study at The University of Exeter showed through MRI monitoring that brains are differently activated when reading poetry than when reading prose: specifically, brains are more lively reading poetry. Different areas of the brain light up when reading "more emotionally charged" writing. And emotion is the heart of poetry, so the poems read -- regardless of comprehension -- stimulated the brain more than prose.
Over at Brainpickings, Alain de Botton, one of my favorite authors, is quoted from his new book, written with John Armstrong, called Art As Therapy. I don't like the title, but I do love a few things he says about the value of art and how it changes us. I like what he has to say about the dancers in Matisse's paintings:
"The dancers in Matisse’s painting are not in denial of the troubles of
this planet, but from the standpoint of our imperfect and conflicted —
but ordinary — relationship with reality, we can look to their attitude
for encouragement. They put us in touch with a blithe, carefree part of
ourselves that can help us cope with inevitable rejections and
humiliations. The picture does not suggest that all is well, any more
than it suggests that women always delight in each other’s existence and
bond together in mutually supportive networks."
Putting us in touch with the joy we all carry within is no small part of the way art changes us. Joy as the goal of life -- not a bad idea, and art, especially certain kinds of poetry, inclines us to believe it's so.
P.S. My new book, Gods of Water and Air was discounted at Amazon -- for the time being, you can get it for $12.88 + shipping! Of course, if you order by emailing me or sending a Paypal, you get it for $14.95 WITHOUT shipping! Which is a better deal, because you also get an inscription. If you'd like.
Friday, November 08, 2013
Tuesday, November 05, 2013
I'm going to have to create a chapbook of bird poems, I think. Lesser and greater egrets at the local creek, hummingbirds, woodpeckers, mourning doves, crows all have made their way into my work. If I count up the number of bird poems I've written it probably could form a whole book! This one is from my new book, Gods of Water and Air, available at Amazon.
As Yearning Is Red
Sudden as a hat is ripped away
by the wind, he was over my head.
Long, black legs scissored together
as he plowed the seamless sky
with a beak like a boat’s prow.
His wings rowed lazily.
There’s little reason to look up
when I walk. I passed as he paused
to float on a thermal.
I was heading downhill
and he was gliding
down to the creek.
We were nearly eye level.
I had a precarious feeling,
as if my marching feet
had risen off the ground.
His wings rippled several times
as he held onto the wind.
They rippled again:
a lace bedspread shaken out.
He was white as yearning
is red and still as night’s
first sip of moon.
Then the luminous being was gone,
leaving me ruffled and aired,
able to lift
on the beat of a breath.