I contemplated skipping the poetry today… because, I completely forgot about it. But I pulled out the poetry book I am reading this year (although, I have not read a lick of poetry from it since you know who arrived!) and serendipitously, it fell open to the poem I am sharing today.
A few more moments spent searching on Pexels for a photo that will work and before I knew it, the post was ready to share!
The poem is so very fitting for my life right now and I hope you enjoy it as well.
Clearing
Martha Postlethwaite
Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is yours alone to sing
falls into your open cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to this world,
so worthy of rescue.
There is little about Ms. Postlethwaite on the interwebs and she has just a single book listed on Goodreads. I am ever so glad that this poem was included in Poetry of Presence II.
If you need more poetry in your life today, stop by and see who has gathered with Bonny today.
See you all back here on Monday with my word update!
It seems that my need for poetry this month has been directly tied to the state of the world around us… and so as the world gets uglier, I dive deeper into poetry. Poetry is most frequently a balm for me… a soothing salve that eases the bruises of the day. But sometimes poetry is more than a balm… it opens a door, invites me through, and shows me something rare and special.
The poem I selected today was one that I “stumbled” upon Sunday. It seems so very relevant today… I hope you find something rare and special inside this poem as well.
Halal Delicatessen
by Patrick Hicks
after the London bombings of July 7, 2005
The owner who made my falafel was gruff,
my smile and small talk lost in a desert.
But when his son, speaking a language I did not know,
came around the counter and tugged my jeans,
I have him my full attention.
He pointed at meat and salad,
saying the words that made them real.
I got down on one knee and pointed at trays,
which brought a feast of words to his lips.
He reached for my hand,
and tugged me into his kingdom.
Diced apples became tofah, bread was khobez,
he pointed at ice cream, helu, and his eyes bloomed.
If only it were this easy, always.
I thought of him as a grown man, oblivious
to this moment of hime that I will carry.
Later, we might pass each other on the street,
but today, I am the anchor of his universe.
His father wrapped my sandwich and, pausing,
passed two bottles of water into my hands.
“Hot today. You take these.”
His son looked on and pointed, ma’a,
he said, ma’a, of which we are all made.
This week I have not slept a lot! But! The reason is not insomnia… no instead I have watched every minute of the DNC each night. There were so many amazing speakers and last night Madam Vice President was the capstone of the event. (If you missed it, you can watch it here!)
However, one beautiful poetess really captured my attention. (Okay, Tim Walz and his family did too… don’t we all just adore Gus Walz?)
In case you missed the glorious Amanda Gorman… I am sharing her new poem, This Sacred Scene. You can find the text of it here… I have been reading it over and over. But hearing and watching her recite it is a real treat.
Have a great weekend everyone! See you all back here on Monday with my word update!
Poetry has been a balm these days… and I have been reading more poetry than I usually do. Yet on Monday when I realized that this week was poetry round up week…well it was a bit of a surprise! And despite the volumes of poetry I have been immersed in I spent a few moments in angst about what I should share!
But on Tuesday I stumbled into a poem by Barbara Crooker in Poetry of Presence II… and the angst faded… this is poem I need to share today! (Thank you, dear Barbara!)
So here is my selection… I hope you find something delightful in it!
Queens
by Barbara Crooker
We are all just walking each other home.
— Ram Dass
I hadn’t taken the subway in fifty years, not since
I was an undergraduate, and I was nervous.
Back then, it was hard to navigate, as graffiti and peace
signs covered up the maps. But a friend from Queens
wanted to meet for lunch, so I took a deep breath
and set out, clutching the email she’d sent with directions.
Of course, now the maps are electronic, not readily
broken, and easy to read. But her station was confusing,
a maze of underground passages, and she’d warned me
I’d have to walk some distance if I went up the wrong
stairs. So I stood there, trying to align her text, match
her words to the nearby stores. An elderly East Asian
woman asked, You lost? She snatched the papers
from my hand. Okay. Follow me. Wielding her cane
like a weapon, she pushed pedestrians out of the way,
held it up like a banner as we crossed against the light
She pointed out the “good” fruit stands, wagged her fingers
at the “bad” ones, ignored the storefronts with elaborate
gold jewelry. She was my Italian grandmother, in a different skin.
When we reached my destination, she gave me back my papers.
Turn here. Friend lives there. And when I turned to thank her,
she was gone. Above, in the stunted city trees: the wind through
With all the chaos of the world right now, it feels like poetry is the only calm of my day. I have been circling back to familiar, comforting words from much loved poets.
Today, I thought you might like the same comfort from familiar words so today I am sharing Wendell Berry’s The Peace of Wild Things.
The Peace of Wild Things
by Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
It’s the third Thursday of the month and that means it’s time to join Bonny in gathering up some poetry to share with you all!
Thanks to the RWU selection this month, I discovered a new-to-me poet, Safiya Sinclair. I know several of you struggled with the poem she shared in How to Say Babylon but maybe this poem of hers will speak to you. At least I hope it will speak to you as it did to me!
The Ragged and the Beautiful
by Safiya Sinclair
Doubt is a storming bull, crashing through
the blue-wide windows of myself. Here in the heart
of my heart where it never stops raining,
I am an outsider looking in. But in the garden
of my good days, no body is wrong. Here every
flower grows ragged and sideways and always
beautiful. We bloom with the outcasts,
our soon-to-be sunlit, we dreamers. We are strange
and unbelonging. Yes. We are just enough
of ourselves to catch the wind in our feathers,
and fly so perfectly away.
