It began With Buttercup, my Silver pattern

Ode To Common Things by Pablo Neruda
This book was recommended to me from an extended discussion of photographs I found on a beautiful blog, Throughlines. The photos there were taken when out in a mindful way looking at life by the writer, teacher, artist. Read how he talks through his pages about the relationship to his looking with the camera. How I want to live this way. There, looking, alert, in this moment. Fully aware, present. It is something, a mind-frame, to hold as a kind of poise. These "ordinary", simple, composed, art-felt shots he took in his wandering... they drew me in... and this surely remains one of my favorite places to go look at photos. They are beautiful.
I was coincidentally drawing silver tableware. Still am working on this project. One of his photos was of forks, it is so clean, and this related to illustrations in this book. To a way of looking. Of seeing. This fleeting exchange of feeling about the work with the photographer, English dean, teacher in Hawaii, led me to order the book he suggested. And to return daily to enjoy thinking. And I recall now Doug Noon sent me to read this blog to consider journeys taking writing. I was meandering, as I am this Tuesday evening.
His blog leads one to read and consider. Both writers helping me evolve.

And even more coincidentally a poet/neuro-surgeon/teacher of art courses, Michael Salcman, whose book The Clock Made of Confetti is keeping me connected to thoughts often hidden...it's just so worth getting and reading his volume of poetry, he also recommended the volume of Neruda to me. It is as good as those recommendations-better. It has been a companion. Thank all of you.

Perhaps it is about noticing life in the ordinary, the cup, spoon, the feel of the grit, sweat and use of the things we touch everyday. Neruda is so sensual, in Spanish sublimely so. He can turn a cup into the lips that you would love to place fingertips to caress. It's in this he has so very few equals. And given your heart's mood it can be a very deep container of all of the emotions that things provoke, lost friends, family, memories, traces. I'm trying to read these in both languages cycling the poems into my days life. I carry it in my purse and find it at times I can read in my peace..restore my inner self. And took the book on my trip to Chicago enjoying it on the plane, in my room, on the way here and there, in a rather bad diner, in the joy of being away with myself. And read it over and over in the hours and hours spent over two months in doctors offices waiting help with my chest and poor tummy. The book was very comforting, I felt through it..do you know the word synesthesia? I'm considering it. Considering how a poet brings insight into this world. Since what I feel, visualize , write have boundaries a bit unlike those I know..I'm considering how we relate to our world. Our points of connection. I believe our technology, future, creative discussions about schools will find the secrets in these metaphors Michael talks about. In our teaching to this. Ah...but it is a Tuesday and I'm listening to Ella and just wandering. Read Michael Salcman on these thoughts.

This is a lovely volume by Neruda, a beautiful book to choose as a gift, it is illustrated with tender delicate black and white pencil illustrations of just the things that are everyday, salt shaker, spoon (my favorite), table each serving to highlight the focus of the poem. Neruda rides so close to heart rhythms, sounds, smells, the crush of silk on a thigh, the sound of the morning thrush, nothing is quite like reading this poet. At one time as a younger person I just could not read him, I felt so voyeuristic. Now a poem a day or so has been very touching. Very personal and like the objects he describes inside my places and moments.

I recall now that this was all tied conversationally/mentally for me to mentioning my thinking of Janet Fish, originally, the super realist painter of glass and objects that have meanings just for her, where light and reflection dances us through the spaces. Indeed here Neruda dances us through these objects as connections to our meanings, his meanings, the blood of life.

Try both of these volumes, and Throughlines, Borderland..... wander...be here with me.