Ordinary Things

Rejection ... in the form of those little impersonal notes which accompany your poems when they come back from some distant editor ... is so frequent that it's almost expected.

Oh, I send out the best work I can do ... at the time ... and I always think I've matched it with the perfect place for it to be published ... but there are so many factors at work: The sheer numbers of people who write poetry, the limited number of pages in each publication, the timing, the subject matter.

Then there's the subjective way in which the flood of incoming work is measured ... as, I suppose, it should be. The editor, after all, is likely struggling for survival, too.

I've come to expect that most of my submissions will be rejected. Of course, this makes the acceptances that much more sweet ... more worthy of celebration, though I don't dance on the table as much as I once did.

In this pursuit of acceptance here and there, I accept the odds, I keep trying to improve my writing ... and the odds ... and life goes on.

Once in a while, in all of this turmoil, there comes a little surprise.

I recall how one editor had scrawled something about "mundane treatment of ordinary subjects" on the rejection slip which accompanied my returned poems. I recall that note ... and I wish I could recall the name of that editor.

I would like to thank him for giving me ideas for two more poems, today's "Ordinary Things" ... and another, "In Praise of the Mundane" ... both off which were published ... elsewhere.

Today's offering:

ORDINARY THINGS

If my daily walk could take me

far enough from where I live,

I might discover something worthy

of collecting and preserving.

Instead, I find a squirrel's

nest, abandoned, being parceled

by the wind, a remnant of string

lying in hopeless tangle,

fragments of eggshell left like

bits of sky on gritty gray

sidewalk, a cat sunning, scattered

toys, telling me that children

are nearby, perhaps watching

as I pick my way through.

Such ordinary things, trickling

through the fingers of my memory

even before I get home, but while

I have them they are treasure.

More than that, food for my soul.

© 1998

(Originally published in A New Song, the poem is now part of a collection entitled Wood Smoke, which is to be published later this year by Finishing Line Press)

***

Today's word: ordinary

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:

Beautiful comment, Marti ... absolutely beautiful! Thank you ... and continued best wishes.

Thank you, Featheredpines, for observing that of the special moments in our lives ... most of them are centered around "ordinary things," which, as you aptly point out, are anything but ordinary. And I thank you, also, for that generous electronic pat on the back.

As for the interview on WYSO (91.3 FM) ... yes, for the expected broadcast time (a five-minute segment within another program) it's between 10:30 and 11:00 a.m., Eastern time, so that will require tuning in really early in your time zone, Featheredpines. The good news: It apparently wasn't on this morning, so you really didn't miss it. The bad news: I still don't know which Sunday it's scheduled to air. I'll pass the word along as soon as I can find out. Meanwhile, thanks for hanging in there ... continued best wishes.

Postscript ... for Featheredpines - I'm glad I didn't miss it either. The latest advice I have from WYSO is to listen from 10:30 to 11:00 a.m. on Sunday morning(s). I'm eager to hear what I sound like ... and what I said ... so I guess I'll be tuning in. Remember, that's Eastern Daylight Time ... and let me know, please, how this turns out for you. Good luck.