I love the last line. After all of the time it takes to finally connect to a human, you still remembered that it is a human you are talking to. So lovely!
Didi, now I understand even more why you speak of Peter with such affection and respect. Four years of meeting every week, looking closely at seven poems at a time—that is a remarkable apprenticeship.
What struck me most is that he doesn't change your words. He teaches you to hear what is already there: where the poem is explaining too much, where the punctuation becomes noisy, where a conceptual word can become an embodied one. That kind of teaching is rare.
And “You are my teacher.” — “I’m honored.” Then he moves on. Somehow that little exchange says a lot about the man you describe.
I feel lucky to be learning from you too, Didi. ❤️
Didi, now I understand your “forehead-on-the-ground honored” even better. ❤️ In India, we have the word pranam for something close to this—not just respect, but deep gratitude and reverence. We do it before our gods, and we also offer it to teachers and elders when the respect comes from a much deeper place.
So yes, I understand what you mean about Peter. It is more than being honoured to be his student. It is gratitude for having received something precious from a teacher.
And I can feel why you treasure those four years so deeply, Didi. ❤️
Didi, absolutely not too much information. ❤️ I’m glad you told me. And I’m especially glad that your sense of humour is still fully operational—that may be one of the best pieces of equipment you have right now. 😄
And Star sounds like a very dependable companion. I hope the day comes when you can finally fold her up, put her away, and say, “Thank you, Star. We’re done here.”
About the title—you may be right. My “now I understand the title even better” probably explains more than the poem needs to. Perhaps the grace is stronger when the reader is allowed to arrive at it alone. Your mentor may be onto something. ❤️
Peter was happy with the poem in this form, and said he felt the ending earned the title. This man is so amazing: both a life-long poet, and a Zen master (although he would never call himself so). We've been working together for four years, weekly looking at 7 poems. Now, entering the fifth year, we meet every other week--my request, for financial reasons. I met him when I went to graduate school in fiction and memoir 20 years ago--he was in the poetry track, so I only had one (amazing) class with him. I refound him on Facebook, told him that poetry had taken over my life, and would he consider working with me? He remembered me, and the rest is now history. We're the same age. He has suffered three kinds of cancer, so each meeting is a blessed gift, and I record each Zoom meeting so if/when I come to lose him, I can go back, rewatch, and relearn new things. He never changes my words, but often suggests cuts (too much explaining, or "too noisy" he'll say about punctuation), and he has helped me become more grounded in embodied words, rather than conceptual ones. Occasionally he'll suggest a different title. Only four times in the over 1500 poems that we have looked at together, has he said, "This poem doesn't work, and this is why."
He's a deep, deep blessing, and I have told him, "You are my teacher." His response, "I'm honored." And then he moves on.
Didi, that “your call is important to us” inside the yew maze made me laugh. 😂 And then the sudden “Hello, I’d like to schedule, but first, how is your day?” Perfectly you. ❤️
Oh Choti Bhai, you "got" the poem! That just delights me. It's an attempt at using the metaphor of the maze--I'm not strong in my use of metaphor, and trying to learn more.
Do you think it is enough, the end of the poem, to earn "Grace" in the title?
I'm sorry that I haven't yet responded to some of your comments--I read them all, and they warm me at a time of feral physical pain. I saw the doctor yesterday, so we're working on it. It's all in my left leg--referred pain from my low back--a powerful hot ache down my thigh into my knee (and there is nothing wrong with my knee--never had any trouble with them, thank heavens.) Luckily, I can get comfortable when I sit--it's walking that is agonizing. On the pain scale of 1-10 with 10 being what I call "throw-up pain"--only had that once on a trip to Scotland which we had to cut short 8 years ago--this has been between 7-9. The doctor and I are already considering inventions that do not involve drugs. Of course it all takes time. All to say, I always read your posts and comments with delight--they lift me up!
Didi, yes—I think the ending earns “Grace,” precisely because you don't explain it.
After all those walls, the repeated hold message, the tightening maze, suddenly there is a human voice—and instead of simply asking for an appointment, you ask, “how is your day?” That small turn changes the whole poem for me. Grace arrives as an ordinary human exchange, not as a grand revelation.
And now I understand the title even better. ❤️
I’m very sorry you’re going through such fierce pain. I hope the doctor and you find one of those inventions soon. Until then, please know that your poems are reaching people, including this Choti Bhai, even when the walking is agonizing.
Your maze made me laugh, but that last question stayed with me.
Oh, good. And yet your sentence "And now I understand the title even better. ❤️" is exactly what concerns me. But maybe it's all right not to explain too much. My poetry mentor gently reminds me that almost every time we meet.
As to the pain, thank you for your concern. My sense of humor is fully intact, which is most important as I move through life, and even walking, the pain is somewhat intermittent, so not every movement on my feet is terrible. I'm switching from three-wheeled walker to cane to nothing throughout the day at home--but when I go out, Star, my three-wheeled rollator, always goes with me these days. I look forward to the day of dusting her off, folding her up, and putting her in closet for a few years. That's my vision, and I believe it will come to pass. Seven years ago, when I ruptured L4/5, I used a cane for around two years, and then one day realized I was stable and fine without it. My concern, at my age, is not moving every day. I am used to exercising on our elliptical (like trotting, but no impact because the feet stay on the petals without lifting them up) six days a week, and I haven't been on it for maybe six weeks now. Ground lost, for sure. When I'm able to start back up, instead of a heart-activating 20 minutes, I'll probably start with 5-7 minutes. Is this WAY too much information for you? If so, please just say so, and I'll scale it way back.
I love the last line. After all of the time it takes to finally connect to a human, you still remembered that it is a human you are talking to. So lovely!
Thank you! Which is why I titled the poem "Charting the Maze with Grace"! It's how I try to always move in the world.
My exact reply.
I feel your unease almost daily and try hard to remain human as you do.
That's the work, isn't it. I always try to remember that Clarissa Pinkola Estes says "Do not lose heart. You were made for these times."
Didi, now I understand even more why you speak of Peter with such affection and respect. Four years of meeting every week, looking closely at seven poems at a time—that is a remarkable apprenticeship.
What struck me most is that he doesn't change your words. He teaches you to hear what is already there: where the poem is explaining too much, where the punctuation becomes noisy, where a conceptual word can become an embodied one. That kind of teaching is rare.
And “You are my teacher.” — “I’m honored.” Then he moves on. Somehow that little exchange says a lot about the man you describe.
I feel lucky to be learning from you too, Didi. ❤️
We learn from one another, Choti Bhai!
And yes, I am so honored to be his student. Forehead-on-the-ground honored.
Didi, now I understand your “forehead-on-the-ground honored” even better. ❤️ In India, we have the word pranam for something close to this—not just respect, but deep gratitude and reverence. We do it before our gods, and we also offer it to teachers and elders when the respect comes from a much deeper place.
So yes, I understand what you mean about Peter. It is more than being honoured to be his student. It is gratitude for having received something precious from a teacher.
And I can feel why you treasure those four years so deeply, Didi. ❤️
pranam, yes. I needed that word--thank you, Choti Bhai.
Didi, absolutely not too much information. ❤️ I’m glad you told me. And I’m especially glad that your sense of humour is still fully operational—that may be one of the best pieces of equipment you have right now. 😄
And Star sounds like a very dependable companion. I hope the day comes when you can finally fold her up, put her away, and say, “Thank you, Star. We’re done here.”
About the title—you may be right. My “now I understand the title even better” probably explains more than the poem needs to. Perhaps the grace is stronger when the reader is allowed to arrive at it alone. Your mentor may be onto something. ❤️
Peter was happy with the poem in this form, and said he felt the ending earned the title. This man is so amazing: both a life-long poet, and a Zen master (although he would never call himself so). We've been working together for four years, weekly looking at 7 poems. Now, entering the fifth year, we meet every other week--my request, for financial reasons. I met him when I went to graduate school in fiction and memoir 20 years ago--he was in the poetry track, so I only had one (amazing) class with him. I refound him on Facebook, told him that poetry had taken over my life, and would he consider working with me? He remembered me, and the rest is now history. We're the same age. He has suffered three kinds of cancer, so each meeting is a blessed gift, and I record each Zoom meeting so if/when I come to lose him, I can go back, rewatch, and relearn new things. He never changes my words, but often suggests cuts (too much explaining, or "too noisy" he'll say about punctuation), and he has helped me become more grounded in embodied words, rather than conceptual ones. Occasionally he'll suggest a different title. Only four times in the over 1500 poems that we have looked at together, has he said, "This poem doesn't work, and this is why."
He's a deep, deep blessing, and I have told him, "You are my teacher." His response, "I'm honored." And then he moves on.
your Didi, Amrita
Didi, that “your call is important to us” inside the yew maze made me laugh. 😂 And then the sudden “Hello, I’d like to schedule, but first, how is your day?” Perfectly you. ❤️
Oh Choti Bhai, you "got" the poem! That just delights me. It's an attempt at using the metaphor of the maze--I'm not strong in my use of metaphor, and trying to learn more.
Do you think it is enough, the end of the poem, to earn "Grace" in the title?
I'm sorry that I haven't yet responded to some of your comments--I read them all, and they warm me at a time of feral physical pain. I saw the doctor yesterday, so we're working on it. It's all in my left leg--referred pain from my low back--a powerful hot ache down my thigh into my knee (and there is nothing wrong with my knee--never had any trouble with them, thank heavens.) Luckily, I can get comfortable when I sit--it's walking that is agonizing. On the pain scale of 1-10 with 10 being what I call "throw-up pain"--only had that once on a trip to Scotland which we had to cut short 8 years ago--this has been between 7-9. The doctor and I are already considering inventions that do not involve drugs. Of course it all takes time. All to say, I always read your posts and comments with delight--they lift me up!
Your Didi, Amrita
Didi, yes—I think the ending earns “Grace,” precisely because you don't explain it.
After all those walls, the repeated hold message, the tightening maze, suddenly there is a human voice—and instead of simply asking for an appointment, you ask, “how is your day?” That small turn changes the whole poem for me. Grace arrives as an ordinary human exchange, not as a grand revelation.
And now I understand the title even better. ❤️
I’m very sorry you’re going through such fierce pain. I hope the doctor and you find one of those inventions soon. Until then, please know that your poems are reaching people, including this Choti Bhai, even when the walking is agonizing.
Your maze made me laugh, but that last question stayed with me.
Oh, good. And yet your sentence "And now I understand the title even better. ❤️" is exactly what concerns me. But maybe it's all right not to explain too much. My poetry mentor gently reminds me that almost every time we meet.
As to the pain, thank you for your concern. My sense of humor is fully intact, which is most important as I move through life, and even walking, the pain is somewhat intermittent, so not every movement on my feet is terrible. I'm switching from three-wheeled walker to cane to nothing throughout the day at home--but when I go out, Star, my three-wheeled rollator, always goes with me these days. I look forward to the day of dusting her off, folding her up, and putting her in closet for a few years. That's my vision, and I believe it will come to pass. Seven years ago, when I ruptured L4/5, I used a cane for around two years, and then one day realized I was stable and fine without it. My concern, at my age, is not moving every day. I am used to exercising on our elliptical (like trotting, but no impact because the feet stay on the petals without lifting them up) six days a week, and I haven't been on it for maybe six weeks now. Ground lost, for sure. When I'm able to start back up, instead of a heart-activating 20 minutes, I'll probably start with 5-7 minutes. Is this WAY too much information for you? If so, please just say so, and I'll scale it way back.