“Not enough has been said of the value of a life lived alone, in that it is lived in a house with an open door, with room for the stranger, for the new friend to be taken in and cherished.”
Love the notion of responsibility, not squandering the gift of solitude and creativity: “I have time to think. That is the great, the greatest luxury. I have time to be. Therefore my responsibility is huge. To use time well and to be all that I can in whatever years are left to me.”
I can relate to that, although there have been times when solitude became too much to bear, making it difficult to maintain a state of grace. but still, I always come back around and look for what I've learned in between my moments of grace.
Needed this. Me. Old woman. Living alone with a wee dog. Recovering novelist. Aspiring poet. So so beautiful this. So so inspiring. Thank you Ms Sarton. Thank you to that Outlaw.
May Sarton's Journey of a Solitude has been so instructive for my own DIY monastic life, in particular my life as a writer. I resonate with her words on prose versus poetry as well. Both feel to me like sacred acts. But poetry seems to require a more profound self abandonment, a more absolute surrender to the wild flame of the divine fire that has stooped to burn through you. My own assessment is that I am barely a novice at poetry so far, and probably not even that.
not enough good is said about older women living alone. i am one of those people and cherish the silence and flow moving about my home in ways that are always pleasing and always creative. may sarton has it right.
“Why is it that poetry always seems to me so much more a true work of the soul than prose? “
I love how Robert Bringhurst said that poetry is not interested in language. Poetry is interested in what is on the other side.
Maybe that is a different door. The door inside? Maybe there we can catch a glimpse of soul. Borges wanted to be called a poet not a writer. Maybe words write the prose and poetry writes the words?
Thanks Corie. I'd say poetry exists because of the failure of language. Poetry enters into language yet it is not a part of it. Thanks for reaching out.
I often remind myself when I am feeling lonely... then where am I? Have I left myself? Abounded myself in any way? And then I speak and hear me and welcome the Corie who had remained silent and has a few things to say. And then some.
This is one of my favorite reflections of yours. I am also a writer living alone - no kids or partner - and only in the past few years have I come to accept, love, and cherish the quiet solitude and self-directed joy in devotion to my craft. Though it’s true that with great gifts comes great responsibility; I feel that, along with glimpses of the light of warm worthwhile-ness. As a novelist the solitude seems less echoing because as you say it’s writing meant to be shared with and for others, versus poetry as a dialogue with self. Beautiful post with much to reflect on ~ thank you.
Thank you for May Sarton today!! This moment of reflection on the solitary life is so true. Three years ago I finally left city life and returned home to the rural Southwest. The May Sarton excerpt exactly describes my feelings about my new life and return to a kind of truth and sanity that could not have been attained any other way than to return home/solitude. Thank you! Will pick up Journal of A Solitude, which I read many years ago before I could understand it.
Such a resonate truth here. I’ve noticed when I try to write poetry to explore or share what I think it always feels like an exercise. Like work. When a poem arises from how I feel is when it feels like a kind of play or a window opening . . . When it sings.
Thank you for this. I have long been a huge fan of May Sarton. Way before I even became a writer, or poet. Her life always resonated with me. Now I can appreciate why.
Love the notion of responsibility, not squandering the gift of solitude and creativity: “I have time to think. That is the great, the greatest luxury. I have time to be. Therefore my responsibility is huge. To use time well and to be all that I can in whatever years are left to me.”
I’m trying. Truly trying as yes, never squander what you’ve been gifted.
Absolutely. And she put it beautifully.
She did!
I can relate to that, although there have been times when solitude became too much to bear, making it difficult to maintain a state of grace. but still, I always come back around and look for what I've learned in between my moments of grace.
Needed this. Me. Old woman. Living alone with a wee dog. Recovering novelist. Aspiring poet. So so beautiful this. So so inspiring. Thank you Ms Sarton. Thank you to that Outlaw.
Onwards.
Recovering novelist? Interesting.
May Sarton's Journey of a Solitude has been so instructive for my own DIY monastic life, in particular my life as a writer. I resonate with her words on prose versus poetry as well. Both feel to me like sacred acts. But poetry seems to require a more profound self abandonment, a more absolute surrender to the wild flame of the divine fire that has stooped to burn through you. My own assessment is that I am barely a novice at poetry so far, and probably not even that.
the “thought” vs “felt” part is beautifully put
It is! It so answers the "why poetry" question.
Sailing past your lighthouse, I catch the signals you send—your words stir something true in me
It is amazing how so many of us can feel the light shine on the ship of our souls.
With poetry, several draft versions feel right. There's no right answer.
With prose, reason and logic come into picture. It has to make sense. And that's where the troubles begin.
The difference between fiction and fact? Fiction has to make sense, fact doesn't.
not enough good is said about older women living alone. i am one of those people and cherish the silence and flow moving about my home in ways that are always pleasing and always creative. may sarton has it right.
“Why is it that poetry always seems to me so much more a true work of the soul than prose? “
I love how Robert Bringhurst said that poetry is not interested in language. Poetry is interested in what is on the other side.
Maybe that is a different door. The door inside? Maybe there we can catch a glimpse of soul. Borges wanted to be called a poet not a writer. Maybe words write the prose and poetry writes the words?
Poetry is interested in what is on the other side. So profound.
Thanks Corie. I'd say poetry exists because of the failure of language. Poetry enters into language yet it is not a part of it. Thanks for reaching out.
This could be any of our voices... it sounds so... contemporary, universal, and true.
As the poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko said, "“A poet's autobiography is his poetry. Anything else is just a footnote.”
!Guau! Thank you for this today, reminding me that solitude is not isolation.
I often remind myself when I am feeling lonely... then where am I? Have I left myself? Abounded myself in any way? And then I speak and hear me and welcome the Corie who had remained silent and has a few things to say. And then some.
This is one of my favorite reflections of yours. I am also a writer living alone - no kids or partner - and only in the past few years have I come to accept, love, and cherish the quiet solitude and self-directed joy in devotion to my craft. Though it’s true that with great gifts comes great responsibility; I feel that, along with glimpses of the light of warm worthwhile-ness. As a novelist the solitude seems less echoing because as you say it’s writing meant to be shared with and for others, versus poetry as a dialogue with self. Beautiful post with much to reflect on ~ thank you.
Thank you for May Sarton today!! This moment of reflection on the solitary life is so true. Three years ago I finally left city life and returned home to the rural Southwest. The May Sarton excerpt exactly describes my feelings about my new life and return to a kind of truth and sanity that could not have been attained any other way than to return home/solitude. Thank you! Will pick up Journal of A Solitude, which I read many years ago before I could understand it.
Such a resonate truth here. I’ve noticed when I try to write poetry to explore or share what I think it always feels like an exercise. Like work. When a poem arises from how I feel is when it feels like a kind of play or a window opening . . . When it sings.
I have always embraced solitude it gives me strength and solace
Liking it to nature
I have never shared my poems perhaps the intimacy is too much
Thank you for sharing
Thank you for this. I have long been a huge fan of May Sarton. Way before I even became a writer, or poet. Her life always resonated with me. Now I can appreciate why.
Oh, Ms. Sarton, I read "Journal of a Solitude" way back in college - many years ago - and no book ever touched me so deeply. I thank you.