Intricate Beauty

I have a class this semester that I routinely regret taking. Every time I go to class I wish I had taken something else. However, the texts for the class are so wonderful that I am almost glad I took the class for that alone. I have this class to thank for introducing me to the beauty of Anne Michaels' writing. I think I have talked about my love of poetry on the blog before, but I truly do adore it. One of the things I love best about poetry is simply dwelling in the sound of it. I love poems that simply must be read out loud. That sensation of simply existing in and with something so beautiful is wonderful. It's also the sensation I love about art and music. The book we are reading for this class is Fugitive Pieces and although it is a novel, it is so poetic that it has completely enthralled me. I could happily spend an entire day luxuriating in the writing. Michaels' phrases beg to be read aloud. The words are exquisite and sensuous. The emotions are deep and often painful, but they are excruciatingly beautiful in their intensity. Emerging from the book feels like emerging from a deep deep sleep. At first I am not aware of the world around me, and it takes a long time to fully come to grips with reality. It leaves a undefinable but lingering sensation like a second skin, like the echo of a dream, that haunts me for the rest of the day. I completely adore this. This is why I love art. This is why I love language.

I love these little tiny pink flowers. They are a kind of visual poetry. Each one is beautiful on its own, but all together they become something even more striking.