“In the universe there are things that are known and things that are unknown, and in between there are doors.” – William Blake
Carrie Newcomer is a songwriter, recording artist, performer, educator, and activist. She has published three books of poetry and essays, in addition to nineteen music recordings. In September 2021, she released an album with a companion book of poems titled Until Now. Carrie lives in the wooded hills of
South Central Indiana with her husband and two shaggy rescue dogs.
Welcome to the Poets Weave. I’m Romayne Rubinas Dorsey. Carrie, what have you brought for us?
Liminality
So much of what we know
Lives just below the surface.
Half of a tree
Spreads out beneath our feet.
Living simultaneously in two worlds,
Each half informing and nurturing
The whole.
A tree is either and neither
But mostly both.
I am drawn to liminal spaces,
The half-tamed and unruly patch
Where the forest gives way
And my little garden begins.
Where water, air and light overlap
Becoming mist on the morning pond.
I like to sit on my porch steps, barn jacket and boots
In the last long exhale of the day,
When bats and birds loop in and then out,
One rising to work,
One readying for sleep.
And although the full moon calls the currents,
And the dark moon reminds me that my best language
Has always emerged out of the silence,
It is in the waxing and waning
Where I most often live,
Neither here nor there,
But simply
On the way.
There are endings and beginnings
One emerging out of the other.
But most days I travel in an ever present
And curious now.
A betwixt and between,
That is almost,
But not quite,
The beautiful,
But not yet.
I’ve been learning to live with what is,
More patient with the process,
To love what is becoming,
And the questions that keep returning.
I am learning to trust
The horizon I walk toward
Is an orientation
Not a destination
And that I will keep catching glimpses
Of something great and luminous
From the corner of my eye.
I am learning to live where losses hold fast
And grief lets loose and unravels.
Where a new kind of knowing can pick up the thread.
Where I can slide palms with a paradox
And nod at the dawn,
As the shadows pull back
And spirit meets bone
Sing
Songs were never meant to be left to “the professionals.”
Never mind the person who long ago shamed you
Or the church choir member that told you to
Just mouth the words.
Don't worry if your i's are dotted
And your t's are crossed,
Or your pitches are perfectly placed.
Trust me, If you spend today singing,
If you start by Humming in the shower,
Then whistling while picking out carrots
Or singing as you wash dishes
Or walk in the woods
Or cross at the traffic light.
You might just begin to feel Your True Heart Open.
You might surprise yourself
By doing a little Gene Kelly
Two step and slide
As you sweep into the kitchen,
Turn up the car radio
And roll the windows down.
You might remember an old flame
Or catch the first notes of a new idea.
And possibly,
very possibly
You will get to the end of the day,
With nothing else to add
Beyond
“Amen.”
You’ve been listening to the poetry of Carrie Newcomer on the Poets Weave. I’m Romayne Rubinas Dorsey.
