Sparklet # 1
A dear mentor of mine gave me this poem by Mary Oliver when I was going through a rough patch. I keep it on my fridge and read it every time I want to remind myself to reconnect with my body and inner sparkly self.
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
What about lovelies? Do you have a favourite poet or poetry collection? Do you have go to poem that you read over and over?
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Comments
My favorite poet is Pablo Neruda, and his collection ‘Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.’ If you haven’t seen the movie ‘Il Postino’ (The Postman), then you should definitely find it – it’s the perfect introduction to Neruda’s poetry if you aren’t already familiar with it.
Posted by: Kiki | February 4th, 2010 15:48
@Kiki Thank you so much for recommending Pablo Neruda. I picked up The Postman at the my local indie rental place and I am so intrigued now.
Posted by: Ellecubed | February 6th, 2010 02:04
um, let’s talk, this IS my favorite poem. it is my soul connecting prose, my life is kind of taking off at the moment, and it was the perfect reminder for me. i love it. thanks. thanks. thanks! xo
Posted by: stephanie alaine | February 6th, 2010 13:16
oh & IL POSTINO is amazing, i’m so with kiki!
Posted by: stephanie alaine | February 6th, 2010 13:17
i love this poem – very moving. hope you are having a wonderful weekend. hugs!!
Posted by: melita | February 6th, 2010 13:27
Meditation By The Stove
by Linda Pastan
I have banked the fires of my body
into a small but steady blaze
here in the kitchen
where the dough has a life of its own,
breathing under its damp cloth
like a sleeping child;
where the real child plays under the table,
pretending the tablecloth is a tent,
practicing departures; where a dim
brown bird dazzled by light
has flown into the windowpane
and lies stunned on the pavement–
it was never simple, even for birds,
this business of nests.
The innocent eye sees nothing, Auden says,
repeating what the snake told Eve,
what Eve told Adam, tired of gardens,
wanting the fully lived life.
But passion happens like an accident
I could let the dough spill over the rim
of the bowl, neglecting to punch it down,
neglecting the child who waits under the table,
the mild tears already smudging her eyes.
We grow in such haphazard ways.
Today I feel wiser than the bird.
I know the window shuts me in,
that when I open it
the garden smells will make me restless.
And I have banked the fires of my body
into a small domestic flame for others
to warm their hands on for a while.
Posted by: kathy | March 1st, 2010 13:01