Greetings, dear poets and storytellers. I hope you, your
muse, and your loved ones are doing well and staying safe. Things are getting
tricky again in parts of New York City—too many people still think that a
facemask is something that happens to, um… other people (I wonder what idiot put that idea in their heads). As
you might’ve already figured out, COVID-19 is starting to spread again. This frustrating
knowledge keeps finding its way into my ink, and I don’t like it.
But there have also been great things in the news (and thank goodness for that). For instance, I can’t stop smiling when I hear people talking about Louise Glück, in the news or on the phone. Yesterday, I was all grins when a friend called and said, “Magaly, I just sent you a get-well poetry book. It’s by this year’s Nobel Prize winner. She’s a poet!” My bookish gift hasn’t arrived yet. But I’ve been enjoying Glück’s poetry around the Web, and smiling anew every time I remember the excitement in my friend’s voice.
Here is a bit of Glück:
mist had cleared. The empty canvases
were turned inward against the wall.
little cat is dead (so the song went).
I be raised from death, the spirit asks.
And the sun says yes.
And the desert answers
your voice is sand scattered in wind.
Now, let us bring
our voices together and open today’s Writers’ Pantry. Add the direct link to
your contribution to Mr. Linky. Let your words be new or old, we’ll love them all.
One entry per participant, please. If you choose prose, the word count should be
369 words or fewer. And as always, visit other writers, experience their words,
share your thoughts on the feels.
for next Wednesday’s Weekly Scribblings, our Rommy would like us “to
consider the question ‘What’s the price?’ when plying your pen.”
Be well. Be safe. Delight in words.
Louise Glück, circa 1977
Louise Glück, by Katherine