Happy Birthday Merwin (The Dog)

Merwin's birthday came around again on Monday. We have no idea when his actual birthday is but September 19 is the day we adopted him, so we chose to celebrate it then. I've been a lunatic about it every year. I've also gotten less and less creative. This year I had dinner plans so rushed home, constructed a horrid looking treat and peanut butter tower and shoved it under his nose. Luckily, my thoughtful parents had sent some presents so the poor hound actually had something to open. Saved the day. Simon made fun of me as I was fretting about the (lack of) plans. He said "Oh yeah, if we don't have anything for him, whatever will he think!? What if we celebrate another day? Gasp!" I finally admitted that obviously this birthday nonsense is not about him. It's about me. 

Screaming In Your Car

It took two hours and fifteen minutes to drive to work this morning. With no traffic, the trip is an hour and ten minutes. With normal traffic it is an hour and thirty minutes. When I finally battled the stop and go nonsense along Route 1 and emerged into Cambridge, I found myself behind a garbage truck. Completely stopped. In a long line of traffic. This was a full half hour after my GPS had optimistically declared I would arrive at my destination. I lost it and belted out a primal scream behind the closed windows of the Outback. Not proud of it. No sir. At the time, it felt like the only way to emit some of that irrational anger that had been building since the guy in the black Camry cut me off as he chatted away on his cell. 

I should be used to this. I should be better equipped at dealing with the stress of these situations. It is useless to get angry. I know it's a waste of energy and emotion. Not to mention how the experience framed the entire day. Upon finally arriving at work, I had to evacuate my cubicle and roam to the stationary shop down the street to drown my sorrows in pretty papers and the scent of hard cover journals. Desperate times. 

I want to be better at not letting these irrelevant things under my skin. They're irrelevant and it's impossible to change them. There are so many more worthwhile endeavors to apply my passion but in the moment, it is incredibly hard to let the silly ones go.

When The Raft Comes In...

...you know summer is truly over. We pulled our floating raft to shore this weekend but not before soaking up the dwindling summer rays on a last sunny afternoon. Even once we had grunted it onto the sand, we lounged on the raft Sunday afternoon after a storm passed and the sun emerged. Can't let it go I guess.

End of summer is always slightly melancholy, but instead of pondering the end, I should reflect on an amazing summer of happy guests, excellent weather, and the surprising realization that despite trepidation in early May, this summer managed to be better than the last. This past weekend was our first since mid-July without friends coming to stay so we cleaned up the shoreline, power washed the deck in advance of a fresh coat of paint (cross your fingers for color success...third time's the charm!), and did a heavy indoor cleaning. The start of school also brings an end to the power boats, jet skis and live-free-or-die target practice as well as the return of the great blue heron and two massive bald eagles stalking the pesky ducks. There is beauty in endings I suppose.

As you can tell, I find it a bit hard to let summer go. Every year, I marvel that season transitions are so difficult for me. After all, it happens every year and I've had plenty of years to practice. Not to mention we all have to face it. Just another example of how change just isn't my thing. 

Sneak Peak - W.S. Merwin's Garden Time

The Wild Geese
W.S. Merwin

It was always for the animals that I grieved most
for the animals I had seen and for those
I had only heard of or dreamed about
or seen in cages or lying beside the road
for those forgotten and those long remembered
for the lost ones that were never found again
among people there were words we all knew
even if we did not say them and although
they were always inadequate when we said them
they were there if we wanted them when the time came
with the animals always there was only
presence as long as it was present and then
only absence suddenly and no word for it
in all the great written wisdom of China
where are the animals when were they lost
where are the ancestors who knew the way
without them all wise words are bits of sand
twitching on the dunes where the forests
once whispered in their echoing ancient tongue
and the animals knew their way among the trees
only in the old poems does their presence survive
the gibbons call from the mountain gorges
the old words all deepen the great absence
the vastness of all that has been lost
it is still there when the poet in exile
looks up long ago hearing the voices
of wild geese far above him flying home

"The Wild Geese" is from Merwin's new book of poems, Garden Time, due out this coming week. According to the summary on Amazon, Merwin wrote this collection while he was slowly losing his eyesight (he's turning 90 at the end of the month). I first read and loved the poem without knowing what he was experiencing but now it seems more powerful. From studying his poems in college, I remember that Merwin often weaves loss of language into his work. That idea that language is inadequate and that ancient tongues are at risk of disappearing with death. Language comes back in this one. The idea that humans have the capacity to communicate with words, we can grieve with language when we lose each other, we exist in words even after we go, but without speech, animals are only present when they exist. He's also alluding to extinction, referring to the "vastness of all that has been lost," whether that is species or trees or language. In the end, "the poet in exile" seems to be Merwin, imprisoned in blindness, hearing the geese fly above.

There is so much wonderfulness in this poem and naturally, I can't begin to adequately dissect it. It has quickly become one of my all-time favorites. There are thematic nods to his other works and the evocation of such loss, in myriad ways, with such beautiful imagery had me at "It was always for the animals that I grieved most."