More poetry - Melancholy and a Suitor
I seem to be on a poetry kick; I've found myself choosing to read poetry over anything else in the last few days, which is slightly unusual for me - I tend to choose to read particular poems by particular authors, but I rarely feel like simply reading poetry more generally.
It's awesome.
Mary Oliver is definitely a most excellent poet; I have been savoring her book, on the metro, before bed, in small moments of unfilled time. I wish I could share the whole book (it is truly excellent) but I will post only a few bits.
---
Doesn't Every Poet Write a Poem about Unrequited Love?
by Mary Oliver
The flowers
I wanted to bring to you,
wild and wet
from the pale dunes
and still smelling
of the summer night,
and still holding a moment or two
of the night cricket's
humble prayer,
would have been
so handsome
in your hands--
so happy--I dare to say it--
in your hands--
yet your smile
would have been nowhere
and maybe you would have tossed them
onto the ground,
or maybe, for tenderness,
you would have taken them
into your house
and given them water
and put them in a dark corner
out of reach.
In matters of love
of this kind
there are things we long to do
but must not do.
I would not want to see
your smile diminished.
And the flowers, anyway,
are happy just where they are,
on the pale dunes,
above the cricket's humble nest,
under the blue sky
that loves us all.
---
That particular poem by Mary Oliver is followed (of course?) by a poem that begins...
Letter to _________.
by Mary Oliver
You have broken my heart.
Just as well. Now
I am learning to rise
above all that, learning
the thin life, waking up
simply to praise
everything in this world that is
strong and beautiful
The poem is another long one, so you only get the beginning, as a teaser. But I commend the whole poem - in fact, the whole collection - to you.
A prof with whom I was sharing my delight over discovering Mary Oliver suggested that I look into Jane Kenyon, a most excellent recommendation. I found a nice selection of her poems on poets.org, and am including one teaser and a favourite here.
First the teaser:
---
3 SUGGESTION FROM A FRIEND
You wouldn't be so depressed
if you really believed in God.
---
You should really go read the whole poem, Having It Out With Melancholy. I'm not including it here simply because it's long. But really - go read it. Especially if you are or have been depressed or know someone who has. I can wait. :)
In contrast, or perhaps as a segue, there's this one:
---
The Suitor
by Jane Kenyon
We lie back to back. Curtains
lift and fall,
like the chest of someone sleeping.
Wind moves the leaves of the box elder;
they show their light undersides,
turning all at once
like a school of fish.
Suddenly I understand that I am happy.
For months this feeling
has been coming closer, stopping
for short visits, like a timid suitor.
---
I've also been diving into Jan Zwicky (she's marvelous!) and rediscovering Baudelaire and starting to explore Rilke. But perhaps that's enough poetry for one post. Soon I hope to post something that is more than a collection of things which give me joy, but I think there's value to this too.
It's awesome.
Mary Oliver is definitely a most excellent poet; I have been savoring her book, on the metro, before bed, in small moments of unfilled time. I wish I could share the whole book (it is truly excellent) but I will post only a few bits.
---
Doesn't Every Poet Write a Poem about Unrequited Love?
by Mary Oliver
The flowers
I wanted to bring to you,
wild and wet
from the pale dunes
and still smelling
of the summer night,
and still holding a moment or two
of the night cricket's
humble prayer,
would have been
so handsome
in your hands--
so happy--I dare to say it--
in your hands--
yet your smile
would have been nowhere
and maybe you would have tossed them
onto the ground,
or maybe, for tenderness,
you would have taken them
into your house
and given them water
and put them in a dark corner
out of reach.
In matters of love
of this kind
there are things we long to do
but must not do.
I would not want to see
your smile diminished.
And the flowers, anyway,
are happy just where they are,
on the pale dunes,
above the cricket's humble nest,
under the blue sky
that loves us all.
---
That particular poem by Mary Oliver is followed (of course?) by a poem that begins...
Letter to _________.
by Mary Oliver
You have broken my heart.
Just as well. Now
I am learning to rise
above all that, learning
the thin life, waking up
simply to praise
everything in this world that is
strong and beautiful
The poem is another long one, so you only get the beginning, as a teaser. But I commend the whole poem - in fact, the whole collection - to you.
A prof with whom I was sharing my delight over discovering Mary Oliver suggested that I look into Jane Kenyon, a most excellent recommendation. I found a nice selection of her poems on poets.org, and am including one teaser and a favourite here.
First the teaser:
---
3 SUGGESTION FROM A FRIEND
You wouldn't be so depressed
if you really believed in God.
---
You should really go read the whole poem, Having It Out With Melancholy. I'm not including it here simply because it's long. But really - go read it. Especially if you are or have been depressed or know someone who has. I can wait. :)
In contrast, or perhaps as a segue, there's this one:
---
The Suitor
by Jane Kenyon
We lie back to back. Curtains
lift and fall,
like the chest of someone sleeping.
Wind moves the leaves of the box elder;
they show their light undersides,
turning all at once
like a school of fish.
Suddenly I understand that I am happy.
For months this feeling
has been coming closer, stopping
for short visits, like a timid suitor.
---
I've also been diving into Jan Zwicky (she's marvelous!) and rediscovering Baudelaire and starting to explore Rilke. But perhaps that's enough poetry for one post. Soon I hope to post something that is more than a collection of things which give me joy, but I think there's value to this too.