Baskets

Source: City of Vancouver, Washington 

1.

It is a good thing,

in the marketplace

the old woman trying to decide

among the lettuces,

impartial, weighing the heads,

examining

the outer leaves, even

sniffing them to catch

a scent of earth

of which, on one head,

some trace remains—not

the substance but

the residue—so

she prefers it to

the other, more

estranged heads, it

being freshest: nodding briskly at the vendor's wife,

she makes this preference known,

an old woman, yet

vigorous in judgment.

2.

The circle of the world—

in its midst, a dog

sits at the edge of the fountain.

The children playing there,

coming and going from the village,

pause to greet him, the impulsive

loving interest in play,

in the little village of sticks

adorned with blue fragments of pottery;

they squat beside the dog

who stretches in the hot dust:

arrows of sunlight

dance around him.

Now, in the field beyond,

some great event is ending.

In twos and threes, boldly

swinging their shirts,

the athletes stroll away, scattering

red and blue, blue and dazzling purple

over the plain ground,

over the trivial surface.

3.

Lord, who gave me

my solitude, I watch

the sun descending:

in the marketplace

the stalls empty, the remaining children

bicker at the fountain—

But even at night, when it can't be seen,

the flame of the sun

still heats the pavements.

That's why, on earth,

so much life's sprung up,

because the sun maintains

steady warmth at its periphery.

Does this suggest your meaning:

that the game resumes,

in the dust beneath

the infant god of the fountain;

there is nothing fixed,

there is no assurance of death—

4.

I take my basket to the brazen market,

to the gathering place.

I ask you, how much beauty

can a person bear? It is

heavier than ugliness, even the burden

of emptiness is nothing beside it.

Crates of eggs, papaya, sacks of yellow lemons—

I am not a strong woman. It isn't easy

to want so much, to walk

with such a heavy basket, either

bent reed, or willow.

~ Louise Glück

Baskets

Source: City of Vancouver, Washington 

1.

It is a good thing,

in the marketplace

the old woman trying to decide

among the lettuces,

impartial, weighing the heads,

examining

the outer leaves, even

sniffing them to catch

a scent of earth

of which, on one head,

some trace remains—not

the substance but

the residue—so

she prefers it to

the other, more

estranged heads, it

being freshest: nodding briskly at the vendor's wife,

she makes this preference known,

an old woman, yet

vigorous in judgment.

2.

The circle of the world—

in its midst, a dog

sits at the edge of the fountain.

The children playing there,

coming and going from the village,

pause to greet him, the impulsive

loving interest in play,

in the little village of sticks

adorned with blue fragments of pottery;

they squat beside the dog

who stretches in the hot dust:

arrows of sunlight

dance around him.

Now, in the field beyond,

some great event is ending.

In twos and threes, boldly

swinging their shirts,

the athletes stroll away, scattering

red and blue, blue and dazzling purple

over the plain ground,

over the trivial surface.

3.

Lord, who gave me

my solitude, I watch

the sun descending:

in the marketplace

the stalls empty, the remaining children

bicker at the fountain—

But even at night, when it can't be seen,

the flame of the sun

still heats the pavements.

That's why, on earth,

so much life's sprung up,

because the sun maintains

steady warmth at its periphery.

Does this suggest your meaning:

that the game resumes,

in the dust beneath

the infant god of the fountain;

there is nothing fixed,

there is no assurance of death—

4.

I take my basket to the brazen market,

to the gathering place.

I ask you, how much beauty

can a person bear? It is

heavier than ugliness, even the burden

of emptiness is nothing beside it.

Crates of eggs, papaya, sacks of yellow lemons—

I am not a strong woman. It isn't easy

to want so much, to walk

with such a heavy basket, either

bent reed, or willow.

~ Louise Glück

Her Beauty

Source: Unknown/Favim

I heard them say, “Her hands are hard as stone,”
And I remembered how she laid for me
The road to heaven. They said, “Her hair is grey.”
Then I remembered how she once had thrown
Long plaited strands, like cables, into the sea
I battled in — the salt sea of dismay.
They say, “Her beauty’s past.” And then I wept,
That these, who should have been in love adept,
Against my font of beauty should blaspheme.
And hearing a new music, miss the theme.

~ Max Plowman

Her Beauty

Source: Unknown/Favim

I heard them say, “Her hands are hard as stone,”
And I remembered how she laid for me
The road to heaven. They said, “Her hair is grey.”
Then I remembered how she once had thrown
Long plaited strands, like cables, into the sea
I battled in — the salt sea of dismay.
They say, “Her beauty’s past.” And then I wept,
That these, who should have been in love adept,
Against my font of beauty should blaspheme.
And hearing a new music, miss the theme.

~ Max Plowman

Born Yesterday

Credit: PatriciaEGreen2@Morguefile

For Sally Amis

Tightly-folded bud,
I have wished you something
None of the others would:
Not the usual stuff
About being beautiful,
Or running off a spring
Of innocence and love —
They will all wish you that,
And should it prove possible,
Well, you’re a lucky girl.

But if it shouldn’t, then
May you be ordinary;
Have, like other women,
An average of talents:
Not ugly, not good-looking,
Nothing uncustomary
To pull you off your balance,
That, unworkable itself,
Stops all the rest from working.
In fact, may you be dull —
If that is what a skilled,
Vigilant, flexible,
Unemphasised, enthralled
Catching of happiness is called.

~ Philip Larkin

Born Yesterday

Credit: PatriciaEGreen2@Morguefile

For Sally Amis

Tightly-folded bud,
I have wished you something
None of the others would:
Not the usual stuff
About being beautiful,
Or running off a spring
Of innocence and love —
They will all wish you that,
And should it prove possible,
Well, you’re a lucky girl.

But if it shouldn’t, then
May you be ordinary;
Have, like other women,
An average of talents:
Not ugly, not good-looking,
Nothing uncustomary
To pull you off your balance,
That, unworkable itself,
Stops all the rest from working.
In fact, may you be dull —
If that is what a skilled,
Vigilant, flexible,
Unemphasised, enthralled
Catching of happiness is called.

~ Philip Larkin

Eagle Poem

Photo credit: orchid from morguefile.com

To pray you open your whole self
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you.
And know there is more
That you can't see, can't hear
Can't know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren't always sound but other
Circles of motion.
Like eagle that Sunday morning
Over Salt River.  Circles in blue sky
In wind, swept our hearts clean
With sacred wings.
We see you, see ourselves and know
That we must take the utmost care
And kindness in all things.
Breathe in, knowing we are made of
All this, and breathe, knowing
We are truly blessed because we
Were born, and die soon, within a
True circle of motion,
Like eagle rounding out the morning
Inside us.
We pray that it will be done
In beauty.
In beauty.

~ Joy Harjo

Eagle Poem

Photo credit: orchid from morguefile.com

To pray you open your whole self
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you.
And know there is more
That you can't see, can't hear
Can't know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren't always sound but other
Circles of motion.
Like eagle that Sunday morning
Over Salt River.  Circles in blue sky
In wind, swept our hearts clean
With sacred wings.
We see you, see ourselves and know
That we must take the utmost care
And kindness in all things.
Breathe in, knowing we are made of
All this, and breathe, knowing
We are truly blessed because we
Were born, and die soon, within a
True circle of motion,
Like eagle rounding out the morning
Inside us.
We pray that it will be done
In beauty.
In beauty.

~ Joy Harjo

Light Is More Important Than The Lantern

Photo credit: dave from morguefile.com

Light is more important than the lantern,

The poem more important than the notebook,

And the kiss more important than the lips.

My letters to you

Are greater and more important than both of us.

They are the only documents

Where people will discover

Your beauty

And my madness.

~ Nizar Qabbani

_________________________________________

From within or from behind, a light shines through us upon things, and makes us aware that we are nothing, but the light is all.

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Light Is More Important Than The Lantern

Photo credit: dave from morguefile.com

Light is more important than the lantern,

The poem more important than the notebook,

And the kiss more important than the lips.

My letters to you

Are greater and more important than both of us.

They are the only documents

Where people will discover

Your beauty

And my madness.

~ Nizar Qabbani

_________________________________________

From within or from behind, a light shines through us upon things, and makes us aware that we are nothing, but the light is all.

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Survivor

Source: Favim

I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wondering awed about on a splintered wreck I've come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty bats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them...

~ Annie Dillard 

Survivor

Source: Favim

I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wondering awed about on a splintered wreck I've come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty bats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them...

~ Annie Dillard 

Success

To laugh often and much
To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends
To appreciate beauty
To find the best in others
To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch,
or a redeemed social condition
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived
This is to have succeeded.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Success

To laugh often and much
To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends
To appreciate beauty
To find the best in others
To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch,
or a redeemed social condition
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived
This is to have succeeded.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson