Poetry by Nancy McLelland

"Rat's Country" is the name I have given these observations and images culled from my journals, the name chosen from the quote
above by Loren Eisley in his book: All the Strange Hours. At this point, all I want to do is to save them.
Some may become poems or starting points for creative nonfiction pieces.

PART ONE: SELF | PART TWO: KEEPING A JOURNAL, ART IN GENERAL (this page)

These writings have been a sanctuary for my soul's sneaky, sidewinding journey through deserts, the rock I have hidden under, the hole I have disappeared into, the puddle where I have dipped my dry forked tongue, the saguaro where I have found shade.	Small steps means finishing. Small steps mean typing. Small steps means paying attendtion. Small steps means closing the distance between intention and action.	I am writing myself back into my own good graces.
S., the painter says, "I figure that if I don't show my work in this lifetime, I'm going to be reincarnated as an art critic, come back and discover myself."	X. says, "Keep with the journal writing, but also pick small projects and finish them. Remember, when you knit, you want to be knitting something. For God's sake, at least make a hat."	J. says about his ceramic sculptures, "Why bother, if you know you're not great?" He also says, "It's not easy to go into an empty studio and face a lump of clay."
	J said it best: "Work generates work."

A friend said about S's paintings, "This is what feelings must look like."	When I sit down to write, I usually don't have anything to say, like that moment when the concert pianist seats himself at the bench, flipping the tails of his tuxedo and poising his hands above the keys. I love that moment of tension, because when he fills the concert hall with sound it seems all the more amazing--in that moment before he begins, he must trust that something will come.	What I started to wonder was whether writing about these things creates a self-perpetuating habit. These are the problems that I start with. I get into the habit of writing about them. Do I perpetuate them as problems? Nah.
Writing keeps me grounded; like lightening through a lightening rod, the emotions go through my words, not through me.	My writing is done with my back to the doorway.	This is just me and paper, dammit. I'm not demanding an airplane, taking a town hostage to hear my needs.
	.

about the poet | complete works | eight poems from Tuscarora | rat's country