Poetry on the beach

Last week in Maine my husband and I found that poetry went just as compatibly with the beach as with the coffee house. We enjoyed poems published by Autumn House press, here in Pittsburgh, by a woman named Rathburn. Then my husband turned to metaphysical poets like Donne and Herbert. He summarized an article he’d just read, and one point by the author was that the metaphysical poets strove (is that a word) to write poems that were for the educated person, that would require second and third readings to capture the full meaning, the many levels and layers. One of the reasons I’ve rarely shown the little poetry I’ve written is probably because it doesn’t require a second or third reading—and maybe not even a first.
On our journey home we listened to an audio tape of Hemingway’s memoir of his life in Paris in the early 20s, The Movable Feast. He reveals how many of his writing techniques evolved, and he also gossips about F. Scott Fitzgerald and Gertrude Stein and other writers and gives the reader such voyeuristic pleasure.

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About Sally Hobart Alexander

Blinded at the age of twenty-six, I left California and elementary school teaching for life in Pittsburgh, Pa. There, I met my husband, got a Masters' degree in social work, had two kids, now 35 and 32, and became a writer. Surprisingly, the writing career led me full-circle to teaching, and I teach in Chatham University's M.F.A. program and lead two writing critique groups. Always, since the age of 26, I have traveled, not in the stereotypic darkness attributed to blindness, but a mist. My blog then, "traveling through the mist" will deal with issues in my culturally different life as a blind writer, teacher, speaker, and human being.
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