Poetry is often a gift. It is created from moments of thought when language barely suffices. In our often inadequate attempts at self-expression, in those moments of finding the write word to put in the right place, we languish.
I found this gift on the internet while preparing for a workshop. A gift of The Gift by Lewis Hyde. which I pass on to you.
Write something inspired based upon Hyde’s work, this profuse wellspring of new-found inspiration. In our work-a-day world, go to your source and explore what gifts await…to be received and bestowed…
May you find peace as your poems flow and may you offer light to our darkening skies…
The Labor Of Gratitude
My vocation [his sense, as a child, that he would be a writer]
changed everything: the sword-strokes fly off, the writing
remains; I discovered in belles-lettres that the Giver can be
transformed into his own Gift, that is, into a pure object. Chance
had made me a man, generosity would make me a book.