Thirst

In her beautiful poem, “Thirst,” Mary Oliver reminds us that we are all thirsting for something we do not have, longing for the thing that will complete us and make us both whole and holy. We must be patient for the moment when we come to understand and also ready for that moment of revelation and epiphany.

Another morning and I wake with thirst
for the goodness I do not have. I walk
out to the pond and all the way God has
given us such beautiful lessons. Oh Lord,
I was never a quick scholar but sulked
and hunched over my books past the hour
and the bell; grant me, in your mercy,
a little more time. Love for the earth
and love for you are having such a long
conversation in my heart. Who knows what
will finally happen or where I will be sent,
yet already I have given a great many things
away, expecting to be told to pack nothing,
except the prayers which, with this thirst,
I am slowly learning.

— Mary Oliver, Thirst

I Am Not Italian

Billy Collins reminds us that when we travel, even if we are not natives in the country, we can “do as the Romans do” and enjoy the delights of the local culture. By drinking an espresso in a “little white cup,” the speaker – not an Italian – can taste “the same sweetness of life” as the locals.

I am Not Italian, Billy Collins

I am not Italian, technically speaking,
yet here I am leaning on a zinc bar in Florence
on a sunny weekday morning,
my foot up on the smooth iron railing
just like the other men, who,
it must be said, are officially and fully Italian.

It’s 8:40 and they are off to work,
some in offices, others sweeping the streets,
while I am off to a museum or a church
to see paintings, maybe light a candle in an alcove.
Yet here we all are in our suits and work shirts
joined in the brotherhood of espresso,

or how is it said? La fratellanza dell’espresso,
draining our little white cups
with a quick flourish of the wrist,
each of us tasting the same sweetness of life,
if you take a little sugar, and the bitterness
of its brevity, whether you choose to take sugar or not.

Billy Collins

I recently listened to a performance of Billy Collins reading a collection of his poems. Not all poets read their own poems well, but Collins's readings are superb, the cadence and tone of his voice a perfect vehicle for the poems on the page. Listening to his poems, it is no surprise to me that Collins is so wildly popular. His poems speak of the ordinary and the everyday in a new and often very ironic way that illicits laughter and delight. 

Humor is one of the most distinguishing characteristics of his poetry. He knows how to be both clear and mysterious, simple and profound. Whether he is spoofing love poems that pile on excessive metaphors on the beloved - as he does in "Litany," or describing the poignant vulnerability of a building ruined by an explosion - as he does in "Building With Its Face Blown Off," he is a master of his craft.

Clouds and Daffodils

I recently thought of Wordsworth's "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" when I was watching all the cloud formations as I drove through New Mexico and Arizona. Of course, the poem is really about daffodils and memory, the clouds being simply a simile to describe the speaker's wandering: "lonely as a cloud." But I was glad to be reminded of daffodils, too, especially as winter gives way to spring this April. The daffodils in the poem are "sprightly" and "jocund'" as they "flutter in the breeze." 

As the speaker watches them, he has no idea how much joy they will bring him later, when he conjures them up in his memory and "dances with the daffodils."  So powerful is memory that it can reproduce a vivid scene from our past as though it were with us in the present: we experience not only the visual vista but also the emotional experience. 

The Value and Beauty of Hard, Physical Work

In Marge Pierce’s poem “To Be of Use,” she sings the praises of people who work hard in useful endeavors, who pull their weight and make things happen. I worked in a bakery for the first time over the holidays and saw up close people“who do what has to be done, again and again.” I saw the bakers “move in a common rhythm when the food must come in or the fire be put out.” I came to appreciate more than ever the value and beauty of hard, physical work.

People everywhere are made whole through useful, purposeful, “real” work, the end results of which are made visible through careful focus on the task at hand. That end result is filled with satisfaction and even joy, not only for the maker of the bread but also, of course, for the receiver of the loaves.