Category Archives: Poetry

Prayer

Posted on March 7, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

I had not heard of the poet, Clarissa Pinkola Estés, until a couple of days ago. I found her work and it is inspiring.

Expanding horizons is part of life. We cannot experience or know what is outside the horizons. Moving towards new horizons is an act of faith drawing people towards something in life. Life, in this sense, is a constant prayer, a listening event about what is important and seeking it out.

A Prayer
Refuse to fall down
If you cannot refuse to fall down,
refuse to stay down.
If you cannot refuse to stay down,
lift your heart toward heaven,
and like a hungry beggar,
ask that it be filled.
You may be pushed down.
You may be kept from rising.
But no one can keep you from lifting your heart
toward heaven
only you.
It is in the middle of misery
that so much becomes clear.
The one who says nothing good
came of this,
is not yet listening.

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I Want to Write Something So Simply

Posted on March 5, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

Mary Oliver has a magical way of writing. There is a simplicity in her writing that is moving and stirring. It always gently reminds us that we are not alone even when we are alone. We are part of a larger complex called humanity which has many common shared loves and pains. When we pause, even for a moment, we get a sense of this largesse.

I want to write something
so simply
about love
or about pain
that even
as you are reading
you feel it
and as you read
you keep feeling it
and though it be my story
it will be common,
though it be singular
it will be known to you
so that by the end
you will think—
no, you will realize—
that it was all the while
yourself arranging the words,
that it was all the time
words that you yourself,
out of your heart
had been saying.

17 Comments

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Men Say They Know Many Things

Posted on March 1, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

Henry David Thoreau wrote this poem at a time he could not have foreseen where we are with the thousands of appliances. He thought it was only a thousand appliances. There are times I get lost in them and forget they are separate from me and only tools that enable a particular job. At the same, I realize used wisely they advance life and the tasks involved.

The arts and sciences blend together, but I would take it a step further and suggest that the spiritual and the sciences are not separate from each other. When I take time and see life through a lens that allows me to understand what is at hand, I can make wiser decisions and feel that wind blow.

Men say they know many things;
But lo! they have taken wings, —
The arts and sciences,
And a thousand appliances;
The wind that blows
Is all that any body knows.

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The Peace of Wild Things

Posted on February 27, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

Wendell Berry is one of my favourite poets. I have many favourites. It is much easier to find a poem when you have many.

We spend time each summer wandering through nature. I think for Kathy and I it is a return to our roots. We grew up in rural settings and were outdoors a lot as a result. I think as we mature, getting older is so passe, we look for the roots that connect us to the universe. Nature is one those things.

Alfred North Whitehead suggested we only need to look at nature to find the patterns we need in life.

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 not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

16 Comments

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Snow

Posted on February 25, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

I chose this poem by Louis MacNeice for various reasons which is one of the poem’s underlying themes. The poem is about the fragmented ways we see the world. Humans are limited in that sense, but being mindful, present, and attending to our immediate world begins to offset this and present a more complete picture.

There is always a (w)hole in the hole, a sense of mystery, but it seems less challenging and we see the extraordinary we might otherwise miss. We are in the world not separated from it by windows and walls we construct.

Spokane received snow yesterday and it is easy to wish spring were here or summer. But, the snow added a backdrop and left provided a crisp world that has lasted into today.

This morning, I watched a squirrel tentatively climb snowy tree limbs. It moved slowly, but eventually reached its food. It was a blessing to be in the world and not outside.

The room was suddenly rich, and the great bay window was

Spawning snow and pink roses against it

Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:

World is suddener than we fancy it.

World is crazier and more of it than we think,

Incorrigibly plural, I peel and portion

A tangerine and spit the pips and feel

The drunkenness of things being various.

And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world

Is more spiteful and gay than an one supposes–

On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one’s hands–

There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

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Otherwise

Posted on February 22, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

There are always otherwises in life we can never know, because they have not happened and perhaps never will. In many ways, I am grateful for not having experienced the otherwises that might replace getting out of bed on two strong legs or eating my cereal, breakfast bar, and banana each morning. Or, drinking tea as part who I am.

Jane Kenyon wrote about things we take for granted because they are ingrained in who we are and we pay little attention to them. They are the ordinary things that in many ways are extraordinary.

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.

I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

33 Comments

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The Way it Is

Posted on February 21, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

I chose this poem by William Stafford after comments I shared with David at The Dad Poet about poets we enjoyed. Those are not short lists. David reminded me of William Stafford who writes in both a simple and complex way as well. He tells us with simplicity that there is a thread that connects us all and to all things.

More importantly, perhaps, it connects us to our self. We cannot describe it. We know it is there and by holding on life unfolds the way it should without us knowing exactly what that means. The connections to others provide safety and love that we know there are people, places, and spaces to turn towards during the more difficult moments.

There’s a thread that you follow. It goes among

things that change. But it doesn’t change.

People wonder about what you are pursuing.

You have to explain about this thread.

But it is hard for others to see.

While you hold it you can’t get lost.

Tragedies happen; people get hurt

or die; and you suffer and get old.

Nothing you can stop unfolding.

You don’t ever let go of the thread.

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Chuang Tzu And The Butterfly

Posted on February 18, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

Li Po wrote poems that asked questions. A common theme was drinking alcohol, but, when I read his poetry, I wonder if it was alcohol or his intoxication with the world he lived in? What is real and not real sometimes blurs boundaries and we ask questions about what is real and not real. Who is the leader and who is not appears in Li Po’s poetry.

Herman Hesse blurred the lines between Leo as a leader and Leo as a servant in Journey to the East. Who serves who? What does it mean to lead and serve? There is a Taoist quality in those questions.

Chuang Tzu in dream became a butterfly,
And the butterfly became Chuang Tzu at waking.
Which was the real—the butterfly or the man ?
Who can tell the end of the endless changes of things?
The water that flows into the depth of the distant sea
Returns anon to the shallows of a transparent stream.
The man, raising melons outside the green gate of the city,
Was once the Prince of the East Hill.
So must rank and riches vanish.
You know it, still you toil and toil,—what for?

9 Comments

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Be with those Who Help your Being

Posted on February 18, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

Rumi, the Sufi poet, wrote this poem several centuries ago, but it resonates today strongly. In the fast-paced world, it seems easier to calculate and do, rather than mediate, pray, and be. The latter takes time, patience, and caring. Once the calculation is done, quite often the business is done. When we enter into the space where we listen deeply to our self and others, there is no business to do. It is just being in relationship, first with the person who is me and with the other who has listened with care.

Be with those who help your being.
Don’t sit with indifferent people, whose breath
comes cold out of their mouths.
Not these visible forms, your work is deeper.

A chunk of dirt thrown in the air breaks to pieces.
If you don’t try to fly,
and so break yourself apart,
you will be broken open by death,
when it’s too late for all you could become.

Leaves get yellow. The tree puts out fresh roots
and makes them green.
Why are you so content with a love that turns you yellow?

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Praying

Posted on February 15, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

Mary Oliver writes in uncomplicated ways. It is not simple, but there are elements of simplicity linked to complexity. Her poem Praying is an example of this simplexity. Praying is an entreaty or asks for something and suggests creating space for responses. There is a simplicity in the way prayer unfolds. It happens anywhere, anytime, and with few words. The complex part is being quiet and discerning the answers. This requires quiet spaces that we have to craft out of the busyness of modern lives and days.

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

24 Comments

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