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Poet Laura: Deep Listening to Dog Days and Brown Thrashers

By Laura Boggess 2 Comments

bird in tall foliage with pink flowers-deep listening

Writing is Deep Listening

The dog days of summer are here. It’s been so wet and sticky outside that even the edges of the day offer no relief. When I get up in the morning, the windows are blind with condensation and I can’t see out for their weeping. At night when we sleep, we dream of cool things: popsicles, pools of blue lake water, the breeze off the ocean.

This morning I peered in close at the dewdrops on the panes of our back door, trying to turn myself into water. At least then I could flow, move with little effort along with gravity. It began to rain—a light, penetrating drizzle that did nothing to curb the heat.

In Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg says that writing is “90 percent listening.” I think of this as I peer through suspended water droplets into our back yard. “You listen so deeply to the space around you that it fills you,” Natalie says.

When we were on holiday last week, a Brown Thrasher became familiar with the quiet of our empty yard. Usually shy, these birds with the brown-spotted breasts get their name from the robust way they search for food in the underbrush, thrashing about in search of insects or fallen berries and nuts. While we were away, this young bird had grown bold, foraging on our open lawn, grousing about under my finch feeder for fallen tidbits of sunflower or thistle.

Tweetspeak Poet Laura Chicken

Deep Listening in Morning

This morning I glimpse him through the condensation-laden window, scratching at the mulch underneath my bird bath. It’s enough to break the heat spell and I slip out the door to get a closer look. Despite my stealth, he takes wing at the hint of my presence, disappearing behind the lilac bush. I wait, listening.

“If you can capture the reality around you,” Natalie says, “your writing needs nothing else. You don’t only listen to the person speaking to you across the table, but simultaneously listen to the air, the chair, and the door. And go beyond the door. Take in the sound of the season, the sound of the color coming in through the windows. Listen to the past, future, and present right where you are. Listen with your whole body, not only with your ears, but with your hands, your face, and the back of your neck … This kind of deep, nonevaluative listening awakens stories and images inside you.”

Again, the quick thrum of wing pushing against invisible air, the soft landing and swish of a light-studded lilac branch. Metallic scent of rain, thick with clover, wet grass licking my ankles. The moist air clings to my skin and I bisect the earth rushing beneath me, a vertical axis with no beginning, no end.

Listen. Listen. Listen.

What do you hear?

Dog Days

there is no sun
this morning

the white sky fills
with young light

heat rises in waves

from the damp grass

alive, writhing—
a heavy, insulating stillness

the day clings to me
like dew, like a second skin

the leaves on the maple
have all turned upside-down

there is more rain
in the forecast

if I listen deep enough
I can hear the storm

of the Brown Thrasher’s wings

beating a song of

summer heat

—Laura Boggess

Another listening poem:

Long Island Sound

I see it as it looked one afternoon
In August,—by a fresh soft breeze o’erblown.
The swiftness of the tide, the light thereon,
A far-off sail, white as a crescent moon.
The shining waters with pale currents strewn,
The quiet fishing-smacks, the Eastern cove,
The semi-circle of its dark, green grove.
The luminous grasses, and the merry sun
In the grave sky; the sparkle far and wide,
Laughter of unseen children, cheerful chirp
Of crickets, and low lisp of rippling tide,
Light summer clouds fantastical as sleep
Changing unnoted while I gazed thereon.
All these fair sounds and sights I made my own.

—Emma Lazarus – 1849-1887

Photo by Harold Litwiler, Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Laura Boggess, Tweetspeak Poetry’s 2021 Poet Laura.

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A Novella From Laura Boggess

Waiting for Neruda's Memoirs-OutlineLyrical and whimsical writer Laura Boggess brings us an inspiring story of one woman’s quest to put her life back together. Poetry plays a part. But not before a book gets delivered to the wrong house on a windy, impossible day.

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Laura Boggess is happiest in a place with no walls. Give her a bed of grass and a blanket-sky and she will dream deep in wonder. But a good story takes her to that place too. And a poem? Even better. She's the author of Waiting for Neruda's Memoirs and Mildred's Garden, both titles in T. S. Poetry Press's Poetry Club Series.
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Latest posts by Laura Boggess (see all)
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Filed Under: Blog, Poet Laura, Summer Poems

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About Laura Boggess

Laura Boggess is happiest in a place with no walls. Give her a bed of grass and a blanket-sky and she will dream deep in wonder. But a good story takes her to that place too. And a poem? Even better. She's the author of Waiting for Neruda's Memoirs and Mildred's Garden, both titles in T. S. Poetry Press's Poetry Club Series.

Comments

  1. Bethany R. says

    August 4, 2021 at 2:33 pm

    Love it, Laura. Thank you for sharing this. I read Writing Down the Bones years ago, at the beginning of my writing journey. Would be fascinating to read it again now. I quotes you shared are rich.

    And I feel your poem.

    “a heavy, insulating stillness

    the day clings to me
    like dew, like a second skin

    the leaves on the maple
    have all turned upside-down”

    Reply
    • Laura says

      August 5, 2021 at 8:27 am

      Thank you for reading, Bethany! We’ve had a reprieve from our dog days in the past couple days. I’m enjoying a little cooler weather brought on by some summer showers. It feels like fall in the mornings and I am loving it! But I know the heat is not gone quite yet! I hope your weather there inspires some poetry 😊

      Reply

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