MorningShadow Morning, photo & all text © Irene O’Garden, 2014

 To listen to this post, please click here: Circadia 

 

I am procuring and organizing equipment for next Saturday’s departure to Montana where I will join several family members for a week’s journey in the wilderness. I will be out of all techno-range for the duration and wanted to let you know I won’t be posting next week. But I certainly look forward to sharing with you when I get back. Meanwhile, here’s a poem newly-hatched for you.

 

CIRCADIA

 

I wished for a day made of mornings:

its tissues of night dissolving,

world slipping over my head anew

in easy long-sleeved shadows:

 

a day repeatedly arrayed

in crisp unwrinkled promise.

As it grew limp, or sullied

or scorched, I pulled a fresh start

from the closet again and again—

pristine for each task, for each practice.

 

But seeing what I sacrificed

for the sake of enterprise:

the slanting satin afternoon,

the tulle of twilight, the silk-bodied moon-

I cast off my wish and dance,

wrapped in the aprons of time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

EphemeralEphemeral, photo & all text © Irene O’Garden, 2014 

 

Am deep into my large writing project–hence I offer you the little koan above, which  recently appeared in my notebook.

 

If you’d like more this week, I’m happy to say The Cookie Crumbles, a short piece of mine, was published just yesterday in Midway Journal–you can read it here:

Also, poet/travel writer Kristin Maaffei has posted an interview with me today on her blogsite, Not Intent On Arriving. Read it here and explore her world as well–

As always, thanks for keeping me writing!

 

 

RootDanceRootDance, photo & all text © Irene O’Garden 2014

 To listen to this post, please click here:Root Truth

Look closely. You can actually see my guilt woven into this nest of roots. It’s been so long since I last repotted my houseplants that a botanical welfare agency was bound to track me down, charge me with neglect and cart them all away.  I did consider giving them to someone more attentive, yet see how this orange clivia offered a blossom of patience and forgiveness, even as she sat atop this perfect root replica of her pot.

So with relief and pleasure, I set to it yesterday.

One gift of physical labor is the embodiment of metaphor. My thoughts from this pot were obvious—dwell on your roots too long, you run in circles and take up all your growing space.

But as I worked with various roots— hairy, lumpy, milky, airy—truth came up my hands.

We associate roots with the stagnant past, but they constantly seek the new—new water, new nourishment, new exchanges.  They are the probing present, which sustains the past. And the future as well.

Every July we think about our family and our nation’s roots. It’s good to remember they need repotting occasionally as well. After all, root is a verb.

Publication News:

Am very proud to say that some of my wedding signs are included in the Style Section of the NY Times this week!
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/07/06/fashion/weddings/a-relationship-where-marriage-is-freedom.html?ref=fashion&_r=0#

 

 

 

Heavenly MarmaladeHeavenly Marmalade, photo and all text © Irene O’Garden 2014

To listen to this post, please click here: Fleet Perfection

At today’s end, I will have completed my calligraphic marathon.  Signpainting yielded to lettering on muslin for our annual Poetry Trail.  Visitors will arrive later to film a promo in my studio—more about this another time.

The following little experience happened during the intensity. I wrote it on the spot and mailed it to my sister Robin the next day. May you notice such a moment of perfection and drop a line to one who made it possible, thereby creating another moment of perfection.

11:08 pm. So,  I am finished with a stimulating, exhausting day in the studio, big deadline, good work accomplished, much learned, much to forgive and absolve in my work, and I can work no more. 

I grabbed a hummus wrap at 5 which fueled 5 hours of work, but now at 10:30 I’m hungry. John’s coming in on the midnight train, so it makes sense to eat. 

Hmm. Leftovers in the fridge don’t appeal. But I have that aged gouda, some crusty bread, some olives. A glass of red wine. A lovely, simple ancient meal. 

But wait! Yes, there’s some left. Enough for a handsome scoop in a little dish—and what perfection it is.

My sister’s wondrous rindy marmalade. Can you taste it with this flaking cheese? Bracing wide nuggets of bittersweet orange, superb with the olives. Food that revives. Oh, yes.

I had the privilege of talking with her on the phone as she made this batch. She said, “I have to go now,” after stirring as we talked. “The marmalade is singing.” 

It is singing still.

 

 

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