Earth Falls into Heaven
Morgan Võ

When Earth falls into Heaven, then there’ll be peace. When the floors let go of memories, and Heaven reaches out to take them up, reaches around us and our own hands and our eyes. When we reach out to grasp the air and the clouds dissipate—when the jet streams are struck by our hands and pulled to our faces. Then there’ll be music as the wind struggles, the music of a desperate world against the heads of small people. When motions and forces objectify our bodies, aimlessly, guiltlessly, events without memory. When there is no weather report, and the birds have gone into separatism, then there’ll be stillness, an extension of stillness that is its own form of land—a renewed chance for peace. When Earth becomes a star and enters the world of Heaven, then there’ll be an emptiness that doesn’t rob time in order to keep itself calm. Then there’ll be another form in which to ferry peace.

from the book THE SELKIE / The Song Cave
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“Earth Falls into Heaven” began with a reading of the I Ching by my friend, artist and musician Taylor Shields. I experience this poem as an exploration of how the fundamental forces/concepts/territories of Heaven and Earth might be made to wobble when touched by human anxieties, motivations, histories.

Morgan Võ on "Earth Falls into Heaven"
Color photograph of some of the Forres Sandle Manor pupils who took part in the world's largest poetry class
"Pupils Set Guinness World Record in Largest Poetry Lesson"

"Pupils at an independent school in the New Forest have broken a Guinness World Record. Year six and Year seven pupils at Forres Sandle Manor took part in breaking the record for the world's largest ever poetry lesson, joining more than 43,000 pupils across the globe in contributing ideas to form a poem. Head of English Mrs Gee found the challenge when she was researching competitions for her pupils to take part in. In a special assembly, it was revealed that they had broken the record."

viaYAHOO
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Color cover image of Carol Maldaw's book, Go Figure
What Sparks Poetry: Carol Moldaw on Drafts

"In many ways, this draft marks the end of my blind groping and the beginning of the poem proper. Nothing I’d written up to that point had caught my poetic interest linguistically; my thoughts, preoccupations, and perceptions had been floating around without substance or anchor. In this draft though, images began to coalesce, and the lines develop a distinctive voice—the poem’s voice."
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