Alexandersmap

    Category: Poetry

    • Like Day-Blind Stars

      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 chidren’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.
      — Wendell Berry, The Peace of Wild Things

      Labor Day weekend. Where does the time go? Relentlessly into the past. Whatever we’ve done, wherever we’ve been, it’s done with. It all recedes into memory.

      And what do we make of the state of things? This hot mess of a world defies reason. Who ever said it was meant to be reasonable anyway? Nobody said the universe would bend itself to our every whim. Nobody said life was fair. If it were the poets and saints would live forever, instead of the worst of us. Amor fati, friend: accept what is and change what we may control. Let everything else sort itself out.

      Like day-blind stars, the beautiful will emerge in time. Sometimes where we least expect it. Sometimes from deep within ourselves. And e when a poet or singer or singular voice of change passes, reminding us of what they’ve left for the world.

    • The Impeded Stream (RIP Wendell)

      It may be that when we
      no longer know what to do
      we have come to our real work,
      and that when we no longer know
      which way to go
      we have come to our real journey.
      The mind that is not baffled
      is not employed.
      The impeded stream
      is the one that sings.
      — Wendell Berry, Our Real Work

      It’s been a rough year for poets and singers. It seems the beautiful souls slip away from this chaotic place where the ugliest thrive. Or is it that we just care more when the light goes out? And when a light goes out, who will carry the torch next? Why not us, friend?

      Which leads to the question, what will we do? For all the confusion and obstacles that life throughs at us, we work our way through it all, somehow. Persistence and belief in our direction are the keys to growth. A stream carves more deeply with persistence and time. So it is that we ought to keep the work flowing, despite all that is thrown at us along the way.

      Beauty doesn’t die, it simply finds another place to grow.

    • No One Exists Alone

      All I have is a voice
      To undo the folded lie,
      The romantic lie in the brain
      Of the sensual man-in-the-street
      And the lie of Authority
      Whose buildings grope the sky:
      There is no such thing as the State
      And no one exists alone;
      Hunger allows no choice
      To the citizen or the police;
      We must love one another or die.
      — W.H. Auden, September 1, 1939

      Today marks the anniversary of the start of World War II, when Germany invaded Poland and triggered a series of events that would turn the world upside down. We’re still living with the impact of that war, and all other decisions involving war and times of tenuous peace. Humanity will always be imperfect. Knowing this, we must always strive for inner strength and resiliency in our own journey through life.

      September means something different to each of us. Foliage and harvest for some of us, back to school, a shift in focus towards the elections. I have my own thoughts on September, but really, it’s just another month further along the path. What we make of it isn’t entirely up to us, but some important part surely is. Decide what to be and go be it.

      Deciding is an individual act in a world that lumps us all together into groups. Perpetuate the myths of us versus them, or embrace a more courageous uncertainty of trust and collaboration. Not naively leading the flock over the cliff, but instead finding common ground. in the end, we must love one another or die.

    • The Wild Air

      Live in the sunshine, swim the sea,
      Drink the wild air’s salubrity
      — Ralph Waldo Emerson, Merlin’s Song

      Having spent some time in a big city over the weekend, I admit to a renewed appreciation for the wild air of my quiet town. I love being in the city while I’m in it, but love leaving it all the more. Give me the relative quiet solitude of a less urban lifestyle.

      The world needs more wild, secluded places. Urban sprawl is slowly choking us into madness. Get outside, where we can breath, feel the sun on our skin, and bathe in the beauty of nature. That’s my kind of wild.

    • A Thrilling Something

      Do you still remember: falling stars,
      how they leapt slantwise through the sky
      like horses over suddenly held-out hurdles
      of our wishes—did we have so many?—
      for stars, innumerable, leapt everywhere;
      almost every gaze upward became
      wedded to the swift hazard of their play,
      and our heart felt like a single thing
      beneath that vast disintegration of their brilliance—
      and was whole, as if it would survive them!
      — Rainer Maria Rilke

      August is ending, and so are longer days. I don’t mind the darkness so much, for it opens up other opportunities. Have a look up and see all that we miss scurrying about in the daylight. Just this morning the brilliant kaleidoscope of sunrise greeted the pup and me as we ventured beyond the threshold. She had her nose to the ground, while my own was pointed at the skies. We survey all but the middle, the pup and I.

      The Perseids came and went this year, with the inevitable ill-timed overcast skies blocking the show at peak where I live. Still, I saw a few shooting stars this month—enough to keep me looking for more. A meteor is a shock to the senses as it streaks across the sky. Where a moment before there was vast sameness, for an instant there’s a thrilling something burst upon the scene, before it disappears as quickly as it came.

      We aren’t so different from shooting stars, are we? We think we will live forever until we realize we won’t. That realization in itself is a jolt to the vast sameness of living. Memento mori. Make this streak through the dark a little brighter, buckaroo! We ourselves are a thrilling something, if we seize the day. Hurry now: the ride goes quickly.

    • Rigidity Will Be the Death of Us

      Here is an amazement—once I was twenty years old and in
      every motion of my body there was a delicious ease,
      and in every motion of the green earth there was
      a hint of paradise,
      and now I am sixty years old, and it is the same.
      — Mary Oliver, Am I Not Among the Early Risers

      Back-to-back posts quoting Mary Oliver? There’s no arguing that she is a frequent guest in my writing and in my mind. In fact, I quote her so often that I make it a point to avoid quoting her. The blog isn’t a fan page for a specific poet, it’s a series of observations put into words one day to the next.

      Earlier this summer I simply stopped writing. I’d had a writing streak of a couple of thousand posts and ended it deliberately. Even as I began writing again the inclination to publish every day became less essential. When I have something to say I’ll say it. I don’t expect the world will grind to a halt. The only thing we are assured of is an ending one day. Memento mori.

      Once I was twenty. Where does the time go? The trick is a healthy body and sharp mind, kicking bad health down the curb as long as possible. But more, it’s walking through life with a healthy sense of curiosity and wonder. Life is fluid, and we ought to be too. Rigidity will be the death of us. Endings are simply beginnings for something else. Stay open, keep moving, and be curious.

    • Bigger

      “Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?”
      — Mary Oliver, Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches

      How many times have I used this quote? Not as much as “Decide what to be and go be it” but surely with some frequency. It’s one of Mary Oliver’s greatest hits, if one were to rank lines of poetry by the number of times quoted. But we don’t rank poetry lines in this blog; our mission here is learning to listen.

      Naturally, the quote doesn’t demand that we listen, but that we act when we’ve heard the call. Go forth and live bigger, for the hour grows late! What do we call a life of postponement? No life at all. We must live bigger! Be bold today. Tomorrow is far too late.

    • Discovered Deeper

      What is precious
      inside us does not
      care to be known
      by the mind
      in ways that diminish
      its presence.
      — David Whyte, The Winter of Listening

      I ought to write more, I tell myself. But what is this blog, written most every day, but writing? ‘tis not the same, I think. It is through the writing process that deeper discoveries are made.

      What I really mean is that I ought to carve out more time in my days for discovery. Writing does the trick, but so does a long walk amongst the whispering trees, so does listening to the right music, or seeing art that awes. We find something of ourselves when we venture beyond the self.

      We are constantly and forever finding out something about ourselves. Forever changing, evolving, becoming who we are to be. It’s the journey of our lifetime, revealed one day to the next. We ought to revel in the daily discovery, but we’re often too busy living to appreciate the incremental strides forward.

      When will we ever find the time , if not now?

    • Say the Word

      A word is dead
      When it is said,
      Some say.
      I say it just
      Begins to live
      That day.
      — Emily Dickinson

      Many years ago, when I was but a young college freshman, I would wander about in the library stacks, quietly looking at the book spines for hidden treasure. One of my best finds was Typee by Herman Melville. Years later, having purchased the book to reread after a couple of decades away from it, I loaned that book to a friend who loved it so much he named his sailboat after a character in the book. I will always remember Fayaway for leaping off the page to become a central character in the lives of a couple of friends.

      Most of what we write will die of neglect—ignored or forgotten by the masses. But now and then we find something magical hidden within a jumble of words and realize that our words haven’t died, they just haven’t been discovered yet. The trick is to create something worthy of discovery, that magic might ensue. Something that leaps off the page and becomes quite real and alive.

    • Life and Poetry

      All the things to which I give myself
      grow rich and spend me.
      — Rainer Maria Rilke, The Poet

      We are what we focus on, for we are spending our lives in the process. Wherever we go, whatever we do, we are doling out our grains of sand. The time will never return again. Awareness of the value of time is our curse and our saving grace. The only answer for tempus fugit is carpe diem.

      I read poetry to encounter verse like that above. I write to try to arrive at something approaching the feeling I get when I read it. Perhaps you read it the same way, or wonder what the fuss is about. We all bring our own lens to life and poetry. For me, Rilke demonstrates that we are timeless and fragile all at once.

      I’m delighted by the perfect crust on a sourdough. The aroma of fresh herbal bread made on a hot day when I had no business using the oven but eagerly pay the toll for the way the house smells as the bread bakes. Candles are nice, baking bread is nirvana. Should we not pursue with vigor all that makes us feel alive?

      Sourdough is a two-day event. One makes the dough today to bake tomorrow. That in itself is an act of faith that we’ll be around tomorrow to enjoy the bread, but life’s greatest rewards aren’t immediately gratified. One must earn tomorrow today.

      That which delights us offers a higher return on the minutes spent. It’s not nihilistic to seek a higher return on our time, it’s our duty to our one precious life to maximize our value. To derive meaning from minutes spent vigorously. The spend will happen on its own. ’tis the vigor we bring that makes all the difference, now and in that uncertain future awaiting us.