Close To Home, A World Away
31
www.blockislandinfo.com
ONE OF THE SEVERAL TIMES I
was wrangling with graduate school,
I was advised to "critically examine
the ramifications and implications of
what it meant to be a `poet of place.'"
naturally, I dropped out of the program
immediately and completed, instead, my
second collection, "This place Here," in
which I explored, instead, my lovely dog
Eliot, my two beautiful children, Orrin
and Millie, and their growing up in this
extraordinary place with its sandpipers
and the always-shifting tide.
years later, I came across a line that
seemed relevant to both. It went some-
thing like, "a place is not really entirely
a place until some poet has come along
to properly name it." It made me feel
important for a day or two, but somehow
it echoed falsely. The more I thought
about it I realized that for me, I never
really knew I was a poet until I'd found
this place, Block Island, which stirred
my imagination and heart so fiercely I
had no choice but to try to describe it
with the beauty and elegance and grainy
texture of language it deserved.
I would gather that many of our
artists only dabbled in their various
genres before finding their way to Block
Island and beginning to take their work
more seriously. And why? Because art,
whether it is a poem, a song, a painting,
a photograph or a sand castle, is a form
of prayer. I write poems as a way of say-
ing back to this gorgeous, pulsing place,
"yes, I am looking. yes I see." or some-
times, just "thank you." I would imagine
it's the same for my many artist friends.
sometimes, things are just so stun-
ningly beautiful there is this need to
try to hold onto them. I use words. My
friend Jessie Edwards uses pen and
ink, Sandra Swan the woodcut. Often
there are times when I see a color so
shocking it is almost an unworldly glow-
ing version of itself. That's when I call
cindy kelly, and tell her to "please get to
Red Gate Farm before the light shifts,"
because she knows how color and light
and shadow dance together better than
anyone.
Then there are the
many days I am out
for yet another Island
cruise, and I am wish-
ing I was Malcolm
Greenaway with his
camera, so that those
who don't have the
blessing of witnessing Rodman's Hollow
after a snowfall, or when the shad is in
full bloom, might know what the world
looks like in these coveted moments.
And then Malcolm will drive up, breath-
less, like me, with the desire to "get it"
and to get it right.
So really, then, we are all artists, aren't
we, because we all have this remarkable
gift for witnessing, for observing, and for
offering back some gratitude. one need
not paint or draw or sculpt or write to
be an artist. pulling over on the road to
watch the surf roll back works. So does
braking for turtles. So does waking up
every morning, and looking out the win-
dow at whichever Island view it faces,
and saying, as one should, "look at this,
just look at this."
one of these days I should call that
graduate adviser and tell him I've been
thinking about that "poet of place busi-
ness." I'll tell him I'm still busy research-
ing the matter, but all signs indicate it's a
pretty fortuitous life to have been given
when one is a poet, and the place hap-
pens to be Block Island. even better, no
advanced degree is required.
lisa Starr
Rhode Island Poet Laureate
and Block Island Resident
left top: A visitor admires paintings at
an Arts & Crafts Guild fair. left below:
island artist leslie ulrich at her gallery.
Photos by Celeste Sloman
CREATIVE ISLE
art for all