In Blackwater Woods
Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars
of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,
the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is
nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
3 comments:
Lovely, Benjamin! For some reason, it brought to mind this poem by Gunnar Ekelof (Robert Bly translation, quotes in title Ekelof's). Sorry about the unfortunate line breaks!
"So Strange to Me"
So strange to me
this rose, this thing delicately
bursting out
this absent thoughtfulness
or light over a turned-away
cheek...
As on a spring day
when you sense something and hold
it firmly
an instant, a second
unchangeable
something that shall never turn
to summer
Love Mary Oliver. Thanks.
Kathryn
OFB--Yes, that's a good poem! Bly is a pretty good translator overall, too, in lots og things I've read by him. Thanks!
Kathryn--Thanks for stopping by. I'm just getting in to Oliver when I should've years ago (I've taught her poetry handbook though!).
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