Maryland poet, Pamela Murray Winters, shares a poem that highlights the power of small moments, memory, and imagination. It’s a short poem, but one that we find ourselves re-reading, delighting in the meandering, in the finding, in the gentle act of creation.

Mulling over how the pandemic has affected her writing, Pamela told us, “For those of us who are naturally inclined toward making art, we’re made ever more aware of what a powerful elixir it is. I know artists who are suffering more right now because the horrors of our world are overwhelming. They can’t create, and it’s the theft of something important to who they are. For others of us, art-making is a coping move. I think it’s keeping me healthier: I have demons, and the demons don’t like it when I write something and am happy about it.”

Read more about the COVID Poetry & Art Project!

One Meander

by Pamela Murray Winters

Rocky wants to know whether hummingbirds

long for tabla music. At a restaurant

in Santa Rosa, I met a busboy

who played a sort of blues on his sitar,

a sort of masala of birdsong

or fingersong. Remember travel? My husband

speaks with animals. His hands make

fine music. I want to send him out

with honey, forked windfall branches,

the manly ribbons of morris dancers,

to stand out back and wait for all that hovers.

Saint Rob of Assisi. But we’re in half-glass

boxes now, our lives narrow wavelengths,

nothing warmer than a steady drum,

nothing cooler but bird feet and human skin.

© 2020 Pamela Murray Winters

[This poem was first published on MikeMaggio.Net as part of the original iteration of the COVID Poetry and Art Project. Read the original post here.]

Chatting with Pamela

Can you tell us about this poem, or piece of art and how you came to create it? How has the current crisis (or crises) influenced your art?

I studied for many years with the late Stanley Plumly, who often spoke of the “shapes in nature,” one of which was the meander. I’ve made use of that notion in a lot of poems; meandering is my natural shape. So when my friend, poet Rocky Jones, posted something on Facebook about the tabla, it got the bees in my head buzzing.

I’ve been extraordinarily creative and productive during the pandemic. By necessity, back in March, I began to dig out the mess in an unused room in our house that had been called “Pam’s office” when we moved in in 2018. I ended up with a space that suits me perfectly; when I go in there, I usually come out having written something. (Finishing what I start—there’s my problem.) 

Rocky’s remark reminded me of an Indian restaurant in California where I once spent a nice evening listening to the waiter’s Indian versions of blues standards on the sound system. The memory is preserved more like an anecdote than as anything living. That’s how we’re living a lot of our lives now, right, dwelling amid static anecdotes, however beautiful? So I just meandered along, writing about my gentle husband (we’ve been holed up here with two cats and a bird since March) and morris dancers (an old fascination of mine), and so on. I generally trust my associative leaps, though that doesn’t mean I don’t look back later and go “Where did that come from?"

What role do you think the arts play in times of turmoil and uncertainty? 

For those of us who are naturally inclined toward making art, we’re made ever more aware of what a powerful elixir it is. I know artists who are suffering more right now because the horrors of our world are overwhelming. They can’t create, and it’s the theft of something important to who they are. For others of us, art-making is a coping move. I think it’s keeping me healthier: I have demons, and the demons don’t like it when I write something and am happy about it. 

I’m not naturally inclined toward overt activism and political criticism and other world-changing moves in my poems. Maybe it’s timidity on my part; I don’t know. More power to those whose art moves us now.

What are you reading/watching/listening to these days?

God help me, I’m hooked on British game and panel shows. Taskmaster is a favorite. It involves creative players and lateral thinking, and it’s lots of fun. I guess I’m leaning toward escapism in my consumption. Loud rock—like Jack White on SNL back in October? Stunning.

I read Middle Distance, Stanley Plumly’s posthumous collection, the second I got hold of it. It has this quality of speaking from the beyond that’s very hard for a writer to capture, and part of that is because Stan was an honest thinker and writer.

Do you have a favorite local writer or artist (DC area)?

There are too many to mention—if I start giving names, I’ll leave someone out. But I should give a nod to the Greenbelt poetry open mic, which happens on the third Saturday each month. It’s 100% open mic, very inclusive and welcoming and varied. I think the aforementioned Rocky Jones is hosting it these days. He also hosts the Evil Grin Poetry Series in Annapolis, a gathering that kept me going when I was first getting back into poetry after 20-some years away from it. 

We do have our discrete clusters of poets in this area, and they don’t always mix as much as they should. Some people who are making the strongest moves toward poetry for everyone include Hiram Larew, Mike Maggio, Maryland poet laureate Grace Cavalieri, Prince George's County poet laureate Joy Alford, Sandra Beasley, and Ken Brown (aka Analysis).

About the Poet

Pamela Murray Winters is the author of The Unbeckonable Bird (FutureCycle Press, 2018). Pam’s poems have appeared in numerous publications. She was the recipient of a 2017 Maryland State Arts Council Individual Artist Award and a 2017 poetry award from the Northern Virginia Review. She has an MFA in poetry from Vermont College of Fine Arts. She lives in Maryland.