There are things you can’t reach. But you can reach out to them, and all day long. The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of god. And it can keep you busy as anything else, and happier. I look; morning to night I am never done with looking. Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around as though with your arms open. — Mary Oliver
My love for poetry arrived late in life. In my youth, Shakespeare’s words felt hollow because I read his sonnets and poems like an assignment. Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, John Milton’s Paradise Lost, and Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven seemed equally difficult to grasp. Cooped up in the middle of my room, I studied the passages, read them over and over again, and then gave up. Knowing that I missed something, I attempted to open up to the pages again, studied the stanzas and tried to reflect on the meaning behind the words. Several times, I heard the word “classic” bantered around, either by my English teacher or in the introductory paragraph to the poem. The use of this particular word created a mix of panic and questioning. What was I missing? Why couldn’t I understand what these poems meant? Why were they out of my reach?
After my senior year of English in high school, the study of poetry became a rite of passage I endured, but didn’t enjoy. The days of shifting through hundreds of poems and reciting Shakespeare’s To Be Or Not To Be, got buried like items in a junk drawer. While pursuing my political science degree as an undergrad, my intersections with poetry were minimal. Instead, I read Rousseau, Hobbes and Locke and studied the origins of government and political theory. When I did carve out time for some recreational reading, I picked short stories, from authors like Raymond Carver and Flannery O’Connor. My reading selections centered on novels that did not require interpretation, but page-turners, where the language did not leave much to interpret. I did not want to dissect the writing, but desired an escape.
By my mid-thirties, I began to revisit poetry again. It started with Rilke. As a teenager, I kept a maroon-bound book of Letters To A Young Poet in my nightstand. Going through his work felt less challenging, and I remember copying various passages in my journal to gain an understanding of the texture of his words. When I pulled out Rilke again, as a woman, my eyes gravitated toward this particular passage:
“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.”
Reading this passage again, I connected with the words in a different way than in my youth. I brought my experiences into the words. Undergoing certain events, like marriage, the birth of a child and the loss of a parent, gave a deeper meaning to the phrase, “Live the question.” Reacquainting myself with Rilke, I started exploring other poetry. Mary Oliver, Naomi Shihab Nye, David Whyte, and Rumi held a new kind of appeal. When I read certain passages, an invisible force conjured up various experiences in my life. Sometimes I felt surprised; other times, I felt less alone, comforted like a baby who listened to her favorite lullaby. Certain poems pushed me into the present, while others allowed me to honor the past. But always, I am poised to reflect.
They aren’t just words I memorize, but now they add a deeper meaning to my own personal landscape.
It is place I can reach.
This piece originally appeared on The First Day.
*April is National Poetry Month. Check out ways to commemorate this month by visiting Poets.org.
What a lovely nod to poetry in your life this month! Happy Poetry Month to you 🙂
Thanks, Windy. I am excited to feature poems this month.
Rudri, I love this!! What a great passage that explains so much! I really believe your teachers let you down in the past. The insistence on dissecting a poem to death has sent many potential poetry lovers running as fast as possible in the opposite directions. Posting a link to this on my FB page pronto.
That’s a beautiful passage from Rilke. Funny how understanding really does come with time.
Opening with Mary Oliver with a Rilke chaser? You are fast becoming my favourite blogger 🙂 I know just what you mean about poetry. I have always written poetry, but readng it? Torture. There were notable exceptions like Mary Oliver and Maya Angelou, but still. And then I went to a poetry slam for the first time. Oh my. Poetry is much better when it is performed!
Thanks, Sara. Mary Oliver and Maya Angelou are two of my favorites, as well as Billy Collins and David Whyte.
I agree. Poetry performed is an experience. Thanks for adding your insight.
Poetry is life and life is poetry. Xo
Yes! Missing your poetry, Ayala. Hope you return to it soon. xo
I could stand to revisit some poetry!
Side note– glad that you can reshare some of your First Days work here!
Poetry were on the outs for a long time. I mistakenly thought all poetry was vague. It seemed too personal to the writer to be relevant to me. It left me confused and disinterested. But then, like you, I discovered Mary Oliver and Billy Collins. I started to realize that there were poets who spoke my language, as it were. I’ve been meaning to expand my circle to include Rumi. Do you have any Rumi poems you’d recommend?
Jackie:
Sorry for my delay in replying. Since I’ve come to poetry late in my life, it sinks in with a depth that I am not certain I could appreciate in my younger days.
I recommend The Essential Rumi – http://www.amazon.com/The-Essential-Rumi-Expanded-Edition/dp/0062509594. I also follow the Rumi Twitter feed which offers some gems.
Here is one of my favorite passages:
“This being human is a guest house. Every morning is a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor…Welcome and entertain them all. Treat each guest honorably. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.”
― Rumi
Oh, I wish I could say I rediscovered my love for poetry but I have not. I’ve never had a great love for it mostly for the reasons you state here. I simply fall in love with passages or even a line or two. Emily Dickinson has always been a favorite, though. (I think that’s a requirement of getting through your teen years.)