I am a poet, and a novelist; but I also am a journalist, and sometimes these literary impulses do not jibe. The poet wants beautiful language and metaphor. The journalist wants simplicity, clarity, facts. The novelist wants to take a long scary journey into Story, find her way out again to produce a book.

Recently, I wrote an essay about a prose poem, a prompt in my writing group. The poem reads, in part: …He said, every object sings. He said, if I built a room it might give me an A-flat and the harmonic series that goes with it, he said, every empty space sings. All weekend I listened to hundreds of objects… I placed my ear to the empty Tecates, the can of black beans, the path along the sand, I put my ear to the sand… 

Perhaps I am too literal-minded, but this makes me question if my hearing is OK. Sure, the wind sings, the birds sing, even the sand can sing. But I cannot hear every object singing. I know, it is metaphor, but… 

Do I need better ears?

 I can buy into scientific facts we now know about our world. We all have vibrations, apparently; and somebody may hear them. But, I cannot hear them. So much that connects us to each other– to all the world – goes unseen and unheard by us. Perhaps we would be better humans if we heard everything; perhaps, though, we would go mad.

 I have lately become charmed by elephants. They are magnificent creatures – with extraordinary hearing. Wikipedia tells me: Elephants are able to detect rain storms from distances as far away as 150 miles.

So, elephants, and many other animals do, no doubt, hear the sounds of many things. Do I ask too much of a poet to not rub my nose in it that I cannot hear the sounds of all things?

Having read this poem, I will try harder.

Sounds I do love: rain, of course, even thunder; my cats purring; the way certain people laugh, like Bex, the blacksmith  on the show Money for Nothing (I am addicted); the faint sounds of amicable conversation among women in the next room; waves rolling onto the beach in Northern Michigan. The shrieks of children sledding down the hill outside my window. 

Birdsong of all kinds; these have become my other new passion, in addition to elephants – rediscovering the beauty of birds, their vocals, their magnificent costumes, their mysteries of flight and migration. 

Recently, as some things in this world get darker and, perhaps, as I get older, I have become more loving of the world’s sweetness. Wanting to hang onto the goodness in all its complex, miraculous forms.