I have always had an intimate relationship with poetry. I have written poetry on and off as long as I can remember and it has remained a very private practice until now. It is no surprise that poetry has returned at this point in my life. The collection of poems Able In The Presence Of Rocks were written in a house that held a wedding, a death and a birth only weeks apart. I no longer dwell in that house but the love, the death and the birth still dwell in me and therefore, my poetry.
For me, everyday language falls short when it seeks to speak to the mystery of life. Poetic language understands transformative experience, poetic language exists for this very reason. It leans in to the mystery with curiosity and wonder. It sees both the micro and the macro, knowing they are intertwined and telling us of the dance.
As a writer, poetry is an equally mysterious process. I listen, aiming to be present to each and every poem that shows itself to me, when I am lucky enough to have one knock on my door.