Can You Imagine?
by: Mary Oliver
For example, what the trees do
not only in lightning storms
or the watery dark of a summer night
or under the white nets of winter
but now, and now, and now--whenever
we're not looking. Surely you can't imagine
they just stand there looking the way they look
when we're looking; surely you can't imagine
they don't dance, from the root up, wishing
to travel a little, not cramped so much as wanting
a better view, or more sun, or just as avidly
more shade--surely you can't imagine they just
stand there loving every
minute of it, the birds or the emptiness, the dark rings
of the years slowly and without a sound
thickening, and nothing different unless the wind,
and then only in its own mood, comes
to visit, surely you can't imagine
patience, and happiness, like that.
So, most days, I don't exercise my imagination much. Too busy with grading and library work and such. I wish I had more time to contemplate things like the life of trees, the way Oliver does. I do try, at least a couple times every 24 hours, to take what I call a poetry break. Sometimes, I sit and write for 20 or so minutes. Other times, I take a walk outside with my phone, taking pictures of sights that inspire some kind of emotion in me.
I'm not saying these poetry breaks fill me with the patience and happiness of trees. In 20 minutes, I can't really thicken with time rings. Yet, I can enjoy the wind or rain or sudden dark clouds on the horizon. This practice, a fairly recent addition to my days, keeps me more centered. That doesn't mean I've become Mary Oliver or Wendell Berry or John Muir. That means that, for 1200 seconds, I'm not thinking about anything else but beauty and surprise and poetry. Then I jump right back into the swamp of the day.
I was pretty exhausted when I got home from Calumet late this morning. After unpacking and answering some texts and emails, I took a nap (another luxury for me). It wasn't a choice. I was so tired that I couldn't string two words together. When I woke up, I indulged in a poetry break that lasted a little over an hour. That's right, 60-plus minutes spent reading poems and planning the online poetry workshop I led tonight. I read work by Liam Rector and Marcus Jackson and Stuart Dybeck and Mary Oliver. Wrote in my journal. Listened to the breeze outside my window.
Now, it's a little past 10 p.m. I finished my workshop a little over an hour ago. Then I had to troubleshoot some Internet issues on a couple laptops. I was planning on doing some schoolwork, but I can feel my mind slowly unraveling now. In a few minutes, the only thing I'll be able to concentrate on is a bowl of ice cream and a bad Stephen King movie on a streaming service.
But, spending time with my poetry peeps was great medicine for my tired mind and spirit. A two-hour poetry break before another week in the swamp.
Saint Marty did write this poem tonight, with a little inspiration from Mary Oliver . . .
One Wild and Precious Life
with thanks to Mary Oliver
by: Martin Achatz
What is it I plan to do, Mary? I plan
to love each day like a ripe peach full
of sweetness and fuzz. I plan to love
my family the way color and curve loves
the heavens after a rainstorm. I plan to love
my friends the way you loved that grasshopper,
feeding her sugar from your palm, letting her
wash her face and then fly away. I plan to love
a lot, because that's what the crickets
tell me to do every night, all night:
love us, love us, love us, love us.
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