Let me mention this first – – – what is below is copy-pasted from David Dodd Lee’s blog, SeventeenFingeredPoetryBird. Not only is the poem great, but the message attached really lifted me up after the past few days. Let’s just say a streamline of poems are going to be on my blog tonight and the next few days.
When they show up they
Expose themselves, burning
What surrounds them. One
Turns into a ballerina. A trunk-size
Colander of air–signature, signature–
Crying under the flaming pines–
I’m living again!
I’m dying again!
I love the idea certain pines need fire to survive–the seeds
need to burn, or they won’t pop open. Good poems are like that,
the ones you don’t know are good, especially, at first (they
are somewhat baffling) sit in the dark quietly, some-
times for years. At some point they POP open . . . Good
beginning poets know this–sense this, and often are inordinate-
ly careful about publishing too fast. It’s these writers, these
temperamental ones, the ones who want to hide a little so
the words stay pure, so what they write is what they
were supposed to write (and spent years discovering this)
who will matter . . .
Posted by David Dodd Lee at 7:37 PM