B's Gift to Me

Sister B sent me this link today.  She said she heard it and thought of me :)  I'd never heard this poem by James Agee, but I loved it instantly.  Please enjoy B's gift to me...

Sure On This Shining Night
Sure on this shining night
Of star made shadows round,
Kindness must watch for me
This side the ground.
The late year lies down the north.
All is healed, all is health.
High summer holds the earth.
Hearts all whole.
Sure on this shining night I weep for wonder wand'ring far alone
Of shadows on the stars.
-- James Agee

Purple Poetry and Stones Under Rushing Water

Yesterday my Intro to Lit classes started studying poetry, and I (of course) made a very snazzy powerpoint to use for my introductory lecture.  I always have to be honest with my usually-terrified-of-poetry students and tell them that I never even LIKED poetry until I was in my early twenties.  I feel like this confession usually gets a good laugh, considering that it comes from their English professor.  The poems I was always asked to read were so old and difficult to relate to... and then, one day, I discovered this poem by Jenny Joseph:

---------------------------------------------
WHEN I AM AN OLD WOMAN I SHALL WEAR PURPLE
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
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Poetry, I explain to my students, can be awesome. The secret is finding poems whose writers express an emotion that you recognize.

At the end of the snazzy powerpoint, I like to play several contemporary songs that demonstrate the power of a strong image -- what a poet/songwriter can express by using figurative language instead of logical usage. 

One of my favorites is this beautiful acoustic version of "Stones Under Rushing Water" by Needtobreathe.  I think it demonstrates EXACTLY how an image (stones under rushing water) can represent a powerful emotion.

Hopefulness

I felt it shelter to speak to you.  ~Emily Dickinson


Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.  "Pooh!" he whispered.  "Yes, Piglet?"  "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw.  "I just wanted to be sure of you."  ~A.A. Milne

...because I know no other way than this

I discovered Pablo Neruda's 100 Love Sonnets many years ago, and my copy of them is dog-eared.  His highly sensual imagery is so incredibly beautiful and his love for his wife so visceral.  This is one of my favorites...I thought including it here would be a lovely way to begin the new year.

XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Inspired by a Friend's Epic Mountaintop Adventure...

Was reminded of this poem when a friend described his experience on a mountain in Ecuador.  His exact words were, "it's absolutely true that the eye never gets tired of seeing."   I loved that thought, and his words reminded me of the last line of this sonnet.  Hooray for google, the magical tool that helps me remember sonnets long forgotten :) 

Here is John Gillespie Magee's beautiful sonnet, "High Flight":

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, --and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of --Wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air...
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark or even eagle flew --
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

Known and Loved

The poem I posted yesterday has been one of my favorites for a long time.  Recently, though, I've had to make some difficult and heart-rending decisions, and I've found phrases of this poem echoing and re-echoing in my head.  In culture, I think it's expected that we view ourselves as unique, even as the demands of popular culture insist that we are connectedandsimilar to everyone else.

Most people want to feel known by others, and I think we desire even more to be loved by someone who (to use a cheesy Avatar reference) "sees" us.  I wonder if this is a cultural thing  -- but for many people I know, to be known deeply, seen authentically, and THEN loved seems to be the most sought-after way of doing relationship.

The speaker in this poem loves "the pilgrim soul" in his beloved; for me, the phrase has always conjured images of pioneers and ships and travel -- of people unafraid and courageous, even as they are different or set apart.  Although his beloved is "old and gray and full of sleep," the speaker is reminding her that she has alwaysalways held a spark of life for him.  To him, she is the Only.  Many have "loved her moments of glad grace / and loved her beauty with love false or true" but HE is the one who has seen her "pilgrim soul" and has "loved the sorrows of [her] changing face." 

Being loved authentically and sincerely and through time and life and sorrow -- who doesn't want that?  I could go into the beauty of Christ's love here, but I won't :)  Suffice it to say, I think part of the reason my soul has been feasting on this poem lately is because I am feeling, through these darker times, the love of Someone who knows me.  Sees me.  And loves me.  Pilgrim soul and all.

Blog Title by Yeats

When You are Old

When you are old and gray and full of sleep

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true;

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead,

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

-- William Butler Yeats