Where do you find creative inspiration? (Or a pile of dirt and a cow in the road)
Creative people are like magicians, conjuring things out of thin air. Where once there was nothing, there is something — a new story, tune, poem, painting, or invention.
My creative life is pretty lively right now. It hasn’t always been this way, but for now, creative block is out of the question. Every object, view, conversation, experience, no matter how small, is grist for the mill.
And with so much scenic grandeur for inspiration at Fish Trap’s Imnaha Writers Retreat, if I were to have creative block, it would be because I was overwhelmed with material.
As I took a walk, I thought about the intimidating cow blocking my way the other day. What could I make of a cow in the road? This led to me thinking about how I handle obstacles in my life and is now a blog post under construction.
The process of thinking of the cow, making it a symbol of a larger personal issue such as “obstacles”, sorting out the meaning of obstacles in my own life, writing about it, getting feedback from others – all this sets into motion a personal transformation.
I will never see obstacles again in quite the same way.
This is the power of writing and art to make meaning and be the catalyst for transformation in both the creator and the viewer.
I used to believe that some difficult people in my life will never change. I don’t believe that now. Even the ones who give me the most grief may change simply by being alive in the world.
This is a transformative moment of understanding for me. It opens my heart and my world.
It softens my judgment of self and others.
I believe that ultimately it will change those difficult relationships.
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A dangerous looking cow blocking my way has a little bit of drama, especially for a city girl, but what about something less inspiring.
I glanced around for the least inspiring thing I could find and saw a pile of dirt.
What about a pile of dirt?
Piles of dirt are everywhere – a dime a dozen. What could a creative person do with this I wondered?
Impulsively, I asked poet Lynn Robertson, who is with me at the writer’s retreat, if she could write a poem about a pile of dirt. She answered brightly and without hesitation, “Of course!”, and that day she proceeded to do just that — not once, but twice!
So here you have it – two first drafts of poems about a pile of dirt.
UNRAVELING
By Lynn Robertson
She unraveled
becoming a mound of dirt
in a thunderstorm
beginning with a small titter
of plain brown pebbles
escaping the confines of tolerance
hiccupping down the slope.
When the first rain fell
in single, weighty, tear shaped patterings
the surface craters caused by their bounce
across her silken complexion
were smoothed by watery runoff.
But a driving wind arrived close behind
blew the seeds of youth
from her mounds of hair.
The hard rains came after
there were no roots to hold her together.
The flesh beneath her eyes
drooped in crescent shaped slings
to hold back the flood
The rise of her cheeks
slid into joweled pockets
and later
when she could absorb no more
she slumped
spreading low and smooth
across the landscape.
It took her three days
to realize she hadn’t washed away.
In the way that erosion changes mountains
she had experienced a redistribution
of her wealth.
PILE OF DIRT
By Lynn Robertson
Pile of dirt from the tractor
Put it here, push it there
Dirt from the backhoe
Leave it here, spread it where?
Dirt from the excavation
Dirt for the elevation
Dirt for the dirt poor farmer from Nebraska
Dirt in a pile by a highway in Alaska
Dirt for the man tilling up a veggie patch
Dirt for the bugs and the babies that they hatch
Dirt for the grader
Smooth it here, fill it there
Dirt for the roller
Pack it here, wet it there
Dirt from the excavation
Dirt for the elevation
Dirt for the fill in a solid earthen dam
Dirt by the tulips in the fields of Amsterdam
Dirt for the holes in the road or on the street
Dirt in a mud pie, mix it up, make it sweet
Dirt from the excavation
Dirt for the elevation
Dirt for the rocks holding up a mountain tall
Dirt for a cushion when a boulder starts to fall
Dirt for the students when they study every layer
Dirt leveled smooth for the pins of a surveyor
Dirt from the excavation
Dirt for the elevation
You can move it, You can use it
You can mash it, You can smash it
You can smell it, You can sell it
You can wet it, You can get it
For your garden for your yard
You can bake it til it’s hard
Move it here, push it there
You will take it everywhere
In a box, in your socks
On your face, any place
You can follow where it goes
But no one really knows
Where at last it slows
To rest