Friday, November 04, 2016

Poetry Friday -- Pain and Glory




Life is Full of Pain and Glory

Like a single leaf
spiraling lazily down
through a china blue sky.

Like a hangnail
which, in careless irritation,
is yanked and bleeds.

Like a fragile, confused iris
blooming in October
one block from the hospital.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016




It's good to be back. Mom survived cellulitis and unintentional poisoning by two different antibiotics, my class survived two weeks without me (the sub and my grade level team survived two weeks without any plans because it was a "drop everything and go" situation), and I not only survived, but was profoundly changed by the entire experience.


Laura has the Poetry Friday roundup this week at Writing the World for Kids.


24 comments:

  1. Oh, Mary Lee. I missed you on the Poetry Friday rounds, but I didn't know you were having such a worrisome time of things. I can very much relate to your mother stresses. Big restorative hugs.

    Your last line on this poem is such a monumental twist on the rest of the poem. Talk about making a line do some work!

    Also, the poem on Catherine's post this week reminds me of your poetry month project. So much! Just saying...

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  2. A cautionary tale, to know how the decision of a second can change days, weeks, in a heartbeat. Glad to know your Mom is on the mend, with a poem to read that encapsulates the random, ragile nature of things so beautifully.

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  3. I'm so glad your mom is better and everyone survived. A beautiful poem.

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  4. Sending healthy thoughts to your family.

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  5. Sometimes the azaleas bloom in October not April and we remember that mistakes can be glorious. And survival is awesome! Worth a party.

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  6. Mary Lee, life is fragile and uncertain. You captured that. I am sorry that your mother went through that experience but it is comforting that you were able to drop everything and be there as a support. Best to all.

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  7. Missed you last Friday; sorry to hear about your Mom and the tough times. Glad you both survived! Life is indeed fragile and we never know when we will be tested. Take care!

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  8. Happy news that your mother is better, Mary Lee. What a scare, and all from what is supposed to make one better! You captured that lonely, "what-can-I-do-but-wait" feeling beautifully. I'm glad you're back home, and imagine you are, too.

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  9. What a stressful experience! But in a way it's strangely comforting to know that the world still carries on, and that the world can chug along just fine without you so you can focus on what matters most. Though I'm sure your students will be thrilled to have their teacher back!

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  10. That's beautiful and painful, and perfectly reflects my week - we buried my uncle this week, and a friend phoned an hour ago to say his father had died... a confused blue day, warm after a spate of rains... and loss. A juxtaposition.

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  11. So glad you are back....the sharp and the soft in the blue sky of an autumn day contrast well. I think Tanita says it well. Beautiful and painful. That's what autumn is.

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  12. Mary Lee, I understand my friend! Family first always. Your poem captures all those feelings.

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  13. Oh, my, you have taken a difficult time in your life and made beautiful poetry. Reminds me of God and fall. Miracles, magic, love, whatever you call it, it's magnificent.

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  14. The last line of your poem is so simple and powerful. I'm glad your mother is doing better, Mary Lee.

    We also have late-blooming irises in our yard. They are miniature irises, only about 6 inches tall, but I love that they bloom in spring and again in autumn.

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  15. Mary Lee, I'm sorry to hear you had to leave with little preparation but am thrilled you did that to help your mother. Life is fragile - and full of surprises like this iris.

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  16. Oh, Mary Lee. I'm so glad you have both come through this. That last stanza clutched at my heart. So true. So beautiful. Hugs.

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  17. So glad to hear your mom is going better, Mary Lee. Amazing comparisons used through out your poem. Hope things go well for you moving forward.

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  18. And how are you doing, Mary Lee? Take care of yourself, please. We miss you and your poetry when you're not around.

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  19. Thanks for finding time to do that piece of work with me, Mary Lee, after all that. When we're together we'll talk about profound changes that sneak up on us... Wishing you peace.

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  20. It's amazing to me how we can feel so overwhelmed with our own deadlines and pressures, like nothing could be more urgent, then something more urgent does come along, and somehow life carries on without us. And through it all, you find that blooming iris, Mary Lee. (hugs)

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  21. What a battle. Glad to hear you and your mom are doing better, but sheesh...that's a rough two weeks, there. And to be able to write a poem this Friday, anyway....the iris that blooms, indeed. YOU are that.

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  22. Life's curveballs do test our mettle, don't they? Your poem makes me think of this week's On Being episode with Irish poet Michael Longley. I'm glad your mother is better and hope she continues to be well. Hugs to you.

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  23. So glad all is returning to "normal" (whatever that is...) Love the image of the "confused iris" in your poem - I can relate on many levels. Sending you and yours continued healing and peace-filled vibes. =)

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  24. So sorry to hear about your mom's illness and glad to hear she is on the mend. Oh that fragile, confused iris--that perfectly captures the feeling of helplessness that can be so overwhelming.

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