Self portrait (2022) in engagement portrait (2004)
Now I've come to look at love
in a new way. It's a deep resource,
one that's renewable in surprises
& cycles. Dig fifty one-foot wells,
you're not likely to find water.
So you dig one fifty-foot well.
Now I dig deep, I know
what nourishes & refreshes,
what cleanses & glistens.
Go back to the well. Let loose
the bucket. Feel the rope go
slack in your hands. A long silence
as you wait & trust. The empty
vessel falling into the darkness.
A blessing you hear before you
taste it. A distant slap & splash.
You tug & jerk, cajoling it to
just the right angle for a fullness
of relief, for a chance to drink
deep.
But take your time.
Hand over hand.
Too hasty a pull will upset
what you hoped for.
Inspired by, among other things, the gospels, Frost's Directive, and the opening of Sharon Olds' Unspeakable
I love all the directions you provide for us to explore as well as the “water from the well” apt metaphor: “…A long empty silence/as you wait & trust.” Just revisited Frost and Olds—see what I mean?
Thanks so much! The Frost one isn’t often taught, but it’s one of his best. In my notes to it, I wrote that a critic once called it a poem hard to understand, but easy to love : )
Gorgeous poem, Joel. I read it several times so that I wasn’t simply reading the shallow part but dipping my bucket deep into your words before raising them into my mind and making meaning.
Relationships that evolve over time and marriage in general has been at the forefront of my mind during the pandemic, so I appreciate the various directions this took immensely. I read it twice. You’re a beautiful poet. Cool photo, too.
[…] And in the end, things happened quickly.After years of protracted silences& painstakingly unmended fences,we both woke to an email finalizingthe divorce.Neither of us knew that this would bethe wished-for day. She woke in our house,I in my shabby place, grousinginternally about the other, replayingold arguments.And now there was nothing leftto divide, nothing to fight over.Fees prepaid. A finally-shut doorkept us safe & far far from oneanother.On opposite sides of town,the baristas told us,"Have a nice day." "You too," "You too"This was written for a National Poetry Month challenge, an April Fool's Day poem, something untrue. Sometimes when I write about me & my wife, I use that image, William H. Johnson, Café (ca. 1939-1940) but not always. […]
middleagedmiddlechild. 
8 responses to “back to the well.”
Lovely and multi-layered. Thank you for sharing. (And I love Sharon Olds!)
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I love all the directions you provide for us to explore as well as the “water from the well” apt metaphor: “…A long empty silence/as you wait & trust.” Just revisited Frost and Olds—see what I mean?
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Thanks so much! The Frost one isn’t often taught, but it’s one of his best. In my notes to it, I wrote that a critic once called it a poem hard to understand, but easy to love : )
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Gorgeous poem, Joel. I read it several times so that I wasn’t simply reading the shallow part but dipping my bucket deep into your words before raising them into my mind and making meaning.
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thank you so much for your reading & your encouragement, friend : )
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Relationships that evolve over time and marriage in general has been at the forefront of my mind during the pandemic, so I appreciate the various directions this took immensely. I read it twice. You’re a beautiful poet. Cool photo, too.
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thank you, friend! Olds’ original is in a collection about divorce, so I was excited to take that opening line for a different spin : )
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[…] And in the end, things happened quickly.After years of protracted silences& painstakingly unmended fences,we both woke to an email finalizingthe divorce.Neither of us knew that this would bethe wished-for day. She woke in our house,I in my shabby place, grousinginternally about the other, replayingold arguments.And now there was nothing leftto divide, nothing to fight over.Fees prepaid. A finally-shut doorkept us safe & far far from oneanother.On opposite sides of town,the baristas told us,"Have a nice day." "You too," "You too"This was written for a National Poetry Month challenge, an April Fool's Day poem, something untrue. Sometimes when I write about me & my wife, I use that image, William H. Johnson, Café (ca. 1939-1940) but not always. […]
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