Can poetry teach us how to live? #NPM17

It's a quiet, rainy Sunday afternoon here on April 30, the last day of April and the end, for this year, of National Poetry Month. The time and circumstances are close to ideal for a final celebration of the Month by curling up and taking time to "Read the first chapter of Muriel Rukeyser’s inspiring book The Life of Poetry."

In Minnesota, April is much like I am before I've had my first second cup of coffee: still waking up from a deep slumber, like a bear coming out of hibernation. And, you take your chances if you try to rely on Spring in Minnesota in April, or on what I may say while still drinking my first cup of coffee, because neither of us is really all there yet. Well, April and I may be there physically but we aren't yet coherent. Synapses start really firing in May, when the woods and waters really awaken around here, and with me as I'm finishing my second cup.

SiSi, four years ago

Photo by J. Harrington

As I think about it, the end of April is also when SiSi came to live in her "forever home" four years ago. She was about six months old when she rescued us by adopting our family. Funny, it doesn't seem that long ago. People and puppies become part of our lives, if we're lucky. So can poetry. Poetry is as constant as the seasons, as entertaining as a family pet that sneakily infiltrates our life. Even better, I've never had to clean up after poetry, nor take a poem for a walk, although I have really enjoyed some walks I've shared with other poets, or taken alone, with SiSi, while letting a prospective poem simmer in my subconscious. April, and poetry, are always as full of promise as SiSi is full of hope that something good will happen next. When we're really lucky, poetry sometimes delivers much more than we're expecting. SiSi does that too. Mary Oliver provides an example of what can happen.

“I Ask Percy How I Should Live My Life”

by Mary Oliver.

Love, love, love, says Percy.
And hurry as fast as you can
along the shining beach, or the rubble, or the dust.

Then, go to sleep.
Give up your body heat, your beating heart.
Then, trust.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.