December 16: "Don't Hesitate," Feast, Tears

Mary Oliver on joy . . .

Don't Hesitate

by:  Mary Oliver

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don't hesitate.  Give in to it.  There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be.  We are not wise, and not very often kind.  And much can never be redeemed.  Still, life has some possibility left.  Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches and power in the world.  It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins.  Anyway, that's often the case.  Anyway, whatever it is, don't be afraid of its plenty.  Joy is not made to be a crumb.

Mary Oliver doesn't believe joy is stingy.  Her advice is to gorge on joy when it appears in your life.  Don't worry about joy disappearing or being used up.  Because joy is not a crumb; it's a feast.

Today, I feasted on joy.  My daughter graduated from college this morning.  

Yes, as I sat listening and watching the ceremony, I cried.  Yes, when her name was announced and she walked across the stage, I cried.  Yes, when she came up and hugged me after it was all over, I cried.  Yes, when I was grading papers after I got home, I thought about holding my newborn daughter, all the hope and joy housed in her tiny body.  And I cried again.

Basically, I spent the whole day near tears or in tears.  Good tears.  Happy ones, full of pride and astonishment.  I am the father of a college graduate.  Oliver is right:  you do notice joy in the instant when love begins.  From the moment my daughter came into my life, love began, and joy was close behind.  She has filled each day of my life with joy.

Tonight, our friends and family came together at a local restaurant to celebrate my daughter.  So many people filled the room--all because of love for her and joy in her accomplishment.  And I felt myself close to tears many times again.

Sitting in my office at home typing this post now, I'm not holding back the tears anymore.  Joy has been my constant companion today.  My daughter is an amazing human being, and I'm so proud to have had even the smallest part in making her who she is.  

She is one of Saint Marty's best poems.

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.

April 22: Too Old, Furnace, Daughter's Graduation

Santiago refuses to give up . . . 

He was a fish to keep a man all winter, he thought. Don't think of that. Just rest and try to get your hands in shape to defend what is left of him. The blood smell from my hands means nothing now with all that scent in the water. Besides they do not bleed much. There is nothing cut that means anything. The bleeding may keep the left from cramping.

What can I think of now? he thought. Nothing. I must think of nothing and wait for the next ones. I wish it had really been a dream, he thought. But who knows? It might have turned out well.

The next shark that came was a single shovel-nose. He came like a pig to the trough if a pig had a mouth so wide that you could put your head in it. The old man let him hit the fish and then drove the knife on the oar down into his brain. But the shark jerked backwards as he rolled and the knife blade snapped.

The old man settled himself to steer. He did not even watch the big shark sinking slowly in the water, showing first life-size, then small, then tiny. That always fascinated the old man. But he did not even watch it now.

"I have the gaff now," he said. "But it will do no good. I have the two oars and the tiller and the short club."

Now they have beaten me, he thought. I am too old to club sharks to death. But I will try it as long as I have the oars and the short club and the tiller.

Furnace is working again.  Screened a matinee movie for the poetry festival--Moccasins and Microphones again.  Better attendance this time.  

My daughter graduated from the Student Leader Fellowship Program tonight at the university.  I attended the dinner/ceremony, and even got my daughter to pose for a picture.

Saint Marty's koan for tonight:  keep an extra knife in your boat for shark emergencies.

June 3: Peace Corps, Daughter's Graduation, Joshua Mehigan, "On the Way to Church School"

For her part, in the spirit of the times and not wanting the life of her mother, Caroline [Ives' daughter] thought she should see some thing of the world and signed up for the Peace Corps, which sent her off to Nepal.  One of Ives' happier times took place during a four-month period before she left for the Peace Corps, when she came to work at the agency, in the "international" division (one executive and a clerk).  Regarding his smart daughter with great pride every time he ran into her, which was daily, he would eavesdrop on her speaking her Italian or French or Spanish on the phone. . . . And he loved the fact that Mannis had come into his office one day to say, "Nice job you did raising your daughter, Ives."  He'd gotten so used to riding the subway with her in the mornings and seeing her on a regular basis that when she gave notice he fell into a deep funk again.

Ives and Caroline have a few months of father-daughter bonding before she heads out into the world after her college graduation.  Ives loves his time with her, takes immense satisfaction in her accomplishments.  She's successful, smart, and pretty.  Everything that a father would wish for his little girl.

This evening, I went to my daughter's eighth grade graduation.  She looked beautiful in her dress, hair curled by her cousin.  She didn't want to go, complained about clothes shopping, and sulked a good deal about the whole event.  Once she got to the school, however, my daughter changed her demeanor.  She was smiling, waving at us from the gym floor. 

The chorus sang (my daughter's in the chorus).  The band played (my daughter's in the band).  There were speeches and a slide show (my daughter hated her slide).  And then the principal started announcing the awards.  History.  Science.  Language Arts.  Math.  Science.  Band.  Chorus.  My daughter was given the Art Award.  I was so proud of her.  When her name was announced, I looked over at her.  She gave us a big smile and then stood up to collect her certificate.

It was a really lovely evening.  I couldn't stop thinking to myself, "I can't believe this is my baby girl."  She's a gorgeous young lady.  Now she wants to be a gorgeous young lady with an iPhone.

Saint Marty got her earrings instead.  Nice ones.

On the Way to Church School

by:  Joshua Mehigan

The girls and boys
that stammer by
at one o'clock
stretch half a block.
Clouds follow them,
also, the steeple.

The tallest and others
waiting to see
what the tallest will do
tie parkas of blue,
yellow, or red
around their waists.

Already lost,
one boy had tied
a parka of red
around his head.
That boy now lies
shoved on the grass.

Ms. Bell, who ably
shepherds them
and Mrs. Stack,
in the way-back,
coolly chide
but do not holler.

The smallest pause
with giant eyes.
The sidewalk glints
at the innocents
so like people
only smaller.

So proud of my little girl