Two Poets Who Love the Earth

[image from google:  aarp.org]

The interesting prompt at dVerse is to take a poem you like from a published poet,
and to write your own poem, imitating its idea, format or meter. I chose Wild Geese by Mary Oliver, because I am fascinated by the meter and the feeling of the lines, which always puts me in some sort of a trance.

Here is Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

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,
and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile, the world goes on.
Meanwhile, the sun and the clear pebbles of 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.

Wow. So good, hey? My poem follows:

ALL YOU NEED TO BE

You do not have to be Superwoman

You do not have to leap tall buildings
with a single bound


You only have to get through
this one intricately challenging
and slightly preposterous day
with as much grace and humour as possible


Tell me how hard it is,
sometimes,
to just keep going
and I will hear you


Meanwhile the myriad galaxies spin
in their mystical and so mysterious orbits
across a midnight sky bejeweled with diamonds.


Meanwhile the generous sun comes up each morning
offering a brand new day for trying
Meanwhile all beings in the cosmos
arise and go about their single day of solitary living


Whoever, you are, whatever your state of being,
the world awaits your constant co-creation -
issues you a blank canvas that cries out for
all the vibrant colors of your day,
you the living paintbrush, to draw forth
all your fire and fortitude and passion
and your deep, sweet peacefulness
at resting in the life that is oh so sweetly
and familiarly
yours

On Poetry

[image from google]

A poem......
"wants to open itself,
like the door of a little temple,
so that you might step inside and be cooled
and refreshed,
and less yourself
than part of everything.

"Poetry is a life-cherishing force.
For poems are not words, after all,
but fires for the cold,
ropes let down to the lost,
something as necessary as bread
in the pockets of the hungry."

Mary Oliver

All You Need To Be

[my photo of the pond near the summit on the way to Tofino]

This was written as an exercise at writers' group. The suggestion was to take a published poem from your favorite poet, and use it as a guide, replacing the poet's words with your own, so the metre remains the same, yet creating a new poem. I chose Wild Geese by Mary Oliver. Oliver's poem was about geese and my poem, while the metre of the piece reads to the same rhythm, is about something else entirely. A new poem was created in the same metre as the original. A cool exercise and wound up being an interesting poem.

February 12, 2003

You do not have to be Superwoman
You do not have to leap tall buildings
with a single bound


You only have to get through
this one intricately challenging
and slightly preposterous day
with as much grace and humor as possible


Tell me how hard it is,
sometimes,
to just keep going
and I will hear you


Meanwhile the myriad galaxies spin
in their mystical and so mysterious orbits
across a midnight sky bejeweled with diamonds.
Meanwhile the generous sun comes up each morning
offering a brand new day for trying
Meanwhile all beings in the cosmos
arise and go about their single day of solitary living


Whoever, you are, whatever your state of being,
the world awaits your constant co-creation -
issues you a blank canvas that cries out for
all the vibrant colors of your day,
you the living paintbrush, to draw forth
all your fire and fortitude and passion
and your deep, sweet peacefulness
at resting in the life that is oh so sweetly
and familiarly
yours

A Poet on Poetry

[image from learnnc.org]

In speaking about writing a poem, Mary Oliver, said, "It wants to open itself, like the door of a little temple, so that you might step inside and be cooled and refreshed, and less yourself than part of everything.

"Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry."

Kindness as described by Mary Oliver

[image from edupic.net]

In the Storm

Some black ducks

were shrugged up

on the shore.

It was snowing

hard, from the east,

and the sea

was in disorder.

Then some sanderlings,

five inches long

with beaks like wire,

flew in,

snowflakes on their backs,

and settled

in a row

behind the ducks --

whose backs were also

covered with snow --

so close

they were all but touching,

they were all but under

the roof of the duck's tails,

so the wind, pretty much,

blew over them.

They stayed that way, motionless,

for maybe an hour,

then the sanderlings,

each a handful of feathers,

shifted, and were blown away

out over the water

which was still raging.

But, somehow,

they came back

and again the ducks,

like a feathered hedge,

let them

crouch there, and live.

If someone you didn't know

told you this,

as I am telling you this,

would you believe it?

Belief isn't always easy.

But this much I have learned --

if not enough else --

to live with my eyes open.

I know what everyone wants

is a miracle.

This wasn't a miracle.

Unless, of course, kindness --

as now and again

some rare person has suggested --

is a miracle.

As surely it is.

~ Mary Oliver ~