A Couple of Poems by Marie Howe

montauk

I recently heard Terry Gross interview the poet Marie Howe on NPR's Fresh Air. I found that her words spoke to me clearly and I was inspired to read a few more of her poems.  I've chosen two to share here, which seem to be variations on a fundamental theme. Maybe it’s time to slow down, slip into the present, and notice.

The picture above is just a gray day at Montauk Point last week, and it has nothing to do with anything, except for its being a pause at the edge of the land with no particular agenda, and we actually weren't hurrying.

This one is called The Moment:

Oh, the coming-out-of-nowhere moment when,   nothing happens no what-have-I-to-do-today-list maybe   half a moment the rush of traffic stops. The whir of I should be, I should be, I should be slows to silence, the white cotton curtains hanging still.

And this one is Prayer:

Every day I want to speak with you. And every day something more important
calls for my attention – the drugstore, the beauty products, the luggage

I need to buy for the trip.
Even now I can hardly sit here

among the falling piles of paper and clothing, the garbage trucks outside
already screeching and banging.

The mystics say you are as close as my own breath.
Why do I flee from you?

My days and nights pour through me like complaints
and become a story I forgot to tell.

Help me. Even as I write these words I am planning
to rise from the chair as soon as I finish this sentence.