I think all poems need to be accompanied by a disclaimer.
That reading good poetry may cause one’s mood to alter.
Or that one needs to be prudent with one’s diet so as not to overdose on maudlin sentimentality.
I feel a little hungover today from drinking in a cocktail of sadness, grief and regret.
Anybody got a remedy?
*************************
Heavy
That time
I thought I could not
go any closer to grief
without dying
I went closer,
and I did not die.
Surely God
had his hand in this,
as well as friends.
Still, I was bent,
and my laughter,
as the poet said,
was nowhere to be found.
Then said my friend Daniel,
(brave even among lions),
“It’s not the weight you carry
but how you carry it -
books, bricks, grief -
it’s all in the way
you embrace it, balance it, carry it
when you cannot, and would not,
put it down.”
So I went practicing.
Have you noticed?
Have you heard
the laughter
that comes, now and again,
out of my startled mouth?
How I linger
to admire, admire, admire
the things of this world
that are kind, and maybe
also troubled -
roses in the wind,
the sea geese on the steep waves,
a love
to which there is no reply?
- Mary Oliver
Text by Mary Oliver
Image by Huey Ko (copyrighted)
