I’ve been learning ‘I Know the Way You Can Get’ by Hafiz for awhile now. I’m finding that there is no set time to let go and move to another poem. Yeats’ ‘The Hosting of the Sidhe’ drew me in against my will. This poem seemed unwilling to let me go…until today.
I was reading it over and over again into SoundCloud last week. When I’d listen back I’d realize I’d substituted “there” for “which” or something like that. I found myself getting so obsessed with getting it right that I began to lose the feeling and meaning of the poem that had drawn me to it in the first place. ”Who cares?”, I thought. I don’t have to say it out loud to anyone.
This morning I was teaching one of my yoga classes. We had come to the point of resting at the end. People settled down. And the poem began to come out of my mouth. One line followed the next as I finally wrote the poem on my bones. And then I was quiet. And they rested. And the poem let me go.
