I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately. When I was little I would regularly get infuriated with myself for never being able to stay angry with people for longer than a millisecond. What is the definition of insanity? doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. That was me: expecting people who had hurt me in the past to magically change simply because I had forgotten and forgiven. As an adult this has changed. I accept that I still can't hold a grudge for longer than a millisecond, but I have learned to adjust how I see the people I love. This process can be a little bit sad, because it means that people I love can gradually lose their luster. Maybe forgiveness comes when we are able to love the flaws. I recently read a book about forgiveness and forgetting, about wounded dragons and mass amnesia, about peace that only comes when mass amnesia reigns the land.
But none of this is commenting on your beautiful poem...except this last sentence.
I hate that our ballots are mail in. I and my room mate received two ballots each because we moved to Marysville. Seattle fades evermore in the distance. I want to vote for real. I want to go to the voting site and stand in line and show them my ID. Then get pissy about their inability to locate some insignificant requirement. Get handed my little card by the nice old lady and step back into the sacred space. The same little curtains in some ugly puce or beige will still be there. Like the last time I was allowed to vote for real. And then the moment. White or black? Yes or no? Lady or tiger? Crazy or crazier? It boggles the mind. Dixie Lee help me! Then I remember those two ballots I was mailed. Should I? No never! Even if "they" steal the election again, I'll never do what they did. Voting is a sacred thing. An affirmation of each person's divine status and of our collective ability and right to participate in our own governance. I'll mail in the effin paper, but I won't get a little sticker I wear until it falls off on its own, just like when we get pollen from the girl during the ceremonies. For that space of time that election worker is touched and conveys it to you. The exchange of that right is a practice (in the theoretical sense, ie:practice theory) that mailing in a piece of paper will never compare to. How did we lose that? Why?
so good. I couldn't "hear" the rhyme until you read it. maybe next time I will try reading it before I hear you.
so true about politics endangering our intimate lives and even not so intimate. came so close with some and was so grateful my dad, who has left this earth, was not around to renounce me for the thousandth time.
also, I loved your poem because it reminds me to be
a forgiver,
not a condemner.
be a lover,
not a hater,
be there,
don't be square.
Not as good at rhyme as you but it is still fun. I like that you point out the technique of poetry here.
And the best are who speak the truth to you.
Powerful poem, Mr Alexie.
I like the slant rhymes.
Thank you!
Beautiful
Thank you
I thought your voice sounded weather-beaten and wise, perfectly modulated for this Callimichean poem.
Amen amen indeed...
I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately. When I was little I would regularly get infuriated with myself for never being able to stay angry with people for longer than a millisecond. What is the definition of insanity? doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. That was me: expecting people who had hurt me in the past to magically change simply because I had forgotten and forgiven. As an adult this has changed. I accept that I still can't hold a grudge for longer than a millisecond, but I have learned to adjust how I see the people I love. This process can be a little bit sad, because it means that people I love can gradually lose their luster. Maybe forgiveness comes when we are able to love the flaws. I recently read a book about forgiveness and forgetting, about wounded dragons and mass amnesia, about peace that only comes when mass amnesia reigns the land.
But none of this is commenting on your beautiful poem...except this last sentence.
I condem all republicans. They are probably making you sick. I had a cold but is gone now. I am stressed. I voted early yesterday in New York.😷🎃👻😱
There are people I love who are Republican. And they love me. We talk mostly about basketball. I'll mail in my ballot tomorrow.
I hate that our ballots are mail in. I and my room mate received two ballots each because we moved to Marysville. Seattle fades evermore in the distance. I want to vote for real. I want to go to the voting site and stand in line and show them my ID. Then get pissy about their inability to locate some insignificant requirement. Get handed my little card by the nice old lady and step back into the sacred space. The same little curtains in some ugly puce or beige will still be there. Like the last time I was allowed to vote for real. And then the moment. White or black? Yes or no? Lady or tiger? Crazy or crazier? It boggles the mind. Dixie Lee help me! Then I remember those two ballots I was mailed. Should I? No never! Even if "they" steal the election again, I'll never do what they did. Voting is a sacred thing. An affirmation of each person's divine status and of our collective ability and right to participate in our own governance. I'll mail in the effin paper, but I won't get a little sticker I wear until it falls off on its own, just like when we get pollen from the girl during the ceremonies. For that space of time that election worker is touched and conveys it to you. The exchange of that right is a practice (in the theoretical sense, ie:practice theory) that mailing in a piece of paper will never compare to. How did we lose that? Why?
so good. I couldn't "hear" the rhyme until you read it. maybe next time I will try reading it before I hear you.
so true about politics endangering our intimate lives and even not so intimate. came so close with some and was so grateful my dad, who has left this earth, was not around to renounce me for the thousandth time.
also, I loved your poem because it reminds me to be
a forgiver,
not a condemner.
be a lover,
not a hater,
be there,
don't be square.
Not as good at rhyme as you but it is still fun. I like that you point out the technique of poetry here.
Yes, very fun! And I try to talk fairly about the architecture of poetry.
For myself, I'm thinking more cheese cloth. Hardly anything gets through.
Hahahaha! Cheese cloth would be so hard to rhyme!
Cheese Whiz is not too good, either.