Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

And how could you ever
get what you want
when you would need to believe
            in something other than
the past—friends, mornings, walks,
            the spider-branchwork
            of cold trees—

Joanna Klink, from “On Surmising” in “The Nightfields” (Penguin Books, July 7, 2020)

What I hope for…

“What I hope for,” Limón said, “is a sort of soothing. I don’t mean just for humans, but for animals, plants and every living creature.”

Elisabeth Egan, from “A Poem Hitches a Ride on a Rocket, to Infinity and Beyond.” NASA and the U.S. Poet Laureate Ada Limón may not be obvious collaborators, but a Jupiter-bound mission helped them find common ground. (NY Times, October 25, 2024)


Notes:

  • Photograph: Europa Clipper Lifts Off From Kennedy Space Center. NASA/Kim Shiflett
  • Listen to Ada Limón read her poem here.
  • In Praise of Mystery: A Poem for Europa by Ada Limón:

    Arching under the night sky inky
    with black expansiveness, we point
    to the planets we know, we

    pin quick wishes on stars. From earth,
    we read the sky as if it is an unerring book
    of the universe, expert and evident.

    Still, there are mysteries below our sky:
    the whale song, the songbird singing
    its call in the bough of a wind-shaken tree.

    We are creatures of constant awe,
    curious at beauty, at leaf and blossom,
    at grief and pleasure, sun and shadow.

    And it is not darkness that unites us,
    not the cold distance of space, but
    the offering of water, each drop of rain,

    each rivulet, each pulse, each vein.
    O second moon, we, too, are made
    of water, of vast and beckoning seas.

    We, too, are made of wonders, of great
    and ordinary loves, of small invisible worlds,
    of a need to call out through the dark.

Even fanatics cannot change that.

Why? Because people need songs like they need bread and water. People need poetry, beauty, love! So long as the sun rises and rivers flow, there will always be weddings and celebrations and music. Even fanatics cannot change that.

Elif Shafak, “There Are Rivers in the Sky: A Novel” (Knopf, August 20, 2024)


Notes:

Hello, sun in my face

Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who make the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and crotchety–

best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light–
good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.

— Mary Oliver, Why I Wake Early


Sunrise photos from this morning. 6:20 to 6:40 am. August 24, 2024. Cove Island Park. More pictures from this morning: Twilight here. Sunrise here.

Lightly Child, Lightly. (The Darkness Around Us is Deep)

Now I carry those days in a tiny box
wherever I go. I open the lid like this
and let the light glimpse and then glance away.
There is a sigh like my breath when I do this.
Some days I do this again and again.

— William Stafford, from “Remembering” in The Darkness Around Us Is Deep: Selected Poems.


Notes:

  • Poem Source: Thank you Beth via Alive on All Channels
  • Photo: DK 4:45am this morning at Cove Island Park. For more photos from this morning, click here.
  • Thursday Posts inspired by Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.