{"id":66063,"date":"2018-10-08T02:54:28","date_gmt":"2018-10-08T06:54:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/improvisedlife.com\/?p=66063"},"modified":"2021-01-04T12:39:00","modified_gmt":"2021-01-04T17:39:00","slug":"opening-poetry-and-art-books-at-random-each-morning-sparks-hope-naomi-shahab-nye-joseph-albers","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/improvisedlife.com\/2018\/10\/08\/opening-poetry-and-art-books-at-random-each-morning-sparks-hope-naomi-shahab-nye-joseph-albers\/","title":{"rendered":"Opening Poetry and Art Books at Random Each Morning Sparks Hope (Naomi Shihab Nye + Joseph Albers)"},"content":{"rendered":"
Because we are aware of a sea of gloom so close under the skin<\/em>, we’re always on the lookout for reminders of other ways of viewing things. So every morning, before reading anything else, we open a book of poetry or an art book \u2014sometimes both \u2014 at random, a practice <\/span>we’ve found invariably sets a positive tone for the day. \u00a0Today we struck gold. We’re dazzled by what we found in Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem Moment* <\/em>and Joseph Albers luminous painting:<\/p>\n To the woman who handed over<\/em> <\/p><\/blockquote>\n …such possibilities in each day…<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u00a0*from Transfer<\/a>\u00a0by\u00a0Naomi Shihab Nye<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Because we are aware of the dark side of things, we’re always on the lookout for antidotes and reminders of other ways of seeing. This morning, we struck gold.<\/p>\nRead More<\/a>","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":59165,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_FSMCFIC_featured_image_caption":"","_FSMCFIC_featured_image_nocaption":null,"_FSMCFIC_featured_image_hide":null,"footnotes":""},"categories":[6549,6329,10545,1860],"tags":[7348,5851,11499,11737],"yoast_head":"\n
\n a folded note, I have enough time<\/em>
\n \u2014on a thin slip of pinkish paper,<\/em>
\n no name or address\u2014you’re first<\/em>
\n in mind this January 1.<\/em>
\n Where did we meet?<\/em>
\n You smiled shyly, stepped away.<\/em>
\n Do you pass that note often?<\/em>
\n Maybe you’re a friend dropping lines<\/em>
\n when you detect a listener.<\/em>
\n And what am I?<\/em>
\n There’s a fine soup<\/strong><\/em>
\n to be made of every minute.<\/strong><\/em>
\n A way to stand and stir<\/em>
\n so no one catches what you’re doing.<\/em>
\n And there’s a sea of gloom<\/em>
\n so close under the skin<\/em>
\n that loves the taunt of a crisp new year.<\/em>
\n Here, this fresh morning<\/em>
\n and every to follow,<\/em>
\n cabinet of stacked white<\/em>
\n bowls, shines wide and plenty.<\/em>
\n Each square of the calendar\u00a0<\/strong><\/em>
\n opens its hungry mouth.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n
There’s a fine soup <\/strong>to be made of every minute.<\/strong><\/em><\/span><\/h1>\n<\/blockquote>\n