Wasp’s nest: Entrances abound, but are hidden
Not Writing
A wasp rises to its papery
nest under the eaves
where it daubs
at the gray shape,
but seems unable
to enter its own house.
–Jane Kenyon
This poem is so succinct and so artfully constructed. Haven’t we all had that daubing frustration of madly circling and yet not being able to enter in to where we need to be?
The texture of my life in the studio is like the texture of my life in general: full tilt highs, full tilt lows, and lots of miles in between.
I’m just back from three magical days in Vermont, visiting friends and basking in a landscape that is richly rewarding on so many levels. I didn’t miss being in the studio once. In fact this protracted channel change felt like much needed relief from a fierce summer stance to rouse the inchoate into form. But like the passel of children I parented years ago, those unborn works have no interest in commands or ultimatums when they are otherwise engaged. You talkin’ to me?
Patience and showing up every day. That’s all I’ve got. Chop wood, carry water.
Love that image!
Simply a perfect post. Buzzing and circling before we land. How we need the spaces in between for reflection, and observance. The more aware I become of my own rhythms, the more I leave thoughts on”keeping up” behind.
Thanks Maureen and Rachael. And R, I like your addition of the space we need between reflection and observance. Oh that I had the wasp’s faith…
How apt! A perfect poem, a perfect image and my sentiments exactly. Although at the moment I seem to feel less like a buzzy wasp and more like an old dog circling and sniffing – trying to find a spot to curl up and snore!
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Dogs can circle too…Thanks MLS for your comment.
Reblogged this on annemichael and commented:
A lovely Jane Kenyon poem and a brief, relevant post from Deborah Barlow, artist, from her blog Slow Muse.
I love the words and the post, and adore the image. Glad you had a good time in Vermont!