May 5th, 2008 Jo
A few years ago, I discovered the poet Sharon Olds. I read a poem called The Race, which is a description of her heart-stoppingly suspenseful dash through an airport to catch a flight (across two terminals in seven minutes) to get to her dying father’s bedside. It is an incredible piece of work and I have read it over and over again, each time more awed by her accomplishment. Now, for my birthday, my friend Martha gave me a whole book of her poetry. I read half of it on my flight just now from Boston to Chicago and each one is better than the last. Here’s an excerpt from one about her daughter which I think she mind-read from me: it says exactly what I feel:
There are creatures whose children float away
at birth, and those who throat-feed their young for
weeks and never see them again. My daughter
is free and she is in me - no my love
of her is in me, moving in my heart
changing chambers, like something poured
from hand to hand, to be weighed and then reweighed.
It takes my breath away.
Please do yourself a favor and get this woman’s poetry.
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March 23rd, 2008 Jo
Patience Taught By Nature
‘O dreary life,’ we cry, ‘O dreary life!’
And still the generations of the birds
Sing through our sighing, and the flocks and herds
Serenely live while we are keeping strife
With Heaven’s true purpose in us, as a knife
Against which we may struggle! Ocean girds
Unslackened the dry land, savannah-swards
Unweary sweep, hills watch unworn, and rife
Meek leaves drop yearly from the forest-trees
To show, above, the unwasted stars that pass
In their old glory: O thou God of old,
Grant me some smaller grace than comes to these! –
But so much patience as a blade of grass
Grows by, contented through the heat and cold.
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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February 17th, 2008 Jo
Here’s a wonderful poem my daughter Cathleen shared with me. I love it for many reasons, especially living here in India where guests arrive and depart with no reference whatever to anyone’s convenience but their own!
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
~ Rumi ~
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