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| A flower for all the moms out there from... Poppy painting by Zsuzsanna. |
The Red Poppy
The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
permit yourselves
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.
We're just coming to the close of National Wildflower Week, so I chose this short but impactful poem by contemporary poet Louise Gluck. I admire here how the poet uses personification to muse on consciousness and courage and the relative stature of the poppy and the human; I love a poem that gives me pause.
We're just coming to the close of National Wildflower Week, so I chose this short but impactful poem by contemporary poet Louise Gluck. I admire here how the poet uses personification to muse on consciousness and courage and the relative stature of the poppy and the human; I love a poem that gives me pause.
For biographical info. and to hear Ms. Gluck read this poem aloud, try this link to Poets.org.
And for many another fine flower poem, go to the Poets.org page that features just that: Poems About Flowers.
Now it's your turn. Share any poem you wish (doesn't have to be flower-related! Could be something for Mother's Day or the close of Children's Book Week or a poem that's right for this moment for you) and link below so we may all stroll through a wild meadow of verse...
* Bloggers sharing your poems: If you link above, you MUST link back to What She Read in a post on your blog so others can find our hop. It's common procedure that if you don't collaborate in this way, you could be removed from the Linky list (oh, no!)...
MFB out in the field of flowers,
L
2 comments:
Humankind - Kerry Hardie
We carry the trust.
It was not imposed on us,
nor are we heedless.
Sometimes the stillness stands in the woods
and lies on the lake. We move like drowned beings
through clouded waters.
Sometimes we wake to spent leaves
blowing about in the yard. A door bangs.
A woman - vigorous - shakes a rug into the wind.
The red dog shudders and rises and listens.
Uncertain light shines the grasses.
Wealth sits in inner rooms, staring.
These are our days.
Walk them.
Fear nothing.
That last stanza sticks. I admire the more concrete "walk" rather than 'spend' or 'pass' or even the more typical 'embrace'.
And the structure: abstract to imagistic, back to abstract/exhortative.
Thanks as always, PL, for hunting up and offering out rare ones.
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