I read a piece by Chris Hayes recently in the NYT. He has a new book out about the attention economy. He posits that we dislike boredom; it encroaches easily and this accounts for the success of cell phones and social media. There is always somewhere to go, and someone to go there with. There is no moment anymore with nothing to do.
Still, the teachers of meditation and mindfulness and other assorted wellness gurus tell us to slow down, unplug, live in the moment, go outside and bathe in the forest and the river. Cook, slowly, read books, and converse IRL as well as with our interesting and far-flung online correspondents. And yet we resist. Why?
Here we have a woman who spends her life on this project. Or maybe that’s just the parts of her life she shares, and she’s as much an internet addict as the rest of us. Who knows? It’s convincing, her thoughtful oeuvre. Her poems are replete with deep appreciation. A tree or a river can be a friend, another human is part of the wild world we inhabit.
“Reading the poems in Drifting, we remember to appreciate.”
Appreciation for time: time to think, in a kitchen, a coffeehouse, by a lake. Reading the poems in Drifting, we remember to appreciate. And not just trees and water and good conversation but Thomas herself. There’s none of the forced brilliance of a spiritual influencer, it all just is. Joy in thinking, writing, listening, speaking. Walking with your beloved, swimming, baking. How many of these did you do this week?
So here is the thing. Nature and love, each gets their due, and Thomas’s appreciation intermingles one with the other, almost hypnotically. She is an unarguably lovely writer not just in content but in form.
Still, there are these sharp throwaway lines, sometimes the last lines, with corners and edges and a fierce wit. We wish perhaps for an editorial mind to have said: please, more of this. We like to be startled. Turned upside down a bit. Satisfied also by bitterness and attitude and irony and not just the equanimity of a gorgeously expressed wisdom, page after page. For the contrast, say.
In “Fall into Tomorrow” we have the poet noticing the weather is a writer too:
Just the rain
typing on the drainpipe
It’s a line replete with a throwaway acuity we would love to see replicated. In “Consciousness,” describing the sometimes whitewater feel of love, of springtime, Thomas ends with, Is there any time to rest along the way? I can hear the tinge of sarcasm, the laughter. Maybe I’m wrong, but I like it.
In “Cool Honey,” Thomas laments love that is a little insufficient and reminds us it’s hard to feel we deserve enough, when:
…I am not used to getting enough
From the stingy love my mother has shown.
I guess it hurt more than I let on.
“Life Drawing,” a description of downtown at night, river-washed lovers seeking and finding, begins:
Love is uncomfortable;
like a porcupine on your pillow,
his quills up and down your spine;
It’s so affectionate! Towards love in the abstract and the porcupine both. We almost wish for it, to snuggle up to a scruffy porcupine, snuffling on the pillow beside us.
In “First Tryst,” paraphrasing Ram Dass with a sly edge, Thomas says,
we will walk each other closer to home.
That may be as good as it gets, and it’s pretty darn good, both the thought and the skillful making of it.
About the Author
Canadian poet, PJ Thomas launched her third book of poetry, Drifting, on November 24th, 2024. This book has received 5-star reviews in Canada, the US, and the UK. Drifting is the third book in The Water Trilogy, including Undertow (2020), and Waves (2022).
Book Details
Publisher : PAJE Press (May 23 2024)
Language : English
Paperback : 116 pages
ISBN-10 : 1777283728
ISBN-13 : 978-1777283728