The Concord Art Association Regrets

I just re-found this sestina online that I wrote many years ago when I was rejected twice by the Concord Art Association. I lived in Concord, MA at the time and very much wanted to fit in. Most of my friends were in Cambridge, Boston, Somerville, and J.P. (as we like to call Jamaica Plain.)

I still love Concord, I loved living there, but I was there because I thought it was a good place to raise my kids – it was, they loved it. But I was a misfit. An introverted zany artistic lesbian didn’t really have a place in a town of coupled heterosexuals.

So I trekked into the city from the ‘burbs regularly and separated myself from my neighbors. But I was really showing the deep divide in my own self. I could look outside and see whatever I see, it’s there if I think it is. When I went to Concord I was replaying what was comfortable about my past. I really wasn’t ready for my future.

Being outwardly identified suited me for many years and Concord allowed me the space to change as much as I needed to when I could handle it. It offered me all the complexity and simplicity I could handle.

So, even though this poem sounds like the gripe it is, it is also a paean to a place that gave me everything I needed to be me.

The Concord Art Association Regrets

Your entry was not accepted. We regret
it wasn’t (enough for us), a work of love.
We liked many of the colors on the whole
but the mass was just something unrelated
to the rest of our show. We hope your work
will have a bright future in another place.

We remember last year you tried to place
another photograph and it was also with regret
we turned you down. Though for that particular work
we found nothing about it (no one could) to love.
It was obscure and a little upsetting in relation
to the rest of our show which we look on as a whole.

Now you may think us ungenerous. On the whole
you are probably right, but this is our place
and we can do what we want whether you relate
to it or not. However we don’t want you to regret
your association with us. We want you to love
us, send us money, but please, no more work.

You see right now we need money to work
on the building we’re in. There’s a hole
in the roof and one wall needs all the love
and attention it can get. Really the place
needs so much, which all costs. I regret
to remind you we need more space for related

works. We’re trying to expand and relate
to lots of different kinds of work
so different people won’t regret
their visit with us but will see the whole
beauty and tranquillity of the place
and come with us, a journey of love

where people of all races, colors, and creeds love
to look and bask and of course bring relations,
friends, and lovers. All are welcome to our place
here where all the world’s magnificent work
can be shown in its entirety, the whole
place filled – with your exception, we regret.

We know you’ll love the whole
work we’re doing for this place.
We can’t relate enough our regret.

(Copyright © 1983-2011 by Pam White.)

TODAY’S POEM

Today’s Poem

When I’m reminded of being alive,
Like taking a big breath,
It can be scary.

It can be so strong.
This morning it was a letter
From a man I don’t know.

He’s my “friend” on Facebook
And I know him well.
In the letter he said he was writing

Because in all his internet writing before
He said he didn’t express himself.
He said he told us what

He didn’t tell himself.
He left stuff out like
How he felt about what he

Does. He said all this good stuff but,
Left out his divorce and meeting a
Wonderful woman

Now she’s here – there
Moving in. Sharing a life.
And he wants us to know.

Is it just men who can do that?
I have another (man) friend,
His story is similar.

A woman turned their insides
Out.
What can a woman do?

Pam White
August 5th 2011

NEWBORN

Be tender with yourself
Reach for the moment
Carefully
As if you really cared
As if you were newborn
Here, now
Just out

Be soft in this light
Be soft in this moment
This is your moment
This is your skin
Your new eyes
Your new ears
Your new precious life

Be still in this moment
Be the listener
The ears of the moment

Your eyes are full and empty at
The same time
Ready to be charged
To be breath and light in the dark

Hold this new station
Come back
Make this your home
Make this life your home

Pam White
August 4 2011

Mercy

We forgive once we give up attachment to our wounds.

Lewis Hyde, The Gift

How do you forgive a gift?

After the storm I walk along the road, scattered

branches from so many winter storms have me hopping.

I look up to the shattered, crudely broken parent branches above my head

I hear,”what a mess,” and my heart

feels the tremble of the lost limbs.

No one put them to it. No one told them to grow.

No one told the wind, the snow to come.

Mercy in the stirring of the flesh, the sap.

The trees’ equanimity, their branches ready to leaf, bear fruit, be.

They don’t look to the end, they see only the next moment

in the light, in the dark, of the earth.

Make It Personal

I walk by the cats

each one’s attention to me is palpable

each one waiting

as I go by (or pet, acknowledge, feed, scoop)

their equanimity reminds me to pay attention

my feet on the floor, my hands on the fur

where is my heart?

I take a breath, feel, Be

each cat, each breath, each blade of grass

step by step, blade by blade is personal.

One moment, one me, this time to be.

Bone of the Horse

Bone Of The Horse

My nose is tender

His lips are rare

Our soul is content

We are one together

Hoof to hoof hands high

We thrust our hips into the sun

His big fine neck and my skin

We are so hairy in the day

So alike underneath

Where the belly thrusts and the skin

Shifts weight from foot to hoof

I am here and he is whole

Strokes of luck of genius

Separate us recover us

Bathed in the same light

We walk hand in hand