January 5, 2013: Blues

INTRO:

A well respected teacher and poet with an impressive academic and professional resume, including being only the fourth poet to read at a presidential inauguration ("Praise Song for the Day" - Obama 2008), Alexander often writes about the intersection of history and the present moment.

TODAY'S POEM:         Blues
WORDSMITH:             Elizabeth Alexander (1962 - Present)
SOURCE:                    Body of Life

Blues

I am lazy, the laziest
girl in the world. I sleep during
the day when I want to, 'til
my face is creased and swollen,
'til my lips are dry and hot. I
eat as I please: cookies and milk
after lunch, butter and sour cream
on my baked potato, foods that
slothful people eat, that turn
yellow and opaque beneath the skin.
Sometimes come dinnertime Sunday
I am still in my nightgown, the one
with the lace trim listing because
I have not mended it. Many days
I do not exercise, only
consider it, then rub my curdy
belly and lie down. Even
my poems are lazy. I use
syllabics instead of iambs,
prefer slant to the gong of full rhyme,
write briefly while others go
for pages. And yesterday,
for example, I did not work at all!
I got in my car and I drove
to factory outlet stores, purchased
stockings and panties and socks
with my father's money.

To think, in childhood I missed only
one day of school per year. I went
to ballet class four days a week
at four-forty-five and on
Saturdays, beginning always
with plie, ending with curtsy.
To think, I knew only industry,
the industry of my race
and of immigrants, the radio
tuned always to the station
that said, Line up your summer
job months in advance. Work hard
and do not shame your family,
who worked hard to give you what you have.
There is no sin but sloth. Burn
to a wick and keep moving.

I avoided sleep for years,
up at night replaying
evening news stories about
nearby jailbreaks, fat people
who ate fried chicken and woke up
dead. In sleep I am looking
for poems in the shape of open
V's of birds flying in formation,
or open arms saying, I forgive you, all.


QUERIES:

1.  Today, I too feel like "the laziest girl in the world."  Here I am waking up in the morning about the blog and I'm thinking of crawling back in bed, the comfort of my pillow, the pleasure of "letting my eyes rest just for a little bit longer."  Do you relate to Alexander in this way too?  Are you ever just "lazy"?  Do you ever just do what you want instead of what you think you should do?  Is there a time and place in our lives for being less than perfectly productive people?

2.  In what ways do you indulge this "lazy" or "non-productive" side of yourself?  How do you feel when you do these things?  Do you feel like you have the right to indulge?  That you've worked hard and are entitled to indulging? Do you feel guilty?  Do you feel like you're letting others down?  Letting yourself down?  What emotions do you have when you indulge your "wants" instead of your "shoulds"?

3.  Alexander recalls the way she used to be.  Near perfect school attendance, wholehearted dedication to ballet practice, and an obsession and drive to be "industrious."  Have there been times in your life when you've been this way?  Are you this way today?  If so, what drives you?  If not, what drives you from being "industrious"?

4.  In this poem, Alexander also mentions the environment and culture of her upbringing.  How there was pressure to succeed, to be a shining example of what her family and indeed her race could accomplish, to avoid shaming the family at all cost, and to give back to those who made your opportunities a reality.  In what ways does Alexander's story resemble your own?  Where you pressured to succeed?  To be the best?  Or was it so extreme that it was just merely expected of you, an unstated contract that must be fulfilled or else!  How in your live have you been motivated out of fear of disappointing others?  Yourself?

5.  In what ways, have you or still put added pressure on yourself to please others? Do you think of what "they" will say about you?  What "they" will think about you?  What "they" will hold back from you or what doors "they" will open for you? How much impact have "they" had on your life and on your decisions?  Do you even know who "they" are?  If so, name them.  If not, will you continue to let "them" influence your life?

6.  For years, Alexander claims to have avoided sleep and to have thought of the "others" out there in the world as stereotypes, something or someone she never wanted to become, someone she would work hard to prove she was not.  What are you trying to prove?  Who are you avoiding becoming?

7.  Now, the poet dreams in her sleep of forgiveness and of humanity working together for a greater purpose than one person can do alone.   In the state of sleep, where she has no control of her thoughts, she is open to the possibilities of another way of seeing the world and herself.  Are you open to this too?

January 4, 2013: I Know the Way You Can Get

INTRO:   

Today's wordsmith, commonly referred to as simply "Hafiz" (or Hafez), was born and later orphaned in what is modern day Iran.  During his lifetime, Hafiz's grew to become a one of the most beloved poets in the Islamic world and remains very much so today.   


TODAY'S POEM:         I Know the Way You Can Get
WORDSMITH:             Shams al-Din Muhammad Hafiz (1315-1389), original text Ancient Arabic
TRANSLATOR:            Daniel Ladinsky
SOURCE:                    I Heard God Laughing - Renderings of Hafiz

I Know the Way You Can Get

I know the way you can get
When you have not had a drink of Love:

Your face hardens,
Your sweet muscles cramp.
Children become concerned
About a strange look that appears in your eyes
Which even begins to worry your own mirror
And nose.

Squirrels and birds sense your sadness
And call an important conference in a tall tree.
They decide which secret code to chant
To help your mind and soul.

Even angels fear that brand of madness
That arrays itself against the world
And throws sharp stones and spears into
The innocent
And into one's self.

O I know the way you can get
If you have not been drinking Love:

You might rip apart
Every sentence your friends and teachers say,
Looking for hidden clauses.

You might weigh every word on a scale
Like a dead fish.

You might pull out a ruler to measure
From every angle in your darkness
The beautiful dimensions of a heart you once
Trusted.

I know the way you can get
If you have not had a drink from Love's
Hands.

That is why all the Great Ones speak of
The vital need
To keep remembering God,
So you will come to know and see Him
As being so Playful
And Wanting,
Just Wanting to help.

That is why Hafiz says:
Bring your cup near me.

For I am a Sweet Old Vagabond
With an Infinite Leaking Barrel
Of Light and Laughter and Truth
That the Beloved has tied to my back.

Dear one,
Indeed, please bring your heart near me.
For all I care about
Is quenching your thirst for freedom!

All a Sane man can ever care about
Is giving Love!


QUERIES:

1.  Hafiz begins his poem by stating, "I know the way you can get...."  Who in your life (e.g., parents, significant other, friends, coworkers, yourself) "knows the way you can get"?  If you asked them to describe "the way you get", what do you think they would say?  Do you know "the way you can get"? Are you aware of your own "way of getting" when you "you have not had a drink of Love"?

2.  In what ways does your attitude, actions, and thoughts differ when "you have not have a drink of love" compared to the times you can remember being quenched with Love?

3.  What does the phrase "drink of Love" mean to you?  What types of "love" do you search for?  What are the sources of "love" in your world today?  In what ways are you lacking the "love" that you thirst for?  How does this thirst for "love" impact your attitude, actions, and relationships with others and yourself?

4.  Hafiz suggest that when we "have not had a drink of Love", that our physical bodies and our spirit manifest our distress and pain in ways that others can perceive.  How do you manifest your distress in your body?  How do you manifest your distress in your spirit?

5.  When in this state of distress, how do you inflict your pain on others?  How do you inflict your pain on yourself?  In what ways do you do these things?  How do you feel when you do these things?

6.  How do others feel when you do hurtful things and are lost in "your darkness"?  Do you expect others to be endlessly forgiving and to give you a break when you are hurting so bad?  Do you in turn endless forgive others and give them a break when they inflict their pain on you and/or themselves?  Is there anyone that you still have not forgiven, and yet you expect them to forgive you?

6.  Hafiz suggest that we remember God (feel free to substitute God with the Divine/the Universe/the Spirit/Humanity/Energy, etc.) in order to avoid getting to such a point of distress and pain.  Do you agree with his advice?  If so, why.  If not, why?

7.  In what ways does your religious/spiritual/agnostic/atheistic worldview impact your perspective on pain and distress when "you have not had a drink of Love"?  Do you believe there are forces "out there", beyond ourselves that can help us in times of need? Do you believe there are forces within ourselves that can help us in times of need?

8.  Do you believe that others can help you when you are in a time of need?  Do you seek assistance from others when you are in pain and distress?  Are you open to receiving other's kindness, caring, and love?  Or do you shy away from it?  Do you deny your pain and distress?  Do you not want to burden others with your problems? In what ways have you been open to help?  In what ways have you been closed to help?  Why do you think you behave in this way?  Do you feel the need to change and be more open?

9.  MEDITATION FOR ACTION:  At this very moment in time, are you thirsty for love?  Is your heart quenched?  If so, how will you show gratitude today for this blessing?  If not, how will you, as Hafiz says, "bring your heart near me, for all I care about is quenching your thirst for freedom"?  In either case, what can you do today to find and "drink love"?  What steps could you take with others?  What steps could you take with yourself?

December 30, 2012: Cloudy Day

INTRO:

Abandoned by his parents and placed into an orphanage by his grandmother, Baca became a runaway at the age of 13.  In his uniquely American story, Baca learned the world was his for the taking, only when the world was taken away from him.  Convicted of drug charges in his early 20's, Baca spent his 5 year prison term reclaiming his life by learning to read and write poetry.


TODAY'S POEM:       Cloudy Day
WORDSMITH:           Jimmy Santiago Baca (1952 - Present)
SOURCE:                  Immigrants in Our Own Land

Cloudy Day


It is windy today. A wall of wind crashes against,
windows clunk against, iron frames
as wind swings past broken glass
and seethes, like a frightened cat
in empty spaces of the cellblock.

In the exercise yard
we sat huddled in our prison jackets,
on our haunches against the fence,
and the wind carried our words
over the fences,
while the vigilant guard on the tower
held his cap at the sudden gust.

I could see the main tower from where I sat,
and the wind in my face
gave me the feeling I could grasp
the tower like a cornstalk,
and snap it from its roots of rock.

The wind plays it like a flute,
this hollow shoot of rock.
The brim girded with barbwire
with a guard sitting there also,
listening intently to the sounds
as clouds cover the sun.

I thought of the day I was coming to prison,
in the back seat of a police car,
hands and ankles chained, the policeman pointed,
    “See that big water tank? The big
    silver one out there, sticking up?
    That’s the prison.”

And here I am, I cannot believe it.
Sometimes it is such a dream, a dream,
where I stand up in the face of the wind,
like now, it blows at my jacket,
and my eyelids flick a little bit,
while I stare disbelieving. . . .

The third day of spring,
and four years later, I can tell you,
how a man can endure, how a man
can become so cruel, how he can die
or become so cold. I can tell you this,
I have seen it every day, every day,
and still I am strong enough to love you,
love myself and feel good;
even as the earth shakes and trembles,
and I have not a thing to my name,
I feel as if I have everything, everything.


QUERIES:

1.  Baca begins with the simple statement, "it is windy today."  Pause for a moment and consider your present moment.  In one, short, simple sentence, describe today.  IT IS __________ TODAY.  What word fits best for you in this sentence?  In your opinion, how does the first line of the poem (It is windy today) inform the rest of Baca's poem?  Now consider your sentence ... IT IS _________ TODAY.  How does that sentence inform the poem of your life?

2.  Consider the phenomenon of a windy day.  How does the presence of wind effect your mood?  How do you feel on days when there is no wind?  Is it peaceful or does it cause you suffering?  Does the temperature of the day impact your view on the presence or lack of wind?  How does wind impact you on a pleasant day, on a swelteringly hot day, on a brisk fall day?

3.  Meditate for two to three minutes on the vital role wind plays in our lives.  It moves pollen from plants and trees.  It clears smog from hanging over our cities.  It produces green energy with turbines that dot the landscape.  It causes the oceans to produce waves and currents.  It can destroy a house, a town, a city during a hurricane.  It can blow on your face and make you smile.  It can cause grown men to "huddle in our prison jackets, on our haunches against the fence."  And it "carried our words over the fences."

4.  In what ways are you friends with the wind?  Do you allow the wind to brush lightly across your face on a warm summer day?  Do you push back against during the deluge of a downpour as you walk to your car or the bus?  Do you curse at it for breaking your umbrella?  Do you pray for it when your airconditioner breaks?  In what ways does the randomness of wind resemble the randomness of everyday life?  What would it mean "to make friends with the wind?"  What would it mean to make friends with reality?

5.  Baca speaks of disbelief, saying "sometimes it is such a dream, a dream..."  When was the last time you felt this way?  How do you live your life when you too, like Baca, face the wind and stare in disbelief?

6.  At the end of the poem, Baca says, "I can tell you how a man ...."  and goes on to list different states of being, all of which are negative.  From your own experiences, what can you tell us?  What have you learned?

7.  "I see it everyday, everyday and I am still strong enough to love ..."  In what ways have you reached this point in your life?  List three ways that you are strong, even in the face of difficulty.

8.  How can a person have nothing, yet feel like they have everything?  Did Baca become a Buddha in jail, or is this something that we all can feel too?  What one, single step could you take today to move to wards this state of contentment and fullness?  Are you willing to take that step today?  If so, why?  If not, why?  Remember, "a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

December 29, 2012: When Death Comes

INTRO:

Okay, the title does sound a little depressing, but this poem is actually very uplifting if you bother to read and ponder it.

Oliver challenges us to view our mortality as a means of giving our lives, now in this moment, meaning and our fullest attention.  As eternity will surely happen to us all, this poem provides us a chance to claim today what is our birthright: joy, passion, peace, and the opportunity to live our lives to the fullest.


TODAY'S POEM:      When Death Comes
WORDSMITH:          Mary Oliver (1935 - Present)
SOURCE:                New And Selected Poems: Volume One


When Death Comes

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.


QUERIES:

1.  Did she just write a poem about DEATH?  Yup.  What was your first reaction to this poem's title, specifically the use of the word "death"?  Did it alarm you?  Did it surprise you? Did it make you curious?  Did it make you want to avoid the poem all together?  Why do you think you had these reactions or for that matter, a lack of reaction?

2.  Oliver both personifies "Death" and uses the verb "to die" as a metaphor -- "when I step through the Door..." and as an object "that cottage of darkness."   How do you view death?  Do you see it as a finality? As a transition?  As something too taboo to talk about?  Something our society needs to talk more about?

3.  In the poem, Oliver uses the words "curiosity" and "wonder" when contemplating mortality.  Usually, both these words have a positive connotation when we use them in everyday conversation.  In what ways do you have any positive feelings about mortality?  Are you full of curiosity and wonder about mortality?  If not, how could Oliver's novel positive framework regarding mortality change the way you see yourself and your place in the world?

4.  In your opinion, what about Oliver's contemplation about mortality caused her to begin to "look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood"?  If you took this point of view towards "everything", how what kind of change would that produce in you? in others? in the world?

5.  Some things in life seem to be so fixed, such as time and eternity, as if they were cold hard facts.  But often in poetry, facts can be transformed into playful ideas, and playful ideas can become facts.  What sort of reaction do you have to such a "poetical world" where imagination is the only boundary?

6.  How can immersing yourself into the "poetical world" be reminiscent of childhood play?  Do you miss make believe time? Using your imagination to keep you company? Never imagining that life would one day end, but that life was limitless, and so was your potential?  In what ways could poetry and the other arts help bring this important aspect of childhood back into your life as an adult?  Do you still dare to dream?

7.  Oliver ends saying that she "doesn't want to end up simply having visited this world."  In what ways are you now, in this time and place, just a visitor?  In what ways are you a vital component of what makes the world so special and so beautiful?

8.  When it's over, what do you want to say about your life?

9.  What can you right now to make that a reality today, not just at the end when you leave this world to step through the door ?

A conversation has already started in the comments section, care to join? Click the link below. Remember that your words have power, so use them carefully and with love!

December 28, 2012: The Guest House

INTRO:

As the Ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus once said, "the only constant in life is change."  Today's wordsmith, commonly referred to as simply "Rumi," describes the ever changing circumstances of life and the uncertainty we face on a daily basis.

TODAY'S POEM:      The Guest House
WORDSMITH:           Jalal al-Din Rumi (1207-1273), original text is in Ancient Persian
TRANSLATOR:         Coleman Barks
SOURCE:                  The Essential Rumi, New Expanded Edition



The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
 
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
 and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.


QUERIES:

1.  In what ways do you agree with Rumi's metaphor of "this being human is a guest house"?  In what ways do you disagree?  What other metaphors can you think of for "being human"?

2.  Do you think it is wise to "welcome and entertain them all!" as Rumi suggests?

3.  Is it always best to embrace reality or is it sometimes better to fight it?  How would your life look like if you embraced all of reality and was "grateful for whatever comes"?

4.  Who are the "guests" in your house today?  Try to give each one a name.

5.  Imagine what your "house" looks like in your mind.  Are your doors open?  Are the windows open?  Are they shut?  Are they shut tight, locked, and boarded up?  What types of "guests" are welcome in your house?  What types of "guests" have you been trying (maybe in vein) to keep from entering?

A conversation has already started in the comments section, care to join? Click the link below. Remember that your words have power, so use them carefully and with love!

December 27, 2012: You see, I want a lot

INTRO:

After 100 years, Rilke's early works, which he jotted down as a secret collection of prayer-poems, are still deeply relevant today.  In this untitled poem, Rilke pens an intimate conversation with the divine.  The first three paragraphs are the prayer-ruminations of Rilke and in the fourth paragraph the divine replies to Rilke with some advice.

TODAY'S POEM:    Untitled: I, 14
WORDSMITH:         Rainer Maria Rilke (1875 - 1926), original text is in German
TRANSLATORS:     Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy
SOURCE:                 Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God


Untitled: I, 14

You see, I want a lot.
Maybe I want it all:
the darkness of each endless fall,
the shimmering light of each ascent.

So many are alive who don't seem to care.
Casual, easy, they move through the world
as though untouched.

But you take pleasure in the faces
of those who know they thirst.
You cherish those
who grip you for survival.

You are not dead yet, it's not too late
to open your depths by plunging into them
and drinking in the life
that reveals itself quietly there.


QUERIES:

1.  This poem starts with a type of honesty that is rarely heard in public discourse today:  I WANT A LOT,  MAYBE I WANT IT ALL...  To what extent does this first paragraph resonate with you?

2.  Do you want a lot too?   Do you want a full, vibrant life, in which you are thriving not just surviving?  How is your life different from where you are right now at this time and place, and from what you want?  What type of wants do you have?  What does "wanting it all" mean to you?

3.  Over the past week, how have you "casual, easy, moved through the world as though untouched"?

4.  Over the past week, when have you felt the exact opposite of being "casual, easy, untouched"?  Is there a common pattern to these instances?  What types of experiences cause you pain or discomfort or stress?

5.  Do you "thirst" as Rilke does?  How is that thirst reflected in your life?  Does it show in how you dress? In how you interact with others or yourself?  How are you "gripping" for survival?

6.  What are the benefits or drawbacks of being aware of your wants?  Of having thirst? Of being in a state of gripping for survival?

7.  To what extent do you feel dead already?   That it is already too late?  How do you think your responses inform your outlook on life and the choices you make?

8.  The divine in the fourth paragraph suggests that there are depths of life inside you right now?  Do you agree?  If there are these depths of life inside you right now, how do you plan on "plunging into them and drinking in the life that quietly reveals itself there"?

9.  Instead of answering questions, try using another medium to express yourself and this poem.

A conversation has already started in the comments section, care to join? Click the link below. Remember that your words have power, so use them carefully and with love!

December 26, 2012: Kindness

INTRO:

It seems fitting that if I am to start a daily blog about the healing power of poetry, that this blog starts with a poem about loss, brokenness, sorrow, and personal transformation.

TODAY'S POEM:    Kindness
WORDSMITH:         Naomi Shihab Nye (1952 - Present)
SOURCE:              The Words Under the Words: Selected Poems

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.


QUERIES:

1. Nye suggests that loss and suffering are necessary in order to understand what kindness really is and why kindness is fundamental to living a full life. To what extent to you agree and disagree with this premise?

2. Nye uses the word "kindness" in her poem. Are there other words that can be substituted for "kindness" that would make this poem resonate with you more? What are these words? In what ways do these other words help the poem become a better "fit" for you and your experiences?

3. If someone asked you to defend the use of the word "kindness" in this poem, what would you say?

4. If someone was to ask people who know you, would they describe you as a "kind" person? In answering this question, how do you feel about your response?

5. How has the kindness or lack of kindness of others impacted your life?

6. Are you kind to yourself? What does being kind to yourself look like in everyday life?

7. If you knew of a dear friend who had recently suffered significant loss and is still suffering, would you share this poem with them today? What could be the possible benefits and the possible drawbacks?

8. Free response: write anything you want to with regard to this poem.