Poetry has been sadly lacking in my life these last several months. Life got busy, and some of my favorite things (poetry, yoga, sleep) were set aside, along with the dishes. Lots of dirty dishes here.
It's now to the point where I no longer think "Hmm, I'd like to read a poem today" and click on the Writer's Almanac link on my toolbar to see what gem awaits. Instead, my whole body is screaming, "Give me all the poetry, stat!" Who am I to disobey?
My goal is to read more poetry books, and I'm aiming for one a month. The Internet is great for reading poems everyday, 'tis true, but there's nothing like immersing yourself in a book of poems. They go together. They fit. They tell a story. The form a feeling. The make you forget what you went to the store for, stuck in your interior contemplation.
I'm beginning with Blue Horses by Mary Oliver (The Penguin Press, New York, 2014). Here's one of the early poems:
What I Can Do
The television has two instruments that control it.
I get confused.
The washer asks me, do you want regular or delicate?
Honestly, I just want clean.
Everything is like that.
I won't even mention cell phones.
I can turn on the light of the lamp beside my chair
where a book is waiting, but that's about it.
Oh yes, and I can strike a match and make fire.
I suspect there is some commentary on age going on here, but regardless of age, I think this poem is relatable to everyone, to the human experience. I often think about all these choices we have, all these technologies, and the overwhelming desire to simplify my life. So what if you can't figure out how to work the Roku! You are alive. You can do what humans did millions of years ago, start a fire. Create life, love, art, cook dinner. What else do you need?
