Donald Hall, former poet laureate of the United States and the state of New Hampshire, no longer writes poetry. At 88, he believes writing poetry is a “a young man’s game” which takes “too much testosterone.”
This is completely understandable when you discover how Hall wrote. On average, he would pen 80 to 100 drafts of each poem. For the poem, “Another Elegy,” he revised it 400 times. Now imagine how many words he’s written for the 50 books of poetry, essays and plays he’s published.
That’s dedication.
To learn about Hall’s writing method, click here to listen to an interview with NHPR’s “10 Minute Writer’s Workshop.”
As mentioned in a previous post, I recently broke my glasses. Or more to the point, the left arm connector on the frame disintegrated.
Since I survived last week’s round of layoffs, I decided to “treat” myself and order a new pair of specs. Alas, even with insurance, they still ended up costing $500. Now I just hope that in two to four weeks, when the new bifocals arrive, I’ll actually be able to see out of them. (Note: In the past, this has not always been case.)
On the way to the eye doctor, however, I encountered a turtle. She was about the size of a lunch box and had a distinctive set of stripes on her body. Her shell was dark green on top and a vivid orange on the undercarriage.
Hours later, I would learn she was an eastern painted turtle — a creature that is common in New Hampshire — who was likely searching for a place to dig a hole and lay her eggs. I also discovered that her biggest threat was something called “road mortality,” which was exactly the situation she appeared to be facing when our paths crossed.
M and I were driving up to the light at the end of our block when I looked toward the sidewalk and noticed a turtle heading straight for the street. Another couple of steps and she would’ve fallen a good four inches onto hard asphalt. If she survived that, she would surely have ambled straight into traffic.
I pointed out the turtle’s precarious position. Once M spotted her, he took a quick glance at my face and immediately pulled the car off into an empty parking lot so I could hop out. Which is exactly what I did. I raced over to the turtle, scooped her up, walked several feet away from the road and aimed her in the direction of Dorrs Pond.
Freaked out by my sudden appearance in her life, the turtle gathered all of her tender extremities into the shell and hid. But I was gentle, both when I lifted her away from the sidewalk perch of certain doom and when I placed her back on the ground in the soft, cool grass.
“Head that way,” I told her, as I pointed toward the pond. Hopefully, she listened and laid her eggs elsewhere. When we returned from the vision center, no turtle-shaped roadkill littered the road so I think we were successful in helping her stay alive.
This endeavor set us back two whole minutes. Although we made it to our appointment on time, even if we had been late, the effort would’ve been worth it. Who knows what would’ve happened if I hadn’t noticed the turtle, if M hadn’t pulled over the car, if I hadn’t repositioned the beautiful animal and urged it to escape Death’s clutches. One can never know if a single act of kindness will alter someone’s life or have a butterfly effect and change the world.
Despite the madness of the past year, the past month and even the past week, I still believe that when you see a chance to help, you must take it. I’ve never regretted doing so.
W magazine reporter Stephanie Eckardt recently did a fascinating Q&A with Neil Gaiman for the Culture Diet column. In it, Gaiman described all the wonderful bits of art and literature he’d recently consumed. Eckardt’s questions were fun so I decided to answer them as well.
First thing you read in the morning:
The breaking news alerts that have piled up on my phone while I slept. Unlike most people, I’m not addicted to my phone. I don’t even keep it by my bedside; instead it rests in a holder on my desk in the library downstairs, merrily buzzing away all day while I sleep in the Batcave that is the master bedroom. Once I’ve showered, dressed, fed the kitties and come downstairs, then I’ll stop by the desk to see what madness has occurred during the day. If there’s nothing hugely pressing — or nothing I can do anything about for another hour anyway — I make breakfast.
Books on your bedside table right now:
Currently I’m rereading “It” by Stephen King, a deliciously scary, 1,168-page horror novel that Hollywood is adapting into a movie (again). I last read this book when I was 12, the same age as the kids in the story. Now, 30-some years later, I’m reading it again, and remembering parts that once filled me with dread while discovering new bits I’d forgotten entirely. I’m also marveling over the fact that I’m now older than many of the adult characters. Yesterday, I finished rereading “Zen in the Martial Arts” by Joe Hyams, a nonfiction lesson-filled collection of essays by a writer who once trained with Ed Parker and Bruce Lee. I’ve read this book several times over the years yet I still manage to glean something new from its pages.
The TV shows keeping you up at night:
Well, until Netflix canceled it, I was utterly enraptured by “Sense8.” Those of you who follow me on social media know how terribly disappointed I was by the show’s abrupt and ridiculous cancellation. Best show on TV, by far. Such a waste.
Last movie you saw in theaters:
“Wonder Woman.”
Last show you saw at the theater:
“Laughter and Reflection with Carol Burnett” at the Boch Center in Boston. She was a hoot.
I haven’t been to a museum in ages, something I hope to rectify very soon. The last exhibit that truly blew my mind was Annie Leibovitz’s “American Music.”
Release you’re most eagerly anticipating:
Stephen King and his son Owen have a new book coming out in the fall titled “Sleeping Beauties.” I can’t wait to see how that collaboration turns out.
Last song you had on repeat:
Last concert you saw live:
Henry Rollins at the Academy of Music in Northampton, Mass. It was a week before the election so now it feels like ages ago.
The most hopeful thing I’ve read recently was this 2013 article in The Atlantic by Julie Beck. The story focused on a study in The Journal of Experimental Psychology that attempted to explain why we cling to certain rituals to get rid of bad luck. In the end, to change your fate, the study showed you had to physically “push” away bad luck.
So that’s my new goal because the past week has been bloody awful. I didn’t walk under a ladder, acquire a tails-up penny or break any mirrors, and I didn’t do anything to karmically bring a plague upon my house. Yet bad luck has definitely dropped by for a visit and I had the misfortune of answering the door.
First, M was in a car accident, a bad one. Some distracted idiot crashed into the back of his Prius at about 45 mph. The other driver hit so hard that his airbag blew. The impact also pushed M’s car into a third vehicle. After inspecting the damage, the insurance company informed us that M’s car was a total loss. This blows for many reasons, not the least of which was that we just bought the damn thing in March. M also spent $500 on new tires earlier this month. Now we have to either figure out a way to afford a new vehicle or remain a single-car household for a while.
M didn’t walk away scot-free from the crash either. For the past week, he’s been on a course of painkillers, muscle relaxants and cold packs for the minor whiplash he sustained. That said, his injuries could’ve been a lot worse, considering the condition of his car.
A couple days later, my glasses broke. Now, anyone who’s ever peered through my specs knows that I’m nearly blind. While I do own a backup pair, I can’t stand them. The lenses don’t seem to focus right, even after having them processed twice, which makes it difficult to read. Good thing I don’t need to read for a living… oh wait, I do! Wearing them for too long also gives me a headache.
Then, we received word from Chase that one of our credit card numbers had been stolen. The bastard thief used it to charge up a variety of items, none of which would indicate he/she was simply in dire need of necessessities. Of course, in the modern era, credit accounts are tied to online accounts as well as physical cards so now we have to update a bunch of auto-bill sources once the new cards arrive. (They haven’t yet.)
On Friday, we hired a guy to come over and do the annual maintenance on our home’s HVAC system. This process, we were told, would cost about $90. Once the guy was done with his inspection and repairs, we had to write a check for $1,300. Oh, and he discovered major issues with the system that the home inspector should have caught before we purchased the house, issues that need to be addressed in the next year or so. Cost for those repairs? About $20,000. There goes any plans for updated appliances, solar panels, home decorating, vacations, etc.
Amidst all this ill fortune, we’re terribly worried about a dear friend who is very sick. My job continues to be both stressful and trying. And Summer, my least favorite time of year, the season of heat, bugs, humidity and migraine-induced misery, has unofficially arrived.
Time to burn sage, light candles, toss salt and knock wood. Anything to make our luck change for the better.
