This beautiful poem requires little explanation. Whatever I live through. I end up back at I.
We think these words were found in a Mennonite Church in Canada. This layout is by Janet Brewin – thanks to her “calligraphy” (my description) or her “neat handwriting” (her self-effacing description). They were words my mother treasured and which were used at her funeral.
Kay Ryan wrote this deeply spiritual and moving poem. It has a Zen, mystical quality. I am sure there is Something or Someone holding everything together. When something disrupts the ocean of universal consciousness and it goes a little off course or yaws, we feel only the slightest pull. A larger energy field absorbs the drops and warps. The adjustments occur in ways so we are not tested beyond our limits and find a path to walk.
Imagine a surface
so still and vast
that it could test
exactly what
it set in motion
when a single stone
is cast into its ocean.
Possessed of a calm
so far superior
to people’s, it alone
could be assessed
ideally irascible.
In such a case,
if ripples yawed
or circles wobbled
in their orbits
like spun plates
it would be the law
and not so personal
that what drops warps
what warps dissipates.
My day is reversed. I was working on dissertation things this morning, watched some basketball this afternoon, and Kathy and I went for lunch. A former student is down here for a basketball camp and I have watched him twice. It is always interesting to make connections with the students after a couple of years and see what has changed.
I loved the bear cartoon too much to pass up today. What we will do for friends?
Sources:
Bears Cartoon: Chuckle’s photo
“Anyone…”: Home Is Where The Heart Is photo
“If you are always trying to be normal you’ll never know how amazing you can be.” –Maya Angelou (Source: Let’s Be Positive Together)
If you’ve ever wondered how I met My Beloved, please check out my most recent post at “Clyde and Friends” titled “I Met My Wife While Playing Hide and Seek in the Dark” at http:/clydeandfriends.com
Russ
Parker Palmer wrote this poem with double-meaning in the title. I can live life as a process which ravages, furrows, and scars m face. Living in the past does this. Life is harrowing that way. Or, I leave the travails of yesterday as humis or humility as a foundation for a new crop. I can turn soil, make it richer, and create a greener world.
The poem reminded me of Gadamer‘s concept of fused horizons which is emerging as a central concept in my journey. We can build on the past by using it, good and bad, as a way of making the future a better place. Today’s view; this moment is the place we find our way from.
The plow has savaged this sweet field
Misshapen clods of earth kicked up
Rocks and twisted roots exposed to view
Last year’s growth demolished by the blade.
I have plowed my life this way
Turned over a whole history
Looking for the roots of what went wrong
Until my face is ravaged, furrowed, scarred.
Enough. This job is done.
Whatever’s been uprooted, let it be.
Seedbed for the growing that’s to come.
I plowed to unearth last year’s reasons—
The farmer plows to plant a greening season.
I get to listen to CKUA on the Internet and it allows me to feel like I am at home still with the eclectic music and shows. Sometimes, it does not have to be on and I am listening to my own music.
This reminded me of a picture that Kathy took as she drove down through Glacier National Park. It has the same quality of being framed against the blue sky. Enjoy.
I can hear your heart beaming
Your light shinning through
The bluest of skies, crowned
By a Lei of yellow and green
Enhancing the azure above.
This is a beautiful way to describe the role of poetry in a person’s life, or any writing for that matter
My writing is one-dimensional now. I wrote a lot this week. I spend 15-30 minutes everyday free-writing and do more formal writing for classes and dissertation. Nothing has popped up for new poetry, but I feel that will change over the next week or two. Slowly, I am finding that creative, meditative space that poetry occupies and speaks when I am quiet enough to hear.
I read earlier today and came across this poem by Archibald MacLeish. I am unfamiliar with the poet or poem, but the lines about poems being silent and wordless make sense. It is sometimes in the spaces between words that we find the greatest meaning. Here I find my soul. In those moments of silence, regardless their length I am present and attentive.
A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit;
Dumb
As old medallion to the thumb;
Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown–
A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs;
Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees–
Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory of the mind.
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.
A poem should be to:
Not true.
For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf;
For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea–
A poem should not mean;
But be.
This is a follow up to yesterday’s re-blog and some reading of articles today. Play makes us better humans. Enjoy.
Although, LaDona writes about music this could apply to life generally. It is sort of like having some mojo or a spring in your step. The other thing is if we walk with a little swing people might wonder what music we are listening to in our heads.
ivonprefontaine
Teacher as Transformer 