SUN SETS AGAIN
by Ricky Novaes de Oliveira
Sun sets again an orange low Leaving the horizon golden ocher rays textures revealed by the glow What if we just do nothing What if there’s nothing to do What if we talk about nothing What if there’s never nothing New year Dull fear Can’t say What changed A stranger-neighbor joins me we sit into the sun I want to tell him all about the same sun we see each day I want him to see with my eyes in his tongue in the light on my lashes I know why we try to capture sky though we always fail to do so Since clouds can be purple Since tree-lined horizons curve as a body does As soon as it sets we both leave book closed, lists still full without the sun As soon as we can’t see what’s out there we go back inside
Eleven days in.
How’s your 2024 been so far? I spent the first few days of the year relaxing and avoiding my obligations, and now I’m typing in a campus library with life back in session. Years and dates can be merely semantic, but I am trying to make this year better than the last.
“Sun Sets Again” is a poem about the quotidian aspects of life. The sun rises and sets. A year comes and goes. We live together and don’t really talk. We see beauty and don’t feel beautiful. It’s a pretty basic poem in terms of its form (free verse stanzas with indents for emphasis and extension) and its content (simple sentences, ordinary images, restraint). I’m interested in poetry’s ability to express an emotion that’s hard to describe, using words that only gesture, and stating simply what is so much more. This is a poem about watching the sun go down and then going on with life, but the meaning that’s made in a moment of lingering and wanting more.
When I’m “trying to write” or “want to say something,” I often jot down thoughts on my phone that end up looking like this poem. Sparse lines, simple words, unclear connections. With some editing—line breaks and indentations and swapping stanzas and a few more words—something comes from something.
What I mean to say is that my process is not too convoluted—anyone can write poetry. You just need to find the time, spend the time, and give it space. What would you say about a setting sun?
Settlingly, Ricky
You inspired me to write - and to see more winter sunsets!
The sun sets out there, somewhere, I can’t see.
Sharp details unwind, softly, I’m not done.
Winter hues unfurl, crimson, I don’t look.
I busy myself inside, unaware, it’s dark now.