Apologia: Haibun

There's a great deal to write: about the butterflies; the attenuated spring; my altogether unexpected urban grief at not having a garden or shrubs or wildflowers to pick for the first time in my life, and terrace-planting still a month away; the writing I want to do and am not doing; the discoveries I'm making through the writing I am doing during this month of poetry. But I've had almost no time to blog. This afternoon, after many days of professional work, taxes, and administration for the qarrtsiluni chapbook contest, we took some time off and went to the architecture museum (which turned out to be closed), to the movie theater (where there were no movies we wanted to see), to the contemporary art museum where we did see two shows, both of which were (in my opinion) absolutely dreadful, and gave up in humor and annoyance, cycled home where I drank a shot of bourbon and then made an Iranian-style dinner of chicken and eggplant khoresh with rice and yogurt which made us both feel better. Tomorrow or the next day I will go to the garden center and buy some new houseplants for both the apartment and studio: green therapy for a still-grey and dirty city, just beginning to raise its head above winter.

Park forsythia

is like gold I cannot touch

I miss my garden

Comments

[Jean]

Oh, Beth, I feel for you. Every year in Spring I long for a garden of my own, although I haven't had one since I was a kid. On Sunday I went for a long walk in the woods a couple of miles from my house, and felt much better for immersing myself in the misty cloak of new green - many wild flowers and creeping plants in full leaf, but most of the trees still bare or only just beginning to bud.

You're doing so much terrific work. It seems like frustration always goes along with achievement, doesn't it, because our time is always limited? I'm really happy to be writing the little poems lately, but the brief spell every day in poetry-writing frame of mind makes the rest of my time spent on office work, home chores and commuting even more difficult to bear with equanimity. I think I just have to make my mind up it's worth paying that price.

[Jan]

Beth, I hear you,and am sending warm, loving thoughts your way. Take care of yourself, and thanks for keeping your blog fans up-to-date. Remember to breathe, to nurture your soul. Whatever you write, whenever you write, it's a bright spot in my day.

[Loretta]

Take your time, Beth, and let yourself rest and grieve for your garden. Soon the weather will pop with green and you can plunge your hands into loam and fill pots and pots with plants and flowers. I think once you can slow down and indulge yourself on your terrace that you will find your life and writing balancing out again. Are there any garden allotments there you can partake in?

[zuleme]

I wondered how you would manage without a garden. I couldn't do it and Harper and Ramona (felines) would certainly be unhappy. Our huge yard is fenced in for them.
Hey! want to come down and help us plant next month! We have a guest suite in the studio, room and bath. Wireless internet. You are both welcome! You could cook us that eggplant thing. We're not far, White Mountains.

[Lucy]

You have my sympathy Beth. I remember noticing what looked like neighborhood community gardens when I was there last...may be something for the future.

[Beth]

What wonderful friends I have. Thank you so much for understanding! More of a response is in the next post...

(Zuleme, I can never seem to email you, it gets returned, but thanks so much for that really kind and generous invitation! I'd love to visit sometime, if not for planting, and hope I can!)

[Robb]

Kia ora Beth,
Kia kaha eh hoa! Remain Strong my friend.
Aroha,
Robb