Posted by on May 8, 2016 | 8 comments

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Mama sent this poem to papa at spring’s beginning and winter’s end and I found it recently and thought it might be nice to pass on to you, because I love poetry–mama reads it to me often and I go into a kind of beautiful-word-induced-trance that calms and caresses me with soft beauty.  Mama’s brother- in-law, who is a poet, says that reading a poem each morning, at breakfast or upon waking, can change the course of a day, so we, here, are starting to try that and see what changes happen to our days.

This is the poem mama chose for spring.

Spring Pools

These pools that, though in forests, still reflect

The total sky almost without defect,

And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,

Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,

And yet not out by any brook or river,

But up by roots to bring dark foliage on.

The trees that have it in their pent-up buds

To darken nature and be summer woods –

Let them think twice before they use their powers

To blot out and drink up and sweep away

These flowery waters and these watery flowers

From snow that melted only yesterday.

Robert Frost

And this one, which I love, says what a poem is:

Ars Poetica

 
A poem should be palpable and mute   
As a globed fruit,
Dumb
As old medallions 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 the mind—
A poem should be motionless in time   
As the moon climbs.
                         *               
A poem should be equal 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.
Archibald MacLeish
I hope this helps your day to a sweet start.
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Morning, after a poem…

*****

And condolences for Whitley’s family.

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