Posts from the “Words” Category

Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single
friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore
unsuitable.
I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds
or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of
praying, as you no doubt have yours.
Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit
on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds,
until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost
unhearable sound of the roses singing.
If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love
you very much.

— Mary Oliver
How I go to the woods

I am so amazed to find myself kissing you
with such abandon,
filling myself with our kisses
astounding hunger for edges of lips and tongue.
Returning to feast again and again,
our bellies never overfilling from this banquet.
Returning in surprise,
in remembering,
in rediscovering,
such play of flavors of gliding lips
and forests of pressures and spaces.
The spaces between the branches
as delicious as finding the grove of lilies of the valley
blossoming just outside my door under the ancient oak.
“I’ve never held anyone this long,” you said,
the second time you entered my kitchen.
I am the feast this kitchen was blessed to prepare
waiting for you to enter open mouthed in awe
in the mystery we’ve been given,
our holy feast.

 

— Feasting
by Elizabeth W Garber

Sparrow, teach me to fly,
I’ll teach you how to write poems.
Teach me how to build a nest,
I’ll show you how to find a publisher.
Give me your feathers,
I’ll give you my coat.
Give me your fear,
I’ll give you my cat.
Give me your branch,
I’ll give you my bedroom.
Sparrow, if you give your life,
I’ll give you my cage.

Rodaan Al Galidi is currently my favourite poet. He was onstage at George Town Lit Fest 2013 — I saw so much joy and play in his reading, it reminded me of theatre practitioners and their particular brand of Philippe Gaulier joy, le jeu.

I was happy when Rodaan read his poetry, and he remains one of my clearest memories of 2013. His poetry is quite unlike the usual styles I prefer, and I wish he had more work translated. Still, that seems greedy. Maybe I should just be happy with what I’ve found so far.