Aimee Nezhukumatathil is a poet and nonfiction author (World of Wonders: In Praise of Fireflies, Whale Sharks, and Other Astonishments). Her newest book is Night Owl: Poems, out today from Ecco. Below, she shares the connection between poetry and cultivating wonder.
For me, poetry doesnโt happen without attention. Turns out, being an observer, or a noticer, from being the new (brown) girl in (mostly white) schools most all my K-12 days paved the way for a lifetime of taking stock of the world around me. Noticing. Being curious about the planet and its various inhabitants. Honestly? I donโt know how else to be in this world.
The beginnings of a poem start with an image, like say, a nectarine in Juneโthe first stonefruit of the season chomped outdoors to unofficially herald in summer, or a skitter of a blue-tailed skink across my back porch, or even a tiny scream of Eastern bluebird babies from their nest box. The poetโs job is simply to stay with the moment a little longer than usualโto really look and notice until something unlocks or leaps in your memory or attention.
Night deepens this kind of attention. When the dayโs noise fades, my senses prick awake, my heart beats a little closer to the surface of my skin. For my writing, darkness becomes a kind of invitation. It asks us to listen differently, sometimes even (and especially) when it makes us a little uncomfortable. I revise and revise. And I revise even more because I feel more layers to the writing get revealed especially after dusk.
The nighttime world keeps offering small gifts, even in the face of so much injustice and destruction. My poems hope to gather those moments (while not ignoring the very real pain and suffering of so many lives) and set them gently before the reader. In this wayโwhen I have my writing hat onโI feel like a crow, offering up a collection of tinsel, buttons, or a bit of a calico scallop shell on a gentle personโs windowsill.ย . . .
๐ Read the rest of Aimee Nezhukumatathilโs essay on Book Riot.
English (US) · 