poetic musings
I’ve been thinking about these poems I wrote in the spring of my MA back in the day (like this one). I wasn’t on the poetry MA, I was meant to be writing a fiction manuscript, but these pieces just started coming to me.
I woke with them circling my head or I’d journal a bunch and start cutting away the excess lanuage. So much of them are unutterably filled with grief, loneliness, and longing. And I certainly had been feeling a lot of that, maybe most of my life, but, folks, that spring, when I was writing these aching poems, was also the first time I was swept away with joy, that I can remember.
Just like, the kind of joy and presence where I was going look, look everyone at the clouds! Look at how alive they look! How defined! Have clouds always looked so stunning? Could you imagine spending your time looking at anything else? Hey, hey everyone? But they all thought I was high or having some kind of breakdown.
So what’s up with all the grief-filled poetry when I was feeling so joyous?
It finally came to me. Sure a British spring is a wonderous thing after all those weeks of grey, but also, I had started free-write journaling (morning pages, expressive writing, whatever you want to call it) three maybe four days a week.
And studies do show that expressive journaling (i.e., emotion dumping on a page) regulates the nervous system, which therefore instigates healing of traumas. And when our nervous systems are coming into regulation, thoughts in relation to those emotions and experiences being healed start to come forward and move out.
In other words, these poems are not a representation of my past grief and sadness (though I suppose they are that too); they are a representation of my healing. Of my releasing that grief and sadness from my nervous system onto the page!
What an effing eye-opener. It completely changes my relationship with them. And mixed with the ongoing task of deleting old emails from that time, I wonder what else is there. I wonder what else I can find.
This one may need more attention, but the thing I’m interested in is the relief of grief about a relationship long, lost past coming forward. Grief, I know I didn’t realize was still living in there. And also the words I couldn’t bring myself to find, the experiences I couldn’t bring myself to name/remember.
Reflection
by Libby Walkup
In the mirror one sleeve through I've forgotten what it is to feel [ ] outside your arms. the last hand on this hip, the last mouth on [ ].
april giveaway
Last week, poet Ricki Cummings wrote about her practice, and we launched a giveaway. There are eight books of poetry (four are hand-printed and bound books!), a zine with an essay by me, and 90 days of the new unraveling, unmoored comped. All persons wishing to be included in the drawing must register, even if you’re a subscriber. Click through to find the registration link toward the bottom!
in the post
Do you want to receive post? I’ll be sending out the remaining Thank You zines. I know a few folks have received one of these. If you’re a Paid subscriber and have one, can you remind me? Upgrade to Founding and make sure I have your post address before the 15th. <3
invitation to collaborate
What art, writerly, mind-body, or life practice are you leaning into? What does your creative life look like? What were the inspirations for your favorite works? If you’d like to share about your creative, poetic, spiritual, well-being, or otherwise living life practices, please get in touch. unraveling, unmoored seeks collaborators. More info can be found on the About Page. Please message or email with questions.
with love and gratitude,
That poem has me so curious. Not mad about it.