Farewell, Mark Strand (1934-2014).
“Lines for Winter”
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself—
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon’s gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back
and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.
Posted in poetry | Tagged "Lines for Winter", "Moving to Keep Things Whole", Mark Strand, Mark Strand died, poem, poems, poet, poetry, poets, poets who died in 2014 | 3 Comments »
A beautiful and necessary reminder from W.S. Merwin.
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water thanking it
smiling by the windows looking out
in our directions
back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you
over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks we are saying thank you
in the faces of the officials and the rich
and of all who will never change
we go on saying thank you thank you
with the animals dying around us
our lost feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is
Posted in poetry | Tagged "Thanks" by W.S. Merwin, gratitude, gratitude poems, poem, poems about gratitude, poems about thanks, poems for thanksgiving, poetry, poets, thanks poems, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving poems, W.S. Merwin | Leave a Comment »
“I Dream a World”
I dream a world where man
No other man will scorn,
Where love will bless the earth
And peace its paths adorn.
I dream a world where all
Will know sweet freedom’s way,
Where greed no longer saps the soul
Nor avarice blights our day.
A world I dream where black or white,
Whatever race you be,
Will share the bounties of the earth
And every man is free,
Where wretchedness will hang its head
And joy, like a pearl,
Attends the needs of all mankind–
Of such I dream, my world!
Posted in poetry | Tagged dream, dreams, equality, Ferguson, freedom poems, Harlem Renaissance, Harlem Renaissance poems, Langston Hughes, peace, poem, poems, poems about dreams, poems and Ferguson, poems for freedom, poems for peace, poet, poetry, poetry and Ferguson, poets | Leave a Comment »
I could probably fill this entire blog with poems by the phenomenal Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish (1941-2008).
“I love autumn and the shade of meanings.”
I love autumn and the shade of meanings.
Delighted in autumn by a light obscurity,
transparency of handkerchiefs, like poetry just after
birth, dazzled in night-blaze or darkness.
It crawls, and finds no names for anything.
Shy rain, which moistens only distant things,
(In such autumns, marriage procession
and funeral intersect: the living
celebrate with the dead, and the dead
celebrate with the living.)
I delight to see a monarch stoop,
to recover the pearl of the crown from a fish in the lake.
In autumn I delight to see the commonness of colors,
no throne holds the humble gold in the leaves of humble trees
who are equal in the thirst for love.
I delight in the truce between armies,
awaiting the contest between two poets,
who love the season of autumn, yet differ
over the direction of its metaphors.
In autumn I delight in the complicity between
vision and expression.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged "Almond Blossoms and Beyond", autumn poems, fall poems, Mahmoud Darwish, Palestinian poetry, Palestinian poets, poem, poems, poems about autumn, poems about fall, poetry, poets | 1 Comment »
In memory of the great poet Galway Kinnell, who died yesterday at the age of 87.
Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.
Don’t go too early.
You’re tired. But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.
Posted in poetry | Tagged "Trust the Hours" by Galway Kinnell, "Wait" by Galway Kinnell, death of Galway Kinnell, Galway Kinnell, Galway Kinnell death, poem, poems, poetry, poets | 4 Comments »
“Poem for my Father’s Ghost”
Now is my father
A traveler, like all the bold men
He talked of, endlessly
And with boundless admiration,
Over the supper table,
Or gazing up from his white pillow –
Book on his lap always, until
Even that grew too heavy to hold.
Now is my father free of all binding fevers
Now is my father
Travelling where there is no road
Finally, he could not lift a hand
To cover his eyes.
Now he climbs to the eye of the river,
He strides through the Dakotas,
He disappears into the mountains, And though he looks
Cold and hungry as any man
At the end of a questing season,
He is one of them now:
He cannot be stopped.
Now is my father
Walking the wind,
Sniffing the deep Pacific
That begins at the end of the world.
Vanished from us utterly,
Now is my father circling the deepest forest –
Then turning in to the last red campfire burning
In the final hills,
Where chieftains, warriors and heroes
Rise and make him welcome,
Recognizing, under the shambles of his body,
A brother who has walked his thousand miles.
Posted in poetry | Tagged death poems, elegy, funeral poems, Mary Oliver, poem, poems, poems about death, poems about fathers, poems about fathers death, poems for funerals, poetry | 1 Comment »
Happy October, dear readers. May you feel younger than in all the months of spring.
“The Love of October” by W.S. Merwin (1927-)
A child looking at ruins grows younger
and wants to wake to a new name
I have been younger in October
than in all the months of spring
… walnut and may leaves the color
of shoulders at the end of summer
a month that has been to the mountain
and become light there
the long grass lies pointing uphill
even in death for a reason
that none of us knows
and the wren laughs in the early shade now
come again shining glance in your good time
naked air late morning
my love is for lightness
of touch foot feather
the day is yet one more yellow leaf
and without turning I kiss the light
by an old well on the last of the month
gathering wild rose hips
in the sun.
Posted in poetry | Tagged "The Love of October", autumn poems, fall poems, October poems, poem, poems, poems about autumn, poems about fall, poems about October, poems for autumn, poems for fall, poetry, W.S. Merwin | Leave a Comment »