May 12: "It Was Early," Day-to-Day Life, Dandelions

Mary Oliver looks at the world . . . 

It Was Early

by:  Mary Oliver

It was early, 

     which has always been my hour

          to begin looking

               at the world

and of course,

     even in the darkness,

          to begin

               listening into it,

especially

     under the pines

          where the owl lives

               and sometimes calls out

as I walk by,

     as he did

          on this morning.

               So many gifts!

What do they mean?

     In the marshes

          where the pink light

               was just arriving

the mink 

     with his bristle tail

          was stalking

               the soft-eared mice,

and in the pines

     the cones were heavy,

          each one

               ordained to open.

Sometimes I need

     only to stand

          where I am

               to be blessed.

Little mink, let me watch you.

     Little mice, run and run.

          Dear pine cone, let me hold you

               as you open.

Greetings all!

Yes, I have been in a sort of hibernation these last few months.  Still alive, but overwhelmed by living.  Writing this post feels like a kind of resurrection to me since I haven't been writing or being that creative.  Unlike Oliver in the poem above, I've let the world pass me without noticing its blessings and gifts.

I just finished final grading for the semester this week.  The Great Lakes Poetry Festival, which I helped organize for the end of April, went off without too many issues.  My kids are healthy.  Job is going well.  This weekend, I'm going on a short excursion with my family to Wisconsin to see a production of Hamilton.  

It's very easy to drown in the tsunami of day-to-day life.  To not take time to notice the owl in the tree or the mink stalking soft-eared mice.  One of the mantras of adulthood:  "I don't have enough time."  It's a phrase I've said over and over this past year.  A lot.  For me, busyness is a coping mechanism.  If I keep myself busy from the moment I wake up until the time I crash on the couch at night, I don't have to deal with the emotional mess that has defined the last year or so of my existence.

If that sounds like avoidance, it probably is.  A little bit.  I do see a therapist once or twice a month, and that helps a great deal.  However, with all of my commitments (work and school and church and community), it is also about survival.  I have to get shit done--grading, rehearsing, event planning, reading, writing.  Because of this necessity, I develop tunnel vision, keeping my eyes on the goal, sometimes to the detriment of family and friends.

That all being said, every once in a while, beauty breaks through.  A couple days ago, as I was driving home, I was stunned by the setting sun breaking through clouds.  For a few moments, all the noise in my head went silent.  I drove along, into that sunset, grateful for the blessings of light and cloud and sky.

I need more moments like this.  Everyone does.  Mary Oliver made a habit of hunting for these grace-filled encounters.  When you read her poems, it seems as if grace was as common as dandelions for her.  All she had to do was step outside, go for a walk, and open herself up to the poems all around her.  For Oliver, even a hungry mosquito was a poem, landing on her arm, drinking, and then flying away, blood-drunk and satisfied.

Saint Marty is hoping to get stung by beauty sometime today.

March 13: Attempting Praise, Psalm 5, Saint Leander of Seville

Well, my last few psalms have been lacking in the "praise" a little bit, and I extend my apologies for that.  I am trying to focus on the positive.  I really am.  However, this weekend, with the events in Japan, my mood has slipped toward reflective, even melancholy.  I will try to remedy that situation in the next few poems. 

Leander, today's saint, didn't have too many problems with melancholy.  He was too damn busy.  Born in Cartagena, Spain, in the sixth century, Leander had parents who were renowned for their holiness.  He had two brothers and a sister.  All of them are saints.  Talk about good breeding.  Leander's life mission was to turn Spain away from a heresy that was sweeping the country.  He did it, of course.  His biography concludes, "Worn out by his many activities in the cause of Christ, Leander died around the year 600..."  In comparison to Leander's troubles (which included a few years in exile), my little struggle with sadness is about as significant as a batch of limp fries at McDonald's.

So, this is the psalm for today.  It is, again, about the situation in Japan.  Forgive Saint Marty.  Sometimes, praise comes hard for him in the face of so much human tragedy.

Nuclear Reactor in Japan

Psalm 5:  Morning Meltdown Meditation

In fire and water, morning dawns
On the reactor.  The core heats.  Atoms
Spin, bounce, combine, repel into energy
On the brink of control, a stampede toward
Oblivion, toward an Easter where East meets
West, land meets sea, past meets future,
God meets man in a garden, at a tomb
Where a body is missing, like thousands,
Gone in a swell of mud, avalanche tectonic
Beneath the Pacific, rift in the veil
Of the ocean fault, so many voices lifted
In a single cry, "My God, my God, why?"
That the words rise, fill the clouds with nuclear
Rain, lamentations for the wings of angels
To descend, flutter uranium, plutonium
Into a state of peace, redemption
As simple as a child's prayer, whispered
Under the rubble of a school playground,
Calling friends out of hide-and-seek
To fill the air with birthday balloons,
Psalms of olly olly oxen free.

March 11: Silence, Psalm 3, and Tsunami

I do not have a lot of time for introductions to my poem tonight.  It's been a really busy day, afternoon, and evening.  I'm currently working on my sister's laptop, typing this blog.  I'm going to get right to it.  But please, take some time this evening to think about and pray for the people of Japan in the wake of the earthquake and tsunami.  Without further ado, here is my poem.

Psalm 3:  In Praise of Silence

Praise the Lord for the silence of dusk
As it shifts the air from winter sun
To winter moon, the melt of snow
To something hard as onyx or bone.
Praise the ring of eardrum in quiet.
It vibrates, hums with the memory
Of the day, news of tsunami in Japan,
The lives of thousands swept away
Like crumbs from Friday dinner
Of lentils, crackers, apple juice,
The tablecloth taken outside, shaken,
The way my grandmother taught me,
For lost souls who roam the night,
Tap on black window glass, hungry
For light, warmth, or prayer.
Praise the tide of heart in my chest,
Calm waves of blood, in, out, in, out,
Reminding me this night that I am safe.  Alive.