Sometimes, when the sky is high and the earth is low, I think to myself, Things. Things about how right now I can't concentrate long enough to write anything worthwhile. Take this blog for instance. What on earth am I doing? The sky, like a high thing, stays where it is. Why do poets always talk about the sky and rain and feelings? I am here at the table typing this after watching a … [Read more...] about Swing and a Mister
Poems for Humans and Others
Puritanical Pleasures: Blind Johnny Milton
On His Blindness, by John Milton When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?" I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon … [Read more...] about Puritanical Pleasures: Blind Johnny Milton
“… who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief…”
Note: Listen to Berry read aloud his beautiful poem here. The Peace of the Wild Things by Wendell Berry When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do … [Read more...] about “… who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief…”
“…where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars…”
America For Me by Henry Van Dyke ’Tis fine to see the Old World, and travel up and down Among the famous places and cities of renown, To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of their kings — But now I think I’ve had enough of antiquated things. So it’s home again, and home again, America for me! My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be, In the land of youth and freedom beyond … [Read more...] about “…where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars…”
A Simple Rhyme for Going to the Work of Story-telling
I shall go and take a stab at it That is what I shall do We shall later see if this, my thrust Is found to have been true … [Read more...] about A Simple Rhyme for Going to the Work of Story-telling
“…God doth not need either man’s work or his own gifts…”
On His Blindness by John Milton When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide, 'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?' I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon … [Read more...] about “…God doth not need either man’s work or his own gifts…”
“…There are no unsacred places…”
How To Be a Poet (to remind myself) by Wendell Berry i Make a place to sit down. Sit down. Be quiet. You must depend upon affection, reading, knowledge, skill—more of each than you have—inspiration, work, growing older, patience, for patience joins time to eternity. Any readers who like your poems, doubt their judgment. ii Breathe with unconditional breath the unconditioned air. Shun electric … [Read more...] about “…There are no unsacred places…”
Cheers, for Eight Years
For My Gina If marriage is a prison Then I am happily jailed with you Who convict-like have robbed me Of the incomplete life I knew Now life has new meaning And while our new is getting old In time we find our love’s more rich That piles of gleaming gold And I would rather have you Than whatever else there is Than independent days without you And the loneliness I … [Read more...] about Cheers, for Eight Years
“…the pains you give…”
As the Ruin Falls by C.S. Lewis All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you. I never had a selfless thought since I was born. I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through: I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn. Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek, I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin: I talk of love --a scholar's parrot may talk Greek-- But, … [Read more...] about “…the pains you give…”
“…and looks the whole world in the face…”
The Village Blacksmith by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the … [Read more...] about “…and looks the whole world in the face…”
“…be not coy…”
To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time by Robert Herrick Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the … [Read more...] about “…be not coy…”
“…a fire was in my head…”
The Song of Wandering Angus by William Butler Yeats I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame, But … [Read more...] about “…a fire was in my head…”