[St Murdoc's chapel] is a fragment from a long process of mapping on foot from my house. The chapel is a stone cell dating from around 5th century BC. It sits by a small burn that rises in a reed bed and flows a short distance before vanishing over the cliff. The anonymous hermit who built it would have arrived by boat. I imagine him following the thread of fresh water up the steep slope, and finding this perfect, serene, intensely private place.
Lesley Harrison on "[St Murdoc's chapel]" |
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Shane McCrae: "Memoir of a Kidnapping"
"when I was younger, something about this irreducible core of mystery would have appealed to this sort of irreducible core of woundedness. This idea that at the center of myself is a mystery that I can't ever fully unravel, can't ever fully understand, I can't ever fully glimpse, just like you can't really fully glimpse a poem."
via NPR |
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What Sparks Poetry:
Robert Matt Taylor on Philip Levine’s What Work Is
"Even to my jaundiced eye it read like a perfect condensation of the big feelings of that moment. This is a thing that only poetry can do, I was reminded. "Scouting" and many like it in the book comprise a poetry of awakening, of simple amazement at being alive, at having lived and at the living still to be done, of making meaning out of the morass of experience, time, and trouble." |
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