February 25, 2003
When I started kalilily.net about a year and a half ago, I had this idea that I’d finally have the time to experiment with becoming some sort of combination of Judith Viorst, Erma Bombeck, and Molly Ivins. I had retired from a job I usually loved to be at the disposal of my 86-year-old mother. I had always wanted to shift from writing poetry to writing personal essays, and my retired life, I hoped, would give me time to think; weblogging would give me access to an audience. Of course, I recognized that posting essays on my weblog guarantees neither fame nor fortune. Then, again, neither did writing poetry. I had nothing to lose.
What happened is that I find that really don’t have enough private time to think, to muse, to immerse myself in feelings, responses – to sink into that stillpoint where truths gather and wait for those slow teasing stirrings that find their way into words. I don’t have enough uninterrupted time to practice at the keyboard, make the kind of alphabetical music that catches the mind’s hungry eye.
Instead, it’s webloggers like Burningbird who are doing what I wanted to do – think deeply, care honestly, write thoughtfully, and make readers want to do the same in response. She thinks and writes about issues I wanted to think and write about (except, of course for those MT, RSS J2EE, EJBs, CORBA, COM/DCOM/COM+, OOAD, UMLMTS, Dynamo, MSMQ, MQ, Perl, C, PHP, C#, Delphi, Python, Smalltalk, FORTRAN, and Tcl whatevertheyare. Tech think is just not my thing.) There’s nothing I can add to what she has written -- and continues to write -- on any number of other topics.
I think I need to carve out a separate space for myself – focus on writing about issues that few webloggers have turned toward. Conscious Aging. Necessary Losses. Self-deliverance. The isolation of the elderly. Using weblogging to hold together scattered families.
These are the things facing me in my immediate life. These are the things I don't have to find time to think about because they are in my face every day. I just have to find the time to write about them.
And I know that there are others facing the same strange days. I hope that they find weblogging and find their way to me.
Once I wore the mask of the shaman,
followed the rain and flowed in the oak.
A grave of leaves marked the way of my journey.
Stones rose at my call,
and Night rode my shoulder
like an old crow, fat and familiar.
I don’t know where the rain has gone.
The sky has swept the leaves to dust
and the stones have turned to silence.
Poets and Shamans!
Where are we
now?
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Old Comments (3)
Tom shugart on 25 Feb 2003
You may not be a BurningBird (who in the hell is?), but you don't need to be, Elaine. Your writing has been fabulous, imho. If you need to change it, it's strictly because it feels that way to you--certainy not because the reader (speaking for myself) is hankering for it.
I'm sure whatever direction you take, the words will sparkle, as they always have. I suppose I ought to be interested in addressing some of these same subjects, but then I'm not caring for an aging parent, and I'm married to a younger woman. My mindset just isn't in the same place--although the breadth of memory and the perspective that provides is something you and I do share, and it's been fun sharing it. I trust that won't change.
Camilo on 25 Feb 2003
I agree with you, somehow I am feeling that the blogosphere is demanding more time and attention than it is warranted.
I hope you find your writing space again. Meanwhile, we will be patient.
Betsy Devine on 26 Feb 2003
Elaine, I love your poem. The world don't need another Judith Viorst, much as I love her. We need an Elaine.