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.