Alexandersmap

    Category: Poetry

    • 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.

    • Something Gritty and Tangible

      Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
      Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
      So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,
      Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
      — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Theologian’s Tale; Elizabeth

      We modern time travelers are forever busy, distracted and hustling on to the next. We ought to remember that many encounters we have will be our one and only exchange with a fellow time-traveler. Or it may be the last of many. The lesson? Savor the time together, however fleeting it may be. For we will never pass this way again.

      Since his untimely passing last week, I’ve been on a Glen Hansard binge. This often happens when an artist passes—we are reminded of their work, and seek to know more about what they’ve left behind that we may have missed. And with Glen Hansard, there is a whole catalog of brilliant, stunning music and film to choose from. Dare I say, he was the Van Morrison of Gen X.

      One might say the deck is stacked against us reaching even a small percentage of our potential, let alone our potential time with others. We must prioritize, and hope that we encounter the right ships in the night along our way, and at just the right time. This requires our receptiveness, active awareness and diligence, before the opportunity slips away forever.

      We can’t possibly experience everything, or know everyone. Inevitably something slips right through our grasp. Like sand, we can’t grab hold of it too tightly or too much squeezes through. But we can grab our share and hold on just tightly enough to feel we’ve got something gritty and tangible on our hands even as the rest flows past us in a whir. Sometimes, maybe that’s enough.

    • Fully Alive

      We slip in and out of rituals and routines. Like most people, I’d become dissatisfied with some of the things that used to wrap around me and call themselves a part of me. And I’ve grown equally dissatisfied for having let some good habits slip away. As with everything, it all depends on where we’re heading.

      The right routine, the right ritual, brings us closer to Arete (personal excellence). The wrong routines and rituals slide us sideways into the abyss. In this way, habits, routines and rituals are a very serious thing indeed.

      We have this one life to live, wherever it’s taking us. We tell ourselves that we don’t have time to waste on laziness and lack of focus. But is it laziness to focus on something other than a relentless drive to a goal? Consider a favorite poem:

      Oh do you have time
      to linger
      for just a little while
      out of your busy

      and very important day
      for the goldfinches
      that have gathered
      in a field of thistles

      for a musical battle,
      to see who can sing
      the highest note,
      or the lowest,

      or the most expressive of mirth,
      or the most tender?
      Their strong, blunt beaks
      drink the air

      as they strive
      melodiously
      not for your sake
      and not for mine

      and not for the sake of winning
      but for sheer delight and gratitude—
      believe us, they say,
      it is a serious thing

      just to be alive
      on this fresh morning
      in the broken world.
      I beg of you,

      do not walk by
      without pausing
      to attend to this
      rather ridiculous performance.

      It could mean something.
      It could mean everything.
      It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
      You must change your life.
      — Mary Oliver, Invitation

      When this day ends, as it inevitably will, what will we have done with it? Pursuit of a clear objective is a worthy goal, but so too is the bold act of simply being alive and aware of the delightful moment we find ourselves in. The trick, I think, is to follow the path but to take off the blinders. Not to succumb to distraction but rather to savor more of the flavor of the day. We are here, this is it, do we see all that is possible in this pregnant moment? Be delighted, be grateful, and above all else, be fully alive.

    • A Ritual of Now

      If you’ll forgive the brag, the garden is looking good this year. A bit of good luck was (and is always) involved, with rain happening while traveling to mitigate the impact of irregular watering in my absence, followed by a well-timed return to tend to things when the heat rose. Whether luck or accumulated experience planting things that are happy in the microclimate I place them in, the garden is thriving. The outcome of our lives is a combination of luck and the steady influence of consistent action. We can debate the ratio, or simply accept what is and what will be.

      If you’re reading this, you’re bucking the trend in the United States to read less. I find myself writing a little less to read a little more. We give our time to what we want in the moment. I’d like to finish more books this year, even if it’s at the expense of a few more blog posts. We tend to become what we measure. Life is too short to do everything we want to do in our time. I’d like to devoir a few more books each year than my present pace.

      I’ve always been a contrarian, a maverick, a rebel. If only in my own mind. The truth is I generally follow the rules and chafe at those who don’t. That explains my overall dismay at the state of things in the country and the exuberance of those who celebrate the downward spiral. But I’m not here to preach and complain. Like you, friend, I’m here to make strides forward.

      I walk toward
      the kitchen
      door as if walking
      toward the
      door of a recognized
      heaven

      and see the
      simplicity
      of shelves and
      the blue dishes
      and the
      vaporing
      steam rising
      from the kettle
      that called me in.

      Not just this
      aromatic cup
      from which to drink
      but the flavor
      of a life made whole
      and lovely
      through the
      imagination
      seeking its way.
      — David Whyte, At Home

      The long, hot days of July are upon us. We ought to dance with each day while it remains our partner. Soon it will be but a summer fling with time gone by. We are here, now, living as we do. In the quest to become what’s next, we shouldn’t lose sight of what is. The way from here is worth contemplating, but never lose sight of the ritual of now. To celebrate and savor all of this is our bold act of presence. So be bold, and savor this day.

    • Love For the World

      “Imagine that you’re unwell and in a foul mood, and they’re taking you through some lovely countryside. The landscape is beautiful but you’re not in the mood to see anything. A few days later you pass the same place and you say, “Good heavens, where was I that I didn’t notice all of this?” Everything becomes beautiful when you change.” — Anthony De Mello, Awareness

      The world, such that it is, can be hard to take some days. As a glass half full operator, I work hard to skate my lane, leaving the pessimism and despair-at-everything to others. Life is short, after all, we must make of it what we may in our time. Still, it’s hard not to take note of the setbacks.

      Illegitimi non carborundum: Don’t let the bastards grind you down.

      Those bastards are on both sides of the political spectrum, dealing in despair and outrage and self-pity. They’re our worst enemies but sometimes also the people we love and trust the most, unloading their burden on us. But we don’t have to wear that fecal matter on our shoulders; we may choose to move ourselves away from the matter pilers altogether.

      I don’t say
      it’s easy, but
      what else will do
      if the love one claims to have for the world
      be true?
      — Mary Oliver, Lines Written in the Days of Growing Darkness

      It’s not easy to forgo outrage in an outrageous time, but it’s essential life force management for the aspiration of a beautiful soul. We don’t have to wear rose-colored glasses as we move through the world. Nor do we have to see it through a filter of pessimism, anger or misery. Simply see and be, with a bias towards beauty. When we add enough light the darkness retreats. Now how lovely is that?