Blue Sky

Writing was a big part of my life in high school and college. Since then, I’ve seen my writing drop off to near nothing and my reading selections become less diverse. I want to change that. I stopped by the Green Apple bookstore in the Richmond this weekend, and it reminded me how much I love books. I love that you have to open them, that they have different textures and fonts and covers, that the turn of a page makes me feel both nostalgic and anticipatory at once.

One of the books I picked up was Words in Air, the complete collection of letters exchanged between poets Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell. After having read just a few letters so far, I already wish that technology and letter writing could have continued to exist and grow side by side. The act of receiving and sending a letter is so different than that of an email. While emails provide instant gratification, letters are pleasurable for the exact opposite reason. They require more time to write, process and receive, and somehow that “work” results in something that feels more whole and thought out.

As a first step toward trying to make literature a greater part of my life again, I’m going to share poems I love here at least once a week. I’m also going to start writing letters to myself on futureme.org (+3 months) and send them to a separate posterous blog. I’m not sure whether I will make it public and/or anonymous, but it seems important to do a better job of documenting my days, and I imagine it will be a good exercise in getting to know myself better.

In honor of what I’m reading right now, please enjoy this poem by Elizabeth Bishop!

One Art

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

–Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.