September 20: "Carry," Great Poet Friend, Poetry and Life

We all carry things, every day of our lives, from the moment we open our eyes in the morning until we close them again at night.  Sometimes the weight of those things are very light, and other times that weight is almost crushing.

I've dealt with a lot of struggles in the last quarter century.  (Wow, typing that just now made me feel really old!)  Mental illness.  Separation.  Deaths.  On the flip side, I've also had incredible gifts of joy.  Parenting.  Poeting.  Husbanding.  Friending.  Working.  My story is not unique in any way.  Anyone who has lived as long as I have will carry battle scars and bruises, great light and laughter, simultaneously.

Billy Collins carries on . . . 

Carry

by: Billy Collins

I want to carry you
and for you to carry me
the way voices are said to carry over water.

Just this morning on the shore,
I could hear two people talking quietly
in a rowboat on the far side of the lake.

They were talking about fishing,
then one changed the subject,
and, I swear, they began talking about you.

This morning, I met with one of my great poet friends.  She's been in my life longer than I've been married, through some of my darkest and brightest times.  Whenever we get together, we laugh.  A lot.  She has dealt with quite a bit in her life, as have I, and we have similar coping mechanisms:  poetry and a sense of humor.  Sure, we both carry suitcases crammed with hurts and pains and insecurities, but we also open up those suitcases, put on the ridiculous outfits inside (even if they're too small for us now), and allow ourselves to giggle, chortle, guffaw until we're breathless.

Today, she and I talked poetry and life and kids and grandkids and hopes.  I know this sounds like a therapy session.  In a way, it was.  I always feel lighter after spending time with her, and I hope she feels the same.  Friendships can be one-sided, and I try to avoid being THAT friend who takes and takes without giving back.

When I got home tonight, I told my wife, "Your Jewish mother says hello!"  And my wife knew exactly whom I was talking about.  A person who loves and cares for us both.

So, Saint Marty is carrying his friend with him tonight, and she will probably be mortified by this blog post.

August 7: "Carry," American English, Art

We all carry lots of things every day of our lives.  

If we get upset, we carry on.  If we're buying something, we cash and carry.  If we're angry, we may carry a grudge.  If we love singing, we  carry a tune.  On the opposite end, if singing is difficult for us, we can't carry a tune in a bucket.  If we're important, we carry more weight than other people.  If we meet people we know, we carry on conversations with them.  If we crush on people, we carry torches for them.  Since the Paris Olympics are going on, if we win something, we carry the day.  And if a U.S. Presidential candidate wins an election in a particular state, she carries the state.

"Carry" is one of those words in the English language that relies on context.  That's why I love writing poetry in English--the ability to use the language in ways that carry multiple interpretations.  If I tell you right now that I'm catty, that could mean that I'm wearing a costume and grooming my whiskers, or it could mean that I'm being petty and mean.  (Those disciples who know me well can probably guess which of those statements is true.)  Because of the melting-pot nature of the American English, it allows for a richness of meanings.

Billy Collins gets carried away in today's poem . . . 

Carry

by: Billy Collins

I want to carry you

and for you to carry me

the way voices are said to carry over water.

Just this morning on the shore,

I could hear two people talking quietly

in a rowboat on the far side of the lake.

They were talking about fishing,

then one changed the subject,

and, I swear, they began talking about you.

You see what I mean  In the first two lines, "carry" indicates a certain deep devotion between the speaker and the person to whom the poem is addressed.  Then we get that wonderful metaphor:  "the way voices are said to carry over water."  That use of "carry" connotes the ability of noises to resonate over the expanse of a lake or pond.  In short, it compares the love/affection expressed in the opening to the power of voices echoing and amplifying over space and time.  It's a powerful image, made possible by the versatility of the word at its center.  

Tonight, I hosted a jazz concert at the library.  It was a wonderful event, full of Coltrane and Monk and Cherry, plus some original tunes.  Talk about voices that carry through space and time.  Of course, this distance can change meaning.  Reading Robert Frost back in 1930 is a different experience than reading him in 2024.  Now, we recognize limitations and problematic elements that were not limiting or problematic when the poem was originally published.

Art is dynamic, whether you're talking painting or poeting or jazzing.  It doesn't remain fixed like a mountain.  Rather, it's fluid, like Lake Superior or the Mississippi River.  It keeps moving, shifting, creating new messages and understandings.  The beach that was present two years ago might get swallowed up by a storm surge.  That tree on the banks or shore might topple due to wind and erosion.  The geography changes, defines new coastlands and topography.

Saint Marty is now going to carry himself into the kitchen to find something to eat.

February 24: Memories, Billy Collins, "Carry"

You know, memories have a way of creeping up on you.

The days after my sister died three years ago, I saw and heard her everywhere.  Walking across the parking lot at work.  In the evening, sitting on the couch, I would hear her voice.  On the anniversary of her death, I came across the holy card with her picture on it.

The same thing has been happening to me with my father.  I see my dad disappearing around the corner at Walmart.  I hear his gravelly whisper at night.  Just yesterday, I swear I saw him at Menards when I shopping for a bathroom vanity and sink.

I carry these people around with me everywhere.  Can't get away from them.

Saint Marty is thankful today for these moments when my dead are alive again.

Carry

by:  Billy Collins

I want to carry you
and for you to carry me
the way voices are said to carry over water.

Just this morning on the shore,
I could hear two people talking quietly
in a row boat on the far said of the lake.

They were talking about fishing,
then one changed the subject,
and, I swear, they began talking about you.