for the love of poetry
what if Whales write poems
dear sojourners,
the eclipse was masked by clouds and a bit of drizzle in the pacific nw on monday. where i live we were in the 23% range. nothing close to the excitement of 2017 where large portions of the region were in totality. i can’t say i noticed much difference as Moon did the shadow dance across Earth, but then with my unanticipated move upon me this friday, i’m a bit distracted.
the Dogwoods that were hesitant to open in mid-march after a yo-yo of hot-cold days have found their rhythm now our weather has fallen into typical Spring coolness, their coral-pink blooms turning upward to Sun. Apple and Pear trees that dot the park out back are in bloom, too. i was told when i first moved in we are welcome to harvest the fruit these old trees labor to produce. reminds me of my childhood, where i grew up on a small orchard, mud often turning the white crescent moons of my short nails brown as i dug around in the dirt. i’m so relieved that at least i can stay in this small complex and still look out at Dogwoods, Apples, Pears, and Oaks. and perhaps bake an Apple pie come october from the bounty to share with neighbors.
being distracted by moving leaves little time for deep dive reading and pondering. however, i did want to share that in the US it is national poetry month. the Academy of American Poets promote poetry not just in april but all year long. you can even subscribe to have a “poem-a-day” sent to your email.
as someone who has loved and written poetry since childhood, having only one poem dropped into my inbox a day isn’t enough. i need more poem infusions! so there’s Rattle and The Slowdown. each has its own style (i listen to The Slowdown in the Podcast first.) and then there are the Substack and Instagram feeds. yup, a bit of a poetry-o-phile over here.
but why poetry? emily dickinson is credited with saying “tell the truth, but tell it slant?” poetry uses plain language, simile, metaphor, and more (often within the same poem) to reflect what is happening in the world. it appeals to a broad range of folks (what i like may not be what you like and vice versa…and that’s okay!) it is composed in many forms. approached differently by different cultures. sometimes words are used. some say painting is a form of poetry. or photography. or dance. song writing. or…(name an art form.)
children seem to gravitate toward poetry because of word play. rhyme. rhythm. silly words. spacing on the page. sometimes used to teach (often heavy-handed.) too bad we think we outgrow playful poetry. nah, i still enjoy shel silverstein.
young kids, tweens and teens often write poetry to cope with the difficulties in their lives. i have a book of poems, Ten-Second Rain Showers: Poems by Young People. their poems range from trying to make sense of why they might like someone who bothers them to deep sadness at the death of a beloved cousin.
and the amazing poet, Naomi Shihab Nye, the children’s poet laureate, has a collection of poems, Everything Comes Next: New and Collected Poems, written with children, parents, educators…well anyone in mind really, to make poetry accessible to all. many of her poems have influenced my writing and perspective on being in the world. if you haven’t heard this poem, please take time to listen to her read “Gate A-4.”
poetry has been part of written language since we started writing (longer in the spoken word (and here is where i give a shout out to spoken word poets…check out Button Poetry)).
passed along this interesting article, Where Next for the World’s First Author? about Enheduana’s (a high priestess who lived in the 23rd century BCE in the city of UR) poems; poems written even before the epic poem, Gilgamesh. i offer this to say humans seem to have an inherent need to communicate though poetry.poetry opens our hearts to sorrow. to grief. to witness what is unbearable. to joy. to dark and light. to imagine the impossible. poetry allows us to step out of our bodies and immerse ourselves in Forest, Ocean, Desert, Moon, be the howl of Wolf or song of Whale. poems are written in times of war. in times of peace. in times of prosperity and want. there are poems for every season of life. and poems for death and beyond.poetry opens our hearts to sorrow. to grief. to witness what is unbearable. to joy. to dark and light. to imagine the impossible. poetry allows us to step out of our bodies and immerse ourselves in Forest, Ocean, Desert, Moon, be the howl of Wolf or song of Whale. poems are written in times of war. in times of peace. in times of prosperity and want. there are poems for every season of life. and poems for death and beyond.
when i worked as a hospice chaplain, poetry was one of my “tools.” in assessing a patient, a situation, a family’s needs, if a poem i carried with me (or could look up…thank you Google) seemed to “fit,” i would share it. i read “Let Evening Come” by Jane Kenyon at many bedsides of folks as their breaths slowed and death seemed imminent. though the word “death” is not used in the poem, the rhythm of a farm settling in for the night indicates an ending.
“Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.”
Jane Kenyon
i had more than one patient share meaningful poems with me. Mary Oliver’s “Wild Geese” for a woman who had struggled with addiction offered her hope and had lines that spoke to her of grace.
“You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.”
Mary Oliver
or early on i had a lovely 102 year old lady (and yes, she was a “lady,”) who had some cognitive issues. she shared about having to memorize poetry when she was young. there may have been recent events that slipped from her mind, but lingering 90 plus years later was William Wordsworth’s “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud”. She could recite every line. The one that lingers with me still is: “When all at once I saw a crowd,/ A host, of golden daffodils;” for daffodils were my mother’s and are my favorite flowers. that dear lady offered me a gift and that is now one of my favorite springtime poems, and one that i shared when i officiated her service. such a delight.
i continue to use poetry in my call whether it is coming alongside folks on their Grief journeys, in facilitating labyrinth walks, offering education in my areas of expertise, wherever my life touches others because poetry reaches beyond the typical back-and-forth of conversation. to share a poem and ask folks to write, draw, ponder a response to a line or image that touches them has deepened many experiences.
and poetry connects me to friends. i share poems freely (whether friends want them or not!) i have a dear soul sister (she is a poet) that when we gather, we each bring poems from our collections and read them to each other. share what they are stirring inside. again, this sharing deepens our relationship.
i am grateful for those who translate poetry from other languages into english. where would i be without the translated poems from tongues i cannot speak? ancient poems. new poems from regions in crisis. without poetry i am poorer. much poorer.
one day i wonder if we will be able to translate the language of Blue Whale, Chinook Salmon, first gurgle of Columbia’s headwaters, Nightingale, White Oak. will they be willing to share their poems with us, for i have no doubt they create poems in their language. does Moon? Sun? Venus? they inspire us to create poems.
if i had more time i could go on and on about how poetry is so so so relevant to our world (poets are among the first rounded up in totalitarian regimes, because even telling the “truth on the slant” gets you in trouble.) just last week
in her Substack wrote about Tupak Shakur, introducing me to his powerful and neccessary poetic voice in the social justice movement. but instead i would love to hear how you engage with poetry. how has it made a difference in your life? do you remember your first poems? what poems make a difference your life now? who are some of your favorite poets? do you write poetry? oh please tell me about your favorite poems and poets!because i don’t have enough to do this month, i invited myself to write a poem-a-day (with grace to miss days, because, busy, right!) my poetry “muse” has been on hiatus for a good long while and, well, sometimes ya just got to do the thing. it feels like meeting a lover again. not quite sure how to engage with each other, but it is good to be in each others company. hello poetry!
time to pack more boxes. i’ve left a couple of poetry books out because i need some in easy reach. and i’m longing to buy this new anthology: You Are Here: Poetry in the Natural World, edited by US Poet Laureate, Ada Limón once i’m settled because of its focus on Earth. Here is an interview with Ada Limón that explains how it came into being.
and here are just a few Substacks to check out if you are interested in poetry:
, , , ,i hope you are all taking tender care and finding a line or two from a poem to take into your day.
in gratitude,
anne
ps: here is my “poem-a-day” from april 8th. raw and unedited but it speaks to my honor in holding space as a volunteer for folks who have been diagnosed with an advanced serious illness:
unfinished story
you are brought together
by diagnoses as wild as first
mountain stream melt—
handed a platter of treatments
you would rather not taste
(nothing tastes
like delight
any more
when chemicals stream
though your body.)
everyone is scripting
your beginning:middle:end
setting the scenes, casting the
comic characters, sad sidekick
roadtrip buddy
improbable romantic interest.
you would rather slow climb by a
tickle of a stream until the collar
of the forest gives way to scrub grass
and scree and granite. there you lay
down on the expanse
and wait
for stars
knowing their stories have been
traveling this great distance just to listen to
your wishes
the first brush of autumn winds waiting to
carry
your unfinished story
wild and free
from fear
back to the stars
by anne richardson