I find trying to write daily posts has been challenging since President 47 took office. You see, he throws so much shit at us every day that it’s difficult to know where to focus. I know that’s his political strategy: overwhelming his detractors. It’s difficult watching the country in which you live just crumble to morally bankrupt cowards.
Yet, I write every day in my journal. Or, at least I try to. That saves my sanity a little bit. However, juxtaposing my daily life with the horrors being wrought by President 47 and his followers on the poor and working class . . . well, let’s just say that my preoccupations seem almost trivial. Thus, I haven’t been posting a whole lot. It seems too self-indulgent.
Sharon Olds juxtaposes her birthday and a picture of a sewing machine . . .
Japanese-American Farmhouse,
California, 1942
by: Sharon Olds
thought worth stealing. The stairs into the grass
are scattered with sycamore leaves curled
like ammonites in inland rock.
Wood shows through the paint on the frame
and the door is open--an empty room,
sunlight on the floor. All that is left
on the porch is the hollow cylinder
of an Albert's Quick Oats cardboard box
and a sewing machine. Its extraterrestrial
head is bowed, its scrolled neck
glistens. I was born, that day, near there,
in wartime, of ignorant people.
That’s life, isn’t it? While a tragedy occurs in one place, a baby is born not far away. Grief and joy within miles of each other. Or, as Mary Oliver says, housed in the same body.
This week has sort of been up and down for me. A juxtaposition of struggle and happiness. Of course, nothing in the news is good, so I’m not even going to go near that. Smoke from Canadian wildfires has been clinging to the Upper Peninsula all week long, making the air smell like ash and turning sunrises/sunsets into glorious orange skyscapes. But, I also hosted some great concerts and author readings, including Michigan Secretary of State Jocelyn Benson.
In the space of four days, I hosted a total of six programs. In case you’re wondering, that’s a lot. Therefore, I took today off work. I did have a dental procedure done in the morning. Did practice music at three separate churches. Met my good writer friend/colleague Matt for a couple beers. Then picked up my wife at 5 p.m..
I’m ready for a quiet weekend. Unfortunately, that’s not what I’m going to get. I have to play three church services, mow my lawn, meet with my book club, and lead a poetry workshop. (If you’re wondering, that’s pretty much describes every weekend for me.).
But, juxtapose that with sleeping in tomorrow morning. Going to a birthday party for a neighbor who’s turning 100 years old. Spending quality time with my family. Maybe watching a few episodes of Schitt’s Creek with my wife. It’s going to be a pretty good couple days.
Saint Marty wrote a poem for tonight about juxtaposition, based on the following prompt from The Daily Poet:
On this day in 1960, Chubby Checker released “The Twist” while on the same day in 1936, Adolf Hitler opened the 11th Olympic Games in Berlin. Write a poem that takes two completely different events and juxtaposes them. Find the similarities in the events and connect them in your poem.
August 31, 1997
by: Martin Achatz
Both a little tipsy driving home
from Mike and Tracy’s wedding
reception, my wife and I held
hands, listened to the radio,
some oldies station that was playing
Janis Joplin, if I remember right.
We didn’t talk, just basked
in the smell of sweat and joy,
my shirt still damp from the last
dance, “Paradise by the Dashboard
Lights,” and a world away she
was dying/was already dead
while our newlywed friends
unlocked each other’s bodies,
held each other the way
she probably tried to hold
onto each breath she took
that night in that tunnel, somehow
knowing they would be her last
and wanting them to go on and
on because the world was just too
beautiful to leave without saying
to someone, My God, what’s happening?
