read by me.
Click HERE for a copy of the poem and HERE for the artwork credit.
“I said: what about my heart?” (by Rumi)
I said: what about my eyes?
God said: Keep them on the road.
I said: what about my passion?
God said: Keep it burning.
I said: what about my heart?
God said: Tell me what you hold inside it?
I said: pain and sorrow?
He said: ..stay with it.
The wound is the place where the Light enters you.
Audio clip: “Anyone Who Has Left Love” (by Sharon Olds)
Read by me.
Anyone who has left love,
who has stepped out of the boat, onto
the water, learns what they had not known
or wanted to. Anyone
who turns their back on love, as if
it might not take too long for them to go
all the way around and come up behind it—
anyone who lets love go,
opens their hand while walking through
a crowd, as if getting, piece by piece,
rid of evidence, will lose,
along with evidence of the thing,
the thing itself. Anyone
who sets love down, and takes their eyes
away, anyone who travels far
when love is home, anyone
who homes alone when love is far,
will lose what cannot be found. Maybe they
thought love was the earth under
the road, or the road under the sole
of the shoe or the foot under the body but by now it is
back there. It was a bush like a fire,
and now—no more fragrance or light
will be inhaled, or seen, as when
you die you will not see the world again.
Even if you thought you had not
believed you were loved, something in you
knew that you were—and you stepped right off love’s roof.
“How to Not Be a Perfectionist” (by Molly Brodak)
A love poem by Grace Paley
“The Red Poppy” (by Louise Glück)
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. Photo credit
“Place” (by W.S. Merwin)
On the last day of the world
I would want to plant a tree
what for
not for the fruit
the tree that bears the fruit
is not the one that was planted
I want the tree that stands
in the earth for the first time
with the sun already
going down
and the water
touching its roots
in the earth full of the dead
and the clouds passing
one by one
over its leaves
“Snowdrops” (by Louise Glück)
Do you know what I was, how I lived? You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.
I did not expect to survive,
earth suppressing me. I didn’t expect
to waken again, to feel
in damp earth my body
able to respond again, remembering
after so long how to open again
in the cold light
of earliest spring–
afraid, yes, but among you again
crying yes risk joy
in the raw wind of the new world.
“It’s True” (by Federico García Lorca)
Ay, the pain it costs me
to love you as I love you!
For love of you, the air, it hurts,
and my heart,
and my hat, they hurt me.
Who would buy it from me,
this ribbon I am holding,
and this sadness of cotton,
white, for making handkerchiefs with?
Ay, the pain it costs me
to love you as I love you!
Bird
As when we awaken startled from a damp sleep
and realize that what we thought was love
was not love was not even the hollow kindness we show
a neighbor we hardly know when we say “sorry for your loss”
was not even a “there, there” we offer a friend
of a friend whose husband took up with a younger woman
was not even the feigned pity we show a coworker
whose stepfather fell down a flight of stairs, broke his
neck, and left behind an ample wife
was never even like the small gasp
that leaves our lips when through a car window
we see the blur of black bird with an injured wing
lying still in the road.
ruminationville 