On Vacation

Thinking optimistically, I took a whole stack of poetry books on a recent vacation.  Some of it got read.  But what really happened is that I started writing again—and liking some of what I had written.  None of this would have happened without the change of scenery, the disruption of routine.  This got me thinking about the possibilities that become open to the wandering mind (recalling Glück’s “Telescope”: “There is a moment after you move your eye away / when you forget where you are / because you have been living, it seems, / somewhere else, in the silence of the night sky.”).

Do you have any favorite poems about the act of vacationing?  I would guess James Wright’s “Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota” would be a recognizable model.  One of my recent favorites is Rebecca Black’s “Vacation.”  I’d like to hear yours…

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