Sometimes I Forget

Living, as we do these days, at the beginning of a global plague of historic proportions, our lives have been changed everywhere. For everyone on the planet this change has given rise to the emergence of unfamiliar unstructured time. Even those whose activities are deemed to be essential will be finding themselves with an altered living routine in which they may have periods of boredom, fear, anger and perhaps even contemplation. More time for contemplation may not be welcomed by all; since becoming aware of what’s going on may only serve to increase a sense of unfairness, threat or even persecution. Of course, contemplation is a solitary road that, though well suited to social distancing, can be challenging for the busy, fretful mind. Contemplation, for me, is a skill which can be learned with the application of simple meditative techniques like paying attention to breathing. Not everyone’s cup of tea, I know. A poetry offering like this is an attempt to evoke a contemplative voice not through detail but as meditative experience. Clearly, addressing the problem of meditating while kindling the prick of experience remains a work in progress. The construct of voice described by the wonderful, sadly deceased poet, Tony Hoagland, is one which appeals to me broadly. Especially, the notion that we can tailor our voice in a poem as a way to enhance intimacy and trust. So here we have a sprinkling of my meditative voice, and beyond that, some raggedy propositions in classical poetic form like the sonnet, the ghazal, the villanelle and even the dreaded sestina. Following further the advice of Tony Hoagland, I continue to work to develop other voice parts that might extract some appealing essence from detail.