my home is where we make our meeting-place

Let’s kick¬†off National Poetry Month with this quiet yet powerful Muriel Rukeyser (1913-1980) poem that I’ve been reading over and over since I first encountered it last week.


The world is full of loss; bring, wind, my love,
        my home is where we make our meeting-place,
        and love whatever I shall touch and read
        within that face.

Lift, wind, my exile from my eyes;
        peace to look, life to listen and confess,
        freedom to find to find to find
        that nakedness.

let us nourish beginnings

I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to post the work of the formidable poet and social activist Muriel Rukeyser (1913-1980). It seems only right to start with one about beginnings…


“Elegy in Joy” [excerpt]

We tell beginnings: for the flesh and the answer,
or the look, the lake in the eye that knows,
for the despair that flows down in widest rivers,
cloud of home; and also the green tree of grace,
all in the leaf, in the love that gives us ourselves.

The word of nourishment passes through the women,
soldiers and orchards rooted in constellations,
white towers, eyes of children:
saying in time of war What shall we feed?
I cannot say the end.

Nourish beginnings, let us nourish beginnings.
Not all things are blest, but the
seeds of all things are blest.
The blessing is in the seed.

This moment, this seed, this wave of the sea, this look, this instant of love.
Years over wars and an imagining of peace. Or the expiation journey
toward peace which is many wishes flaming together,
fierce pure life, the many-living home.
Love that gives us ourselves, in the world known to all
new techniques for the healing of the wound,
and the unknown world. One life, or the faring stars.