For creation, chaos, and unreason, from Bells in Winter, translated by the author and Lillian Vallee.
from Calling to Order / by Czeslaw Milosz
Out of what thin sand
And mud and slime
Out of what dogged splinters
Did you fashion your castle against the test of the sea,
And now it is touched by a wave.
For Valentine’s Day, from Ordinary Things.
from Outside the Frame / by Jean Valentine
It is enough, now, anywhere,
with everyone you love there to talk to.
For Valentine’s Day, from Sonnets to Orpheus, translated by M.D. Herter Norton.
from First Part, 1 / by Rainer Maria Rilke
There rose a tree. O pure transcendency!
O Orpheus singing! O tall tree in the ear!
And all was silent. Yet even in the silence
new beginning, beckoning, change went on.
Creatures of stillness thronged out of the clear
released wood from lair and nesting-place;
and it turned out that not from cunning and not
from fear were they so hushed within themselves,
but from harkening.
For the children, from Faithful and Virtuous Night.
from Utopia / by Louise Glück
When the train stops, the woman said, you must get on it. But how will I know, the child asked, it is the right train? It will be the right train, said the woman, because it is the right time.
For a different perspective, from Station Island.
from Drifting Off / by Seamus Heaney
The guttersnipe and the albatross
gliding for days without a single wingbeat
were equally beyond me.
For love of the arts, from One Train.
from Aesthetics of Cézanne / by Kenneth Koch
To have painted
the apples
that were in
the orchard
For it seems like a good day for muses and a peaceful beach scene, from Mermaids in the Basement.
from A Muse of Water / by Carolyn Kizer
Discover the deserted beach
where ghosts of curlews safely wade
For lost fathers, for ours would have been 83 now, had he just skipped or flown over this day 26 years ago, from Selected Poems.
from The Lost Pilot / by James Tate
However frightening, I would
discover you, and I would not
turn you in; I would not make
you face your wife, or Dallas, or
the co-pilot, Jim. You
could return to your crazy
orbiting, and I would not try
to fully understand what
it means to you.
For Irish Medieval Literature, from Sweeney Astray, Heaney’s version of Buile Suibhne.
from Sweeney Astray / by Seamus Heaney
The blackthorn is a jaggy creel
stippled with dark sloes;
green watercress in thatch on wells
where the drinking blackbird goes.
For it seems like a good time for this one, from The Lorax.
from The Lorax / by Dr. Seuss
At the far end of town
where the Grickle-grass grows
and the wind smells slow-and-sour when it blows
and no birds ever sing excepting old crows…
is the Street of the Lifted Lorax.
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