In April of 1989, seven months before she passed away, my mom wrote this.
You’ll probably call this weekend, but I wanted to ask you how your reading went. Talk about being on the spot!
To just say “I enjoyed your poetry” sounds rather insipid. I wish I were not your mother so I could write you a real letter about how I felt about what I read. Well, can’t do that, but I can explain it like this as a parent. As just an emotional response, which I happen to think is the only proper response to poetry, I want to keep my own images, What gave rise to the words is in your own brain and soul–as a parent, trying to get a glimpse of the person behind, underneath and through the visions one’s child appears to be, it was like: if you walk through the woods and you hear the following hoofbeats, but you can’t see the unicorn for the trees. And yet, you know he’s there. And one day you see a flash of white. And you know he’s there.
What is ever the proper response to reading anything?