what's good?
It's Sunday (in some parts of the world) and here's some stuff I thought about last week.
Poetry is my jam (as evidenced by this sublime turn of phrase right here); I like to read it, write it, try to illustrate it, and talk about it. I’m going to start each Sunday post with a poem & poet I love along with some of my very basic thoughts - please know that I could go on for a very long time in this area and someday maybe we can have live chats for those nerds masochists poetry enthusiasts who want to engage with me about works. For now though I’ve chosen this total softball* by one of my most favorite writers/cheese lovers, Sylvia Plath:
Axes
After whose stroke the wood rings,
And the echoes!
Echoes traveling
Off from the center like horses.
The sap
Wells like tears, like the
Water striving
To re-establish its mirror
Over the rock
That drops and turns,
A white skull,
Eaten by weedy greens.
Years later I
Encounter them on the road-
Words dry and riderless,
The indefatigable hoof-taps.
While
From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars
Govern a life.
*This is actually one of Plath’s least grim & incisive poems yet still has so many layers of beauty and pain and sadness; we will revisit this when we’re ready for live chats.
This poem was written shortly before Plath’s death in February 1963 and while obviously I cannot know what exactly she was thinking or planning at that time, I can feel her sense of urgent need for understanding life, by way of words - her [bounteous expletives redacted] abusive poet husband had moved in with his pregnant mistress, leaving Sylvia with their small children and her unmanaged depression, yet she continued to write constantly.
My favorite parts of this poem are the recurring images - matching “echoes!/Echoes traveling…” - of horses and water in slightly different forms: animals loosed and running away, then hoof-taps returning; sap like tears, a roiling stream trying to be still, a reflecting pool. And the “wood rings” play on words, the assonance of “Eaten by weedy greens.” I can never figure out how I feel with this poem - it winks at whimsy yet its symbolism is sturdy and smart and thoughtful, the water is “striving,” and then there are her typical references to death, which could be sad but also, especially for Plath, a welcome sanctuary. Words saved her life many times in 30 years; words also connected her to a man who used them as weapons.
I want to leave you with another side of Sylvia Plath, highlighted by this brilliant project based on her diaries.
Reservation Dogs must become your jam if it isn’t already. I can’t even properly describe it except to say it is written & directed entirely by Indigenous people and is all of the things America needs if we want to survive as decent human beings.
Watch the trailer for Season 3 (no real spoilers if you haven’t seen the other two seasons, but do get on that if you’ve missed them) and find a way to see it all.
It is funny, lovely, poignant, frustrating, desperately sad and also magical.
AND, my friend Molly Murphy Adams makes the kickass beaded medallions featured in a few key scenes.
Turns out I take a long fucking time to put stuff together and it’s almost not-Sunday PST so this week there are only 2 good things I’m sharing. But each thing does kind of branch out into other things. Right? I mean, it’s up to you whether you click or not I guess.
Next week I’ll include a book review, some music I’ve been enjoying, probably a recipe…at least a picture of food. Please come back, and bring friends.
There might be more cheese.
I'm so excited to see Molly's work out in the world.
Can’t wait for more recommendations as well as an entire season of Rez Dogs. ❤️