In the spider-pod in the dust.
Or nowhere. In milkmaids, in loaves,
Or nowhere. And if Socrates leaves
His house in the morning,
When he returns in the evening
He will find Socrates waiting
On the doorstep. Buddha the stick
You use to clear the path,
And Buddha the dog-doo you flick
Away with it, nowhere or in each
Several thing you touch:
The dollar bill, the button
That works the television.
Even in the joke, the three
Words American men say
After making love. Where’s
The remote? In the tears
In things, proximate, intimate.
In the wired stem with root
And leaf nowhere of this lamp:
Brass base, aura of illumination,
Enlightenment, shade of grief.
Odor of the lamp, brazen.
The mind waiting in the mind
As in the first thing to hand.
...First Things to Hand by Robert Pinsky, Long Branch
Here is the first of the "New Jersey Poems of the Day" for National Poetry Month. I think it's about all things existing at the same time, with equal importance and equal lack of importance. Perhaps it's about not being tempted to give anything too much significance. A Tikkun review refers to "the smallest possible ciricumference around oneself." All things that are close to us are "stem, leaf, and root," depending on our use of them.
Where are you reading this blog now? What is "proximate, intimate" to your immediate circumference? What do those objects mean to you? Do they become something else when you touch them? Are you changed by them or are they changed by you?
April Fool! There's no real answer to those questions. Just more questions...
Keep reading and writing,
Maureen
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