An unexpected holiday.
I want to sing!
Give back, says the song I’m learning. Because you’re only offering the water of the lake unto itself.
Isn’t that something?
So before I start practicing, here’s one for poetry – for readers everywhere who haven’t already loved it, to waking, to the moment that isn’t necessarily right or wrong or even where you think you should be, to you who are reading this now, and if you haven’t looked at yourself, will you? Will you take a walk and look around you?
Note to self: wake again and again.
translated by Jack Hirschman
Like you I
love love, life, the sweet smell
of things, the sky-
blue landscape of January days.
And my blood boils up
and I laugh through eyes
that have known the buds of tears.
I believe the world is beautiful
and that poetry, like bread, is for everyone.
And that my veins don’t end in me
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life,
landscape and bread,
the poetry of everyone.
Read poet Holly Wren Spaulding’s thoughts on the poem here.