“All I have is my soul, and somebody told me that that’s poetry.” — Phil Kaye
Friday morning I woke up to an email from one of my blog readers. She’s also one of my favorite bloggers. She’s been around — in my life — long enough that referring to her this way (as a reader) or that way (as a blogger) doesn’t feel right.
She’s a friend. And if you can adore someone you’ve never met (you can, it’s true; I do), I adore her.
Her name is Antara. She lives in West Bengal, India. I’m old enough to be her mother. The truth is, if I had a daughter — no, a child of either gender — and she (or he) grew to have even merely close to Antara’s intelligence, passion and sensitivity, I would be pleased beyond measure.
I don’t mean to sound hyperbolic or flattering. The reality is that making a connection with a fellow writer from across the globe is somewhat of a commonplace thing for bloggers these days. And yet, how fucking miraculous. Even more so when things like this happen.
Things like Friday when I woke up to the email from Antara. She wrote, “I thought you might like this . . .” followed by a YouTube link. It was a busy morning so I loaded the video onto my phone and set it on the bathroom counter. I let it play while I flossed and brushed my teeth, and brushed powder on my nose, and powdered blush on my cheeks.
And when I got towards the end of the video, I stopped with the powdering and looked away from myself and looked down at the phone. I touched my finger to the beginning to start it over again.
This is what I saw:
By the time I got to the last line, I hurried to reply.
I wrote, “Oh Antara. You get me. You really do know exactly who I am.” Tears dropped from my jaw to the ceramic tiles.
She gave me permission to use her name in this post. So now, I’m going to talk (am I talking? uh. sure), I’m going to talk right to her.
I’m watching “Repetition” at the Phil’s website. I’m up to minute one (+ 02 seconds) and I’ve paused the quicktime. You didn’t tell me how handsome he is. Handsome. Handsome. Handsome. He is. He is. He is. We are. We are.
Continuing, I hear this line and stop again —
“Every terrible moment skips upon its own announcement.”
Poetry (!!). Thank you, friend. If you teach someday, I’d like to be in your class.
Now, I’ve followed Phil’s link to Project VOICE, and I’m checking out the beginning of Sarah’s TEDtalk. Did you watch it?
“This world is made out of sugar; it can crumble so easily, but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.”
How inspiring. How complete. How — standing O on the first poem? I want to be there clapping, too.
Antara, thank you for introducing me to these poets. My world is sweeter than it was before. You did that.
With warm gratitude and affection,