A Little Madness
But green after green after green!...
It's spring, Poem, take us outside....
~ "The Poem She Didn't Write and Other Poems" by Olena Kalytiak Davis
This week the cherry blossoms are peaking in Seattle, right on time for the Spring Equinox As we do every year, we took a picnic to enjoy under the indescribably beautiful trees. Like Christmas cards, I can track our family year by year from the photos we take.
Pale pink blossoms, universal symbol of the fleeting nature of time, they inspire me to read poetry. I got a little carried away - it can be a rabbit hole: one poem leads to another, which reminds me of a line I have to go chase down and then that one leads to a whole book and then, well, whole evenings can slide by in such a pleasant state...I thought I would select one perfect poem to share, but really, what is the point of restraint? It is spring after all, the season of exuberance. So below are a few favorite lines and two wonderful full poems to share. Happy, happy, happy Spring!
A little Madness in the spring
is healthy even for the King.
~ Emily Dickinson
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
~ "The Trees" by Philip Larkin
In Just spring, when the world is mud-luscious...when the world is puddle-wonderful...
~ e.e. cummings
What is all this juice and all this joy?
~ "Spring" by Gerald Manley Hopkins
The seasons revolve and the years change
With no assistance or supervision.
The moon, without taking thought,
Moves in its cycle, full, crescent, and full.
The white moon enters the heart of the river;
The air is drugged with azalea blossoms;
Deep in the night a pine cone falls;
Our campfire dies out in the empty mountains.
The sharp stars flicker in the tremulous branches;
The lake is black, bottomless in the crystalline night;
High in the sky the Northern Crown
Is cut in half by the dim summit of a snow peak.
O heart, heart, so singularly
Intransigent and corruptible,
Here we lie entranced by the starlit water,
And moments that should each last forever
Slide unconsciously by us like water.
~ Kenneth Rexroth
a black bear
has just risen from sleep
and is staring
down the mountain.
in the brisk and shallow restlessness
of early spring
I think of her,
her four black fists
flicking the gravel,
like a red fire
touching the grass,
the cold water.
There is only one question:
how to love this world.
I think of her
like a black and leafy ledge
to sharpen her claws against
of the trees.
my life is
with its poems
and its music
and its glass cities,
it is also this dazzling darkness
down the mountain,
breathing and tasting;
all day I think of her—
her white teeth,
her perfect love.
~ Mary Oliver