Potsherds & Poet-sherds

In the spirit of sidestepping perfectionism and iterating often and openly, today’s Rosslyn Redux installment, “Potsherds & Poet-sherds”, offers a voyeuristic glimpse into a current (and ongoing) experiment. It’s probably prematurely posted. Definitely awkward. Vulnerability inevitable. But it feels right to push this out. To share it in its raw imperfection. Hope you’ll humor me.

Regulars know that I’ve been exploring and experimenting with fragments, artifacts, and relics. Mostly these are physical objects. Found materials. Items that for one reason or another offer insight or contribute to Rosslyn’s story in some way.

Today let’s consider intangible fragments and artifacts. Relics of poetry past. Like potsherds — disinterred and sometimes reassembled or reimagined as part of a mosaic or the pendant on a necklace — “poet-sherds” resurface and invite recomposition. Or new composition. Poet-sherds might coalesce into a collage poem, a mosaic poem, a lyric essay, or possibly even a song.

If intangible artifacting and nonphysical mosaic-making feel uncomfortable and overreaching for you, no worries. I suspect the follow-up to this post might be a better fit. And until then, here are several material artifact posts to tide you over:

• “Essex Memento Medley“
• “Rhyming Relics“
• “Regattas & Ferries Ephemera“
• “Bowtie & Broken Memento“
• “Broken & Unbroken“

The images in today’s post are not technically potsherds (shards of old pottery or ceramics) because they are glass. But they were disinterred during one of many excavations that seventeen years rehabilitating Rosslyn have necessitated. Part of a glass jug, perhaps. Like many others, they’ve collected on stone walls around our deck. And like many others, they’ve been arranged and rearranged endlessly by us and by visitors. Something about these sorts of artifacts invite fidgeting and experimenting. Their fragmented endurance is a sort of irresistible puzzle inviting playful iteration.

Poet-sherds might likewise invite puzzling and playful rearrangement, except we tend to keep them in notebooks and hard drives where others are less likely to come across them, less likely to tinker and experiment. That is, unless we scribblers leave them lying around. Unless we invite curious collaborators to pick up the puzzle pieces to search for a fit. Maybe to collage together a new poem. Or a song…

This morning, waking at 5:00, breakfasting with Carley, dabbling with a few verses, I was interrupted with an invitation to share and collaborate. An experiment in co-creation. A capricious experiment. Perfect timing!

I pushed out a few poet-sherds, offered a conceptual recipe, and waited. My expectations were low. They were instantly surpassed. I was awed. An hour vanished as we volleyed back and forth. Carefree. Capricious. Each iteration stretching or simplifying, distorting or clarifying. The experiment is ongoing, but the excitement that I felt, that I feel. I resisted the urge to control the narrative. Teamwork takes a team. Humility offers an opportunity to unlearn and expand and shift. After all these fragments are benefitting from a fresh infusion of perspective and will. I think…

Here’s the result of this morning’s experiment. The words are no longer my own. They are ours. And they’re no longer (just) parts of poems. They’re lyrics. They’re a song.

Lakeside Rehab

[1st Verse]
In an old town by the lake, a handsome home stood tall
With crumbling walls and worn wooden floors
We took a leap of faith, we saw the hidden gem
A chance to reboot, to bring it back again
[Chorus]
With hammers and nails, we'll make an oasis
Paint the walls into tranquil spaces
With love and sweat, we'll build our dreams
A lakeside home beyond better than it seems
[2nd Verse]
We peel back the layers, reveal history's tale
Each creaky board has a story to unveil
Through all the dust and the mess, we heal its heart
A home to thrive, make memories, and restart

I won’t pretend these are the verses of a song I might have composed on my own. They aren’t. My inputs likely stand apparent to you, but the cobbling together, the mosaic, the music was the work of another. And the most magical collaging of all was conjuring the musical accompaniment. Again and again. Until it sounded like the song I wanted to hear. Stay tuned for the “full reveal”!