December 13, 14, 15: "The Other Kingdoms," Music Kingdom, Poetry Kingdom, Friend and Heartbreak Kingdome

Mary Oliver grows sweetly wild . . . 

The Other Kingdoms

by:  Mary Oliver

Consider the other kingdoms.  The

trees, for example, with their mellow-sounding

titles:  oak, aspen, willow.

Or the snow, for which the peoples of the north

have dozens of words to describe its

different arrivals.  Or the creatures, with their

thick fur, their shy and wordless gaze.  Their

infallible sense of what their lives

are meant to be.  Thus the world

grows rich, grows wild, and you too,

grow rich, grow sweetly wild, as you too

were born to be.

As a poet, like Mary Oliver, I like to know the names of things.  Trees.  Birds.  Flowers.  Fish.  The kingdoms of the world are full of sweetly wild bounty.  Language is a way of understanding these kingdoms, of becoming a part of them.

I have been sort of overcome these last few days.  Life has a way of getting out of control at this time of the year.  So much going on, both wonderful and crazy.  Kingdoms of music and friends and heartbreak and poetry.

Music Kingdom:  on Wednesday night at the library, there was a concert by Big Lake Band, a group that includes two of my closest friends, Linda and Seamus.  We've been making musical and poetic mischief together for close to 20 years.  They treated us to an hour of Christmas classics.  A little King + Country, Eartha Kitt, Bing Crosby, among others.  It filled me with joy:

Poetry Kingdom:  last night, the library hosted the holiday gathering of the Marquette Poets Circle.  Lots of great food, great people, and great poems.  Most of my closest poet friends were there, and we shared our love for each other and language.  When I first started attending the monthly MPC meetings, I had no clue how important these people would become to me.  Being together with these friends filled me with joy, as well:

Friend and Heartbreak Kingdom:  Today, one of my best poet pals, Gala, lost her 13-year-old fur baby, Oreo.  Gala texted me tonight to let me know.  Having a pet is a bargain with joy and grief.  For however many years that pet is in your life, you are treated to unconditional love.  Yet, in the end, you know you will have to endure loss, as well.  So, tonight, I am sending Gala all my love as she endures this parting:

These are the kingdoms I've been considering these last few days, getting ready for Graduation Kingdom tomorrow morning, when my daughter matriculates from college.  In the middle of all of these kingdom visitations, I also had time to finish my annual Christmas poem today.  So, if you're keeping score--Christmas essay, done; Christmas poem, done; Final Grading, not done.

Saint Marty still has a long way to go before he sleeps.

May 21: "The Other Kingdoms," Memory, Letting Go

Mary Oliver contemplates the kingdoms of the world . . . 

The Other Kingdoms

by:  Mary Oliver

Consider the other kingdoms.  The

trees, for example, with their mellow-sounding

titles:  oak, aspen, willow.

Or the snow, for which the peoples of the north

have dozens of words to describe its

different arrivals.  Or the creatures, with their

thick fur, their shy and wordless gaze.  Their

infallible sense of what their lives

are meant to be.  Thus the world

grows rich, grows wild, and you too,

grow rich, grow sweetly wild, as you too

were born to be.

Somehow, Mary Oliver seems to be a part of all the kingdoms in this poem:  trees and snow and creatures.  In her poems, at least, she has an "infallible sense" of what her life is meant to be.  She is an observer.  Grace seeker.  Nature lover.  In short, she's part of the poetry kingdom, as am I.

I spent most of the day planning for a poetry workshop that I led this evening.  The theme I chose was "memory," since next weekend is Memorial Day.  People will visit the graves of lost loved ones; place flowers by headstones; and attend parades and programs to honor members of the armed services who sacrificed their lives in battle.

As most of you know, I've been struggling with sadness and grief for some time now.  In the last eight years, I've lost three siblings and both of my parents, plus one of my best friends.  Those are my dead.  They are with me all the time, and I try to honor their memories in everything I do.

I just took my puppy out for one last stroll before bed.  As I stood in my backyard, letting her do her business, I listened to the chorus of spring peepers filling the night.  I've been hearing them for a week or so now, a sure sign that the winter of 2023 is slipping into memory.  (As a Yooper, I make this statement hesitantly, because I have seen huge snowstorms blow in at the end of May.)

The world outside my window is growing rich and wild.  Pretty soon, my lilac bushes will be heavy with purple.  Kids will be graduating from area high schools in a couple weeks.  It is a time of transitions.  White to green.  Spring to summer.  Childhood to adulthood.  It's all about letting go.  And being a little haunted.

Saint Marty wrote these haunting little poems tonight.  Think of them as snapshots from the kingdom of poetry.

Five Spring Haiku

by:  Martin Achatz

Trilliums in my backyard

unfold their white bodies

like teenagers on Spring Break.

I tiptoe through backyard grass

until my sneaker discovers 

the scent of my dog.

Beneath my feet and hands

the pipe organ moans,

A lovesick whale in the Pacific.

Orange sun boiled

in a kettle of clouds.

Leftover pizza for dinner,

bite marks on the crust

from the hungry night.