Hum
by: Mary Oliver
What is this dark hum among the roses?
The bees have gone simple, sipping,
that's all. What did you expect? Sophistication?
They're small creatures and they are
filling their bodies with sweetness, how could they not
moan in happiness? The little
worker bee lives, I have read, about three weeks.
Is that long? Long enough, I suppose, to understand
that life is a blessing. I have found them--haven't you?--
stopped in the very cups of the flowers, their wings
a little tattered--so much flying about, to the hive,
then out into the world, then back, and perhaps dancing,
should the task be to be a scout--sweet, dancing bee.
I think there isn't anything in this world I don't
admire. If there is, I don't know what it is. I
haven't met it yet. Nor expect to. The bee is small,
and since I wear glasses, so I can see the traffic and
read books, I have to
take them off and bend close to study and
understand what is happening. It's not hard, it's in fact
as instructive as anything I have ever studied. Plus, too,
it's love almost too fierce to endure, the bee
nuzzling like that into the blouse
of the rose. And the fragrance, and the honey, and of course
the sun, the purely pure sun, shining, all the while over
all of us.
This isn't a love poem. This is a poem about love. It's about bees loving flowers, getting drunk on the sweetness of roses and dancing a bee dance of joy. This is Oliver in love with bees and roses and honey and the sun. The purely pure sun.
I have spent almost all of today grading papers and papers and papers. I've spent so much time staring at the screen of my laptop that my eyes are burning. I am not, nor ever will be, in love with grading. I love teaching Love interacting with young people, who fall in and out of love quickly and easily. My students are like bees in high summer, drunk on the sweetness of the world.
I also edited a podcast episode this afternoon. And I led a Zoom poetry workshop this evening. Now, after I'm done typing this blog post, I'll return to grading for as long as I can. I'm pretty damn tired at the moment.
Of course, the word "love" is applied in many different situations. The love I have for chocolate is very different from the love I have for my wife and children. I may say I love Oreo cookies, and, in the next breath, tell my puppy that I love her. Elvis Presley asked people to "Love Me Tender," and Bon Jovi declared "You Give Love a Bad Name." The word "love" is used so much that it has almost lost meaning. It all depends on context now.
After I'm done typing this post, it's back to grading for me. Not because I love grading. I'm doing it because the due date for final grades is looming, and I have miles to go before I sleep. Miles to go before I sleep.
Right now, I'd love to take a nap. Forget about all the work I have to complete before Tuesday afternoon.
I'd also love a piece of chocolate.
According to the Beatles, "All You Need is Love."
All Saint Marty needs right now is caffeine, 50 extra hours of grading time, and his mother's homemade chocolate chip cookies.
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