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.

November 25: Suffering and Art, Ha Jin, "Missed Time"

Got another poem of gratitude for you guys this evening.  It's about happiness and art.  It's about how some of the best art comes out of suffering and grief.  The best poems I know are all about wounds and healing.  Ha Jin knows this fact.  I know this fact.

I'm not writing a poem tonight.  I'm not talking about any kind of pain or hurt.  Yes, I'm tired.  Yes, I don't want to go to work tomorrow.  But, that's not pain.  That's irritation.


Marty is a happy saint tonight.

Missed Time

by:  Ha Jin

My notebook has remained blank for months

thanks to the light you shower

around me. I have no use

for my pen, which lies

languorously without grief.

Nothing is better than to live

a storyless life that needs

no writing for meaning—

when I am gone, let others say

they lost a happy man,

though no one can tell how happy I was.

Other happy saints

June 18: A Mask, Unveiling, Poetry

"All writing is both a mask and an unveiling."

E. B. White put much of himself into his writing.  White loved nature and farms.  Spiders, pigs, geese, horses, cows, sheep.  The only creatures for which White had no affection were rats.  Templeton is a scavenging glutton.  Charlotte is a hero.  Wilbur is a hero, too, sort of.  White's predilections are all through the book.  As he said, Charlotte's Web is both a mask and an unveiling for him.

Every time I sit down to write, whether it's a poem or blog post or essay, I'm revealing a little of myself.  Sometimes, a lot.  Sometimes, too much.  That's what I love about words.  Poetry, in particular, is all about truth.  The best poems, the ones that truly grab me by the throat, are the ones that touch upon some deep truth.

I also think most good poems come from a place of pain.  It's that pain that everyone recognizes and identifies.  Everyone has felt isolated.  Everyone has felt rejection.  Everyone has experienced loss and grief.  Poetry, for me, is a way of exorcising those emotions.  Poetry is dangerous.  That's why so many poets ended up exiled or imprisoned throughout history.  Poetry can change the world.

Tonight, however, I'm not changing anything with this post.  All I'm doing is sharing what's on my mind this evening.  Poetry.  Truth.  Pain.

Three of Saint Marty's favorite things.

When the dog bites, write a poem about it...