important reason to be thankful.

The Usual Suspects

Again, please don’t misunderstand me; I’m glad people are thankful for their blessings.  But there are certain blessings that show up on nearly everyone’s lists – our faith(s), our families and friends, our lives, our pets, our homes, our talents.

Some people may be thankful their loved ones made it home safely from being abroad; others may be grateful that they received a year-end bonus, or even have a job at all.

Even the poor and destitute among us may be thankful for things like the warmth of the sun or the kindness of a stranger.

I can say honestly that I am truly, truly, TRULY thankful for all these things…but you probably could have guessed that, even if you had never met me or had never even heard of me or this blog.

These are the blessings that most of humanity celebrates – and the acknowledgement that we should be grateful for these things is rooted in the love, compassion, and empathy that separates our species from the rest of the animal kingdom.

We recognize the importance of both gratitude and thankfulness.

A quick vocabulary lesson

Gratitude and thankfulness are not necessarily interchangeable.

I’m no lexicographer or linguist, but it has always been my understanding that these words had different meanings.  To be thankful means you’re appreciative that something that you wanted came about; to be grateful indicates you are appreciative towards someone or something.

(Any English professors in the house?  Please correct me if I’m wrong!)

The reason it’s important to know the difference is because gratitude is directional; thankfulness is not.  Feed a hungry animal and it may be thankful it received food, but it might not be grateful toward you for feeding it.  I know pet owners will disagree with that – having two dogs and two cats of my own, I’ll admit that some animals probably are grateful to the person taking care of them – but how many of these animals understand what it means to be grateful or thankful?

And therein lies the rationale for my previous statement that our recognition of the importance of both gratitude and thankfulness is one of the important qualities that elevates us above the rest of the animal kingdom.

Little blessings, and the BIG one

As I ponder this, I come to the conclusion that the human condition of feeling gratitude, thankfulness, and appreciation is itself a blessing.

Yes, I’m thankful for all those things we talked about earlier.  I’m thankful for my family, our friends, and our pets.  I’m thankful I live in a country that promotes freedom of speech, religion, and personal excellence.  I’m grateful to God and Jesus for their love and sacrifices; I’m grateful to my wife and family for supporting me as a self-employed stay-at-home dad; I’m grateful to Al Gore for creating the internet.

(I’m also thankful - or grateful – to whomever or whatever was responsible for getting my 2-year-old to finally stop waking up at 5am…daylight savings time really screwed up the poor little dude’s internal clock for a couple of weeks!)

But I don’t want to overlook this very important aspect of our humanity; that is, the recognition of the importance of gratitude and thankfulness.

Thankful…for being thankful?

Yes, that is basically what I’m saying.  Chuckle if you’d like.  However, when you actually think about what it means to be thankful for having the comprehension of what gratitude, appreciation, or even indebtedness mean…I hope you will understand why I believe it is so important.

We humans are not simply grateful, or thankful.  We comprehend – and celebrate – the importance of being grateful or thankful.

So this Thanksgiving Day, while we’re giving thanks for all we have, think about why you are thankful.

Think about why you are grateful.

And give thanks that you are.

Poetry Friday: “Wall in the Woods”

“Poetry in Windows”

I just like the way that sounds.  “Poetry in Windows.”  It conjures up all sorts of images, from actual poems in actual windows, to more abstract definitions of “poetry” and perhaps some transcendental interpretations of ‘windows.’

In this case, however, we’re talking about the former.  Specifically, The New Hampshire Writers Project’s annual Poetry in Windows event.

First, a little background:  The New Hampshire Writers’ Project will celebrate its 25th anniversary next year.  The 650 member-strong organization hosts several writing workshops throughout the year, two literary festivals, and Writers’ Day, a day of workshops, literary flash competitions, and book sales involving 250 writers from across New England. Their keynoter on April 6, 2013 will be author Andre Dubus III.  Last year, NHWP hosted 13 state poets laureate for a festival.  In addition to a formal program, they had readings across the state with New Hampshire poets.  NHWP offers the workshops, publishing advice, a quarterly New Hampshire Writer magazine, and several free events across the state, like Writers’ Night Out, a free social held the first Monday of the month.  (Membership is open to writers of all genres as well as readers and patrons who want to support the local writing community…so please click HERE and find out more!)
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Now then, getting back to “Poetry in Windows”…

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This is one of the many events NHWP hosts each year.  Writers and non-writers alike were asked to submit poems that somehow reflected the Granite State, and the best were selected to be displayed in the windows of downtown merchants of several NH communities, including the state capital, Concord.
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I was honoured to have one of my poems chosen!
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I didn’t write this poem with NH necessarily in mind; however, I did write it based on my life here, growing up in a rural town (my folks’ house is still on a dirt road!), being close to nature, and raising my kids in the country as well.  Hmmm…sounds like I wote it with NH in mind, after all!  I based it one something I used to tell my daughters when we’d see stone walls meandering across our property or even through the woods:  that we’ll never really know why they were put there.

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Other poets selected for the downtown Concord event included my good friend Sylvia Beaupre, Brandon Amico, Dianalee Velie, Midge Goldberg, Nancy Stewart, Barbara Hobbie, Linda Dyer, Marjorie Matthews, Jacqueline Garnett, Janet Barry, Becky Sakellariou, and Jennifer Militello.

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So if you happen to be in Concord, stop by Centrix Bank at 11 South Main St. and you’ll see this on display, along with all these other fine folks’ works throughout downtown.  I hope you enjoy it!  And for the complete roundup of all the Poetry Friday happenings, head over to Booktalking!

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Wall in the Woods

There’s a wall in the woods, hidden under the trees,
Made of mossy old stones piled high;
Where the soft fiddleheads grow and slowly unfurl,
And a thin little brook bubbles by.

There’s a wall in the woods neither level nor straight,
Sinking into the dirt and the clay.
It is strong but unsteady; deep cracks show its age,
For its builders have long passed away.

There’s a wall in the woods.  Years ago, in its youth,
This was farmland, a pasture, a field –
Now, meandering through the damp ruins of time
With its history gently concealed.

There’s a wall in the woods – yet there’s no way to tell
If it suffered through flood, fire or drought,
And we never will know what was being kept in…
Or, perhaps…what was being kept out.

- © 2012 Matt Forrest Esenwine

The unexpected, unforeseen, and unintended

NASA Earth Observatory image by Jesse Allen

When Hurricane Sandy came hurtling toward the East Cost, we tried to prepare as best we could.  When Sandy tore through New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and the rest of the Eastern seaboard, we prayed it would be over soon.  And when it left, we experienced everything from massive devastation to minor inconvenience, depending on where we were at the time.

News reports showed towns decimated and communities trying to recover.  Facebook posts informed us about how our family and friends were coping.  We saw videos of families being reunited and pictures of pets being saved.  We witnessed good samaritans offering their homes and supplies to help others, while looters plundered and the most desperate of us searched dumpsters for sustenance.

At this point, one week later, we are fully aware of everyone and everything affected by Hurricane Sandy.

Well, not exactly.

The other victims

In back of our house, the top half of an old tree was brought down by Sandy; fortunately, it was the only damage (and I use that word very loosely) we sustained.  The next day, I went out to cut and split it for firewood.  I worked my way from the top, down – and it was only when I got to the very last piece that I noticed this:

Our home may have been spared, but someone else’s wasn’t.

This had probably been a good 30 feet up, so I hadn’t noticed it before…but I felt bad for whomever had been living there. Somewhere, a homeless bird was now looking for a new piece of real estate.

I was reminded of the old adage, “there are two sides to every story.”  But the longer I live, the more I realize that adage is not quite correct.

The Whole Ballpark

The fact is, there are always far more than just two sides to every story.  There can be three, four, five, a dozen!  You may be absolutely, positively sure of something, only to have some wild circumstance you never considered come flying at you from out of left field.  Or right field.  Or from behind the hot dog stand.

I always tell my kids, don’t assume that your truth is the real truth.  Sometimes you’re right, but sometimes you’re wrong.  And sometimes there is no ‘real’ truth – that is, there are times when there is truth in all sides of an issue, and the disagreement comes from a misunderstanding of that truth.

Whoa, starting to sound a bit too metaphysical there.  Sorry about that.

But my point is, there are multiple sides to every story, multiple connections to every event.  In the case of Hurricane Sandy, for every planned contigency and coordinated effort, there was unexpected misfortune (like the collapse of the Seaside Heights, NJ amusement park), unforeseen complications (voting may prove to be difficult for some residents of hard-hit areas), and unintended consequences (a growing anger among New York City residents who were going without power, while generators were being brought in for the marathon).

No matter how well we know something, how certain we are of it, or how prepared we think we might be…there is always another angle we never saw coming.

A friend of mine who lived on the Jersey coast for nearly 20 years told me that, even having survived massive storms like Hurricane Gloria and the Nor’easter of ’92, no one there could have expected what happened last week.

The folks in Huntsville, Alabama certainly never expected to see this.

Wanted:  Tree, one bedroom

My wife and I pretty much live in the woods, so I’m sure our friend who lost his or her home won’t be out of luck for long…there are plenty of old trees perfect for carving holes into.  But I have to admit, I never thought about all the wild animals being displaced or even killed due to Sandy.  Not that there’s a lot I or anyone can do about it – but it’s still something that most of us have probably not considered.

How will Sandy affect the deer population in Pennsylvania?  Will it raise the cost of Maryland Blue Crabs?  Even the insect population – which was in overabundance this summer in the northeast due to a light winter and early spring – may be affected.  But we never really thought about it, did we?

I know I should expect the unexpected…I try to anticipate the unanticipated…yet I’m constantly surprised by my inadequate foresight.

Applying the unseen angle

Knowing that these ‘unknown’ quantities exist is the first step in understanding how everything is connected.  Applying that knowledge keeps us growing as individuals, even though we don’t know what those quantities necessarily are.

Look at all the ‘truths’ that have been debunked over the years:  atoms were once considered the smallest unit of mass, before subatomic particles were discovered.  Animal species once thought extinct have been found alive and well.  Even the laws of physics get put to the test each time cosmologists and astrophysicists make a new breakthrough.

This is why, when writing poetry or commercials, producing audio, or even posting comments on discussion boards or Facebook, I try to look for the unseen.   I try to find the angle that has yet to be found.  I may not find it, but just the search itself can be fruitful.  In business, it’s an extremely useful practice.

In writing poetry, it’s mandatory.

In life…it can be revelatory.

Poetry Friday: “Sunrise,” “Sunset”

Ok, ok, you can stop humming.  I figured pretty much everyone who came across this post would immediately start thinking Fiddler on the Roof, but what can I say…these are the two sister poems I’m presenting today, and I couldn’t really change their titles!

One morning last fall, I watched the sun rising outside my front window and colouring the clouds in the sky, and the phrase “pink and purple morning” popped into my head.   (Only a poet would understand just how exquisite such an occurrence is!)  Knowing I couldn’t let something like that get away from me, I sat down and wrote the first poem.  A day or two later, I came up with the second poem because – well, it just seemed the proper thing to do.

“Sunrise” is structured a little differently, because I wanted to combine proper meter and rhyme scheme with the style and sensibility of free verse – if that makes sense – because a beautiful sunrise is both an artistic and scientific phenomenon, and I thought trying to combine these two poetic styles might be nice.  I like the idea that we all may view the same sunrise at the same moment, but each one of us gets to see it from his/her own particular perspective; this is a theme I’ve touched on before, here.  “Sunset” is a little more traditional in form, only because I wanted it to be structured differently from “Sunrise”…and this is how it turned out!

I hope you like them.  The first photo was taken by yours truly from my house, after the brilliance of the sunrise was waning, unfortunately, but if you click it to enlarge you can see some of the detail I write about.  The sunset photo was taken by my 17-year-old daughter, and if you enlarge that, you’ll see how much better a photographer she is than her old man!  For more poetry, Linda at Teacher Dance has the complete Poetry Friday roundup!

Sunrise

Pink and purple morning, painted
sky above the earth;
sunlight bounces off the clouds in every hue.
Now a new day wakens; I am
witnessing its birth
from my own unique and special point of view.

Sunset

A red sun sinks below the sky;
The time has come to end our day.
As starlight twinkles from on high,
Once more, the moon comes out to play.

- both poems © Matt Forrest Esenwine, 2012

Poetry Friday: “Perspective”

After last week, I just had to post this poem this week.

I mentioned in last week’s Poetry Friday post that I find it interesting how two or more people can look at something and each walk away with a different experience.   Even though we may view the same thing at the same time, we look at it through our own personal set of filters – our tastes, preferences, emotions, life experiences – and therefore see or feel that thing in our own unique way.  It’s what ‘perspective’ is all about.

Then, later that day, I read Mary Lee Hahn’s post about stars, and the last line, “You’ll never know the stars / unless / you change your point of view”.  This got me thinking about perspective again; in particular, a poem I wrote last summer about – you guessed it – stars!

I hope, after you’ve read this poem, you’ll have a chance to go outside this evening and view the night sky…and contemplate the same thing I did.  In your own, unique way, of  course!

(For more great Poetry Friday offerings, Renée at No Water River has the complete roundup!)

Perspective

One quiet, moonless summer night,
The stars above the only light,
I lay down in the grass to catch the view;
And as my troubles slipped away
I marveled at the Milky Way
And all the swirling worlds I never knew

A million of them in the sky;
I couldn’t try to count that high,
And so I watched them twinkle silently.
Each point of light, a little sun…
I wondered if somewhere, someone
Was lying down and looking up at me.

- Matt Forrest Esenwine