Finding Yourself

And leafing through old books we sometimes find
A dark, oracular phrase is underlined.
You once were here, but in time out of mind.

~Rainer Maria Rilke, "Improvisations of the Caprisian Winter"


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Worlds

I lost a world the other day.
Has anybody found it?
You'll know it by the row of stars
Around its forehead bound.

A rich man might not notice it;
Yet to my frugal eye
Of more esteem than ducats.
Oh, find it, sire, for me!

~Emily Dickinson, Number 181, Collected Poems



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Mortality

It seems only yesterday I used to believe
There was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I would shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of like,
I skin my knees. I bleed.

~Billy Collins, "On Turning Ten"


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The Highwayman

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding,
The highwayman came riding up to the old inn door.

~Alfred Noyes, "The Highwayman"



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Hark, the footsteps of the night
Fade in silence long.
Quiet chirps my reading light
Like a cricket's song.

Books inviting us to read
On the bookshelves stand.
Piers for bridges that will lead
Into fairyland.

~Ranier Maria Rilke, "Vigels III," from Sacrifice to the Lares



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I Am...

I am the song that sings the bird.
I am the leaf that grows the land.
I am the tide that moves the moon.
I am the stream that halts the sand.
I am the cloud that drives the storm.
I am the earth that lights the sun.
I am the fire that strikes the stone.
I am the clay that shapes the hand.
I am the word that speaks the man.


~Charles Causley, "I Am the Song"


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Lost.

Lost On Sunday

A few hours ago

I awakened to a nearly extinguished morning and,

scowling at the prospect of another day, left

my bed to its thoughts to prepare for the barrage

of happiness that would fill my evening.

The world was determined

to extract me from the melancholy afternoon,

strewing unexpected pleasantries in my path

that I, unable to transfer the joy from my mind

to my heart,

simply took as coincidences bereft of forethought.

I rested a few moments in a silent location,

debating the sun's warmth

and reasoning with a chilly wind, asking myself

genuine questions; when two swallows,

hopping across the path I had taken, looked my way,

pretended to acknowledge my hurt, paired

off and flew away.

-Calvin Olsen

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My Father

The memory of my father is wrapped up in
White paper, like sandwiches taken for a day of work.
Just as a magician takes towers and rabbits
Out of his hat, he drew love from his small body.


~Yehuda Amichai, "My Father," Isibongo

There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any courser like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!

~Emily Dickinson, The Poems of Emily Dickinson

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Writing

All I need is a sheet of paper
and something to write with, and then
I can turn the world upside down.

~Friedrich Nietzsche, Die Weiss und die Schwarze Kunst

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The lofty bookshelves sag
Under thousands of sleeping souls
Silence, hopeful--
Every time I open a book, a soul is awakened.

~Xi Chuan, "Books," New Generations

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Time

Time is a horse that runs in the heart, a horse
Without a rider on a road at night.
The mind sits listening and hears it pass.

~Wallace Stevens, "The Pure Good of Theory"

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He has been trying to sing
Love into existence again
And he has failed.
~Margaret Atwood
"Orpheus 2", Eating Fire

The King and the Fool.

I visited a certain king

Who had a certain fool.

The king was gray with wisdom got

From forty years of school.

The fool was pink with nonsense

And could barely write his name

But he knew a lot of little songs

And sang them just the same.

The fool was gay. The king was not.

Now tell me if you can:

Which was perhaps the greater fool

And which, the wiser man?

-Natalie Babbitt

-Kneeknock Rise

How Many Miles To Babylon?

How many miles to Babylon?
Three-score and ten.
Can I get there by candle-light?
Yes, there and back again.
If your heels are nimble and light,

You will get there by candle-light.

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet,
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams

~W.B. Yeats

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