The Summer Day by Mary Oliver is by far my favorite poem.

I love this poem because it makes me confront my own humanity. Why do I do what I do? And what am I going to do with the rest of my life, my wild and precious life? I’ve had many chapters in my life and I am sure that there are many more to come. Every time that I start the newest chapter, I say a little prayer and remember the iconic line at the end of the poem:

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?”

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Charles Simic always turns the familiar upside down; the poem is a coin flipped in mid-air, spinning over and over itself until you are no longer sure what is heads or tails. I return again and again to this poem when poetry becomes too serious; magic can live in the lines. So much of a story can be held in a handful of images.

Untitled by Charles Simic

The first time I heard Little Gidding was in a secret literary society, a group who met under the cover of night back in college. Just like it sounds, the group was very Dead Poet’s Society, and this particular night was my first time to timidly grace the doors of the unknown literary fervor. As a Robin Williams figure enthusiastically recited and explicated the poem, I was spellbound, letting the words wash over me for the rest of the night.  A few years later I actually visited Little Gidding, an old religious community in England that inspired Eliot’s poem. For years, I’ve found great comfort in Eliot’s questions, his complex desire for simplicity, and his hope that all shall be well. Plus, the poem is breathtakingly beautiful. In the text, Eliot shows the goodness of sacrifice and necessity of suffering to unifying a fractured self and broken society.  What he says about love, time, memory, and suffering resonates with me and at the same time is beyond me. I can read and study it for days and still not completely grasp all the allusions and plumb the depths of its significance. And so it continually draws me back to ruminate on its queries and feed on its hope.

Little Gidding  by T.S. Eliot, section V

What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from. And every phrase
And sentence that is right (where every word is at home,
Taking its place to support the others,
The word neither diffident nor ostentatious,
An easy commerce of the old and the new,
The common word exact without vulgarity,
The formal word precise but not pedantic,
The complete consort dancing together)
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,
Every poem an epitaph. And any action
Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea’s throat
Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them.
The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration. A people without history
Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern
Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails
On a winter’s afternoon, in a secluded chapel
History is now and England.

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this Calling

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree

Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always–
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flames are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

You can read the full poem here.

Bonus: You should check out Makoto Fujimura’s artistic representation of the Four Quartets found here– http://www.makotofujimura.com/works/four-quartets/

I am going to confess something to y’all. I do not read poetry. I just don’t get it. When a customer comes in looking for poetry, I am crossing my fingers that they ask for a poet that I know about, especially if Adie is not working. I am always passing a poetry customer over to Adie (our resident poet) because she will be able to help them so much more than I could ever think about.

Hannah sent an email out asking us to write a poetry blog to celebrate April being National Poetry Month. I immediately broke out in a sweat. I was discussing my dilemma with Jamie saying that really the only poetry I have ever loved was some I had read as a child. He urged me to write about it.

I loved Shel Silverstein when I was young. I had poems memorized and would recite them when I thought the time was right. So today I went in OZ and picked up a copies of Where the Sidewalk Ends and A Light in the Attic and found some poems to share with you.

HUG O’ WAR

I will not play at tug o’ war.
I’d rather play at hug o’ war,
Were everyone hugs
Instead of tugs,
Where everyone giggles
And rolls on the rug,
Where everyone kisses,
And everyone grins,
And everyone cuddles,
And everyone wins.

 

LISTEN TO THE MUSTN’TS

Listen to the MUSTN’TS, child,
Listen to the DON’TS
Listen to the SHOULDN’TS
The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON’TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me —
Anything can happen, child,
ANYTHING can be.

 

NO DIFFERENCE

Small as a peanut,
Big as a giant,
We’re all the same size
When we turn off the light.

Rich as a sultan,
Poor as a mite,
We’re all worth the same
When we turn off the light.

Red, black or orange,
Yellow or white,
We all look the same
When we turn off the light.

So maybe the way
To make everything right
Is for God to just reach out
And turn off the light!

 

CHANNELS

Channel 1’s no fun.
Channel 2’s just news.
Channel 3’s hard to see.
Channel 4 is just a bore.
Channel 5 is all jive.
Channel 6 needs to be fixed.
Channel 7 and Channel 8–
Just old movies, not so great.
Channel 9’s a waste of time.
Channel 10 is off, my child.
Wouldn’t you like to talk awhile?

 

SENSES

A Mouth was talking to a Nose and an Eye.
A passing listening Ear
Said “Pardon me, but you spoke so loud,
I couldn’t help but overhear.”
But the Mouth just closed and the Nose turned up
And the Eye just looked away,
And the Ear with nothing more to hear
Went sadly on its way.

 

I just felt the time was right.