Some poems
Hit and Miss #432
Hi there. Been a rough week, I think it’s fair to say. With much of that squarely at my feet.
There’ve been quite a number of links read this past week, but, instead, I’ll share some poems.
“Dust of Snow”, by Robert Frost
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock treeHas given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
“Make the Ordinary Come Alive”, by William Martin
Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is the way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples, and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself.
“Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower”, by Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by Joanna Macy)
Quiet friend who has come so far,
feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am.
(via Krista Tippet of On Being)
“Wild Geese”, by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
I wrote about that last poem almost seven years ago today, after a striking experience. Tonight, I walked in the same park, letting myself listen to the great stillness of snow, snow everywhere, snow on the ground and on a rapidly freezing river. It remains one of my favourite poems, one that I have quite literally taken to heart.
All the best for the week ahead.
Lucas