The Beauty is in the Words
By Heather Webb | March 26, 2020 |
Yesterday I was listless, sitting at my desk, trying to brainstorm topics to write for this month’s post. It wasn’t that I lacked ideas, but they all felt so plebeian in light of what’s happening out there. So I stared at a blank document, for a long time. I went for a walk and returned to the document, and stared. For a long time. What did I usually write about, I kept asking myself. How can I share where I am in my writing life in a way that’s meaningful, now, today, amidst all of this—when I can’t even write? Finally, I began—where each day should always begin—with a gratitude list.
Right now, I’m:
- learning to be patient again, or better or longer
- teaching my kids in inventive ways and seeing their minds expand
- enjoying nature in a way I haven’t in a long time
- appreciating technology and the way it keeps me connected to the people I love
- reading books like mad from my TBR list
- forgiving myself if the words don’t come, or come very slowly
- witnessing heroism and generosity of spirit from so many, in so many glorious ways
And witnessing one of those moments of generosity yesterday is what inspired this post. After I swallowed a lump in my throat, I went looking for beauty. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that I found beauty where I often shelter, and find solace.
In the words.
I went to my shelves and pulled out several volumes of poetry I’d long since neglected. I used to read it most nights before bed for many years, but with a busy life and so much competing for my attention, I’d abandoned it. As I cracked volume after volume, I realized how much I needed this lost ritual. Yesterday, I spent hours reading poetry, from many different poets. Startling, beautiful, soul-filling poetry, and suddenly, I couldn’t wait to write. (I also ordered 3 new volumes to be delivered, pronto.)
Normally, I’d share a list of tips to help us use poetry in our writing, whether it be to infuse the story with some underlining symbolism, or to learn the weight of each word. To strengthen our craft by practicing wordplay. Instead, today, I’d like to share a few little pieces of beauty I found. I hope they bring you joy or inspire thought or encourage you to reread your favorite passages in your favorite books so you, too, will be filled up again and turn to your own pages to do what we love best. To write.
An excerpt from:
A Brave and Startling Truth by Maya Angelou
We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines
As a Child I Walked by Jewel Kilcher
As a child I walked
with noisy fingers
along the hemline
of so many meadows
back home
Green fabric
stretched out
shy earth
shock of sky
I’d sit on logs like pulpits
listen to the sermon
of sparrows
and find god in Simplicity,
there amongst the dandelion
and thorn
Auguries of Innocence by William Blake
To see the world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower;
Hold infinity in your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
Bond and Free by Robert Frost
Love has earth to which she clings
With hills and circling arms about—
Wall within wall to shut fear out.
But Thought has need of no such things,
For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.
On snow and sand and surf, I see
Where Love has left a printed trace
With straining in the world’s embrace.
And such is Love and glad to be.
But Thought has shaken his ankles free.
Thought cleaves the interstellar gloom
And sits in Sirius’ disc all night,
Till day makes him retrace his flight,
With smell of burning on every plume,
Back past the sun to an earthly room.
His gains in heaven are what they are.
Yet some say Love by being thrall
And simply staying possesses all
In several beauty that Thought fares far
To find fused in another star.
And lastly, I leave you with a little poem that expresses a sentiment that I’m willing to bet everyone at our beloved community at Writer Unboxed feels deeply as storytellers.
A Book by Emily Dickinson
THERE is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any courses like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!
What are you grateful for these dark days, or what is inspiring you, whether it be in writing or some other creative outlet? Perhaps the inspiration is merely to brave another day in an uncertain world.
Heather Webb is the USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of historical fiction. As a freelance editor and an adjunct in a MFA in Creative Writing program, Heather has helped many writers sign with agents and go on to sell at market. When not writing, she feeds her cookbook addiction, geeks out on history and pop culture, and looks for excuses to head to the other side of the world. To date, her books have been translated to seventeen languages.
Excellent post, Heather. At times like this, the beauty of poetry calms the worried mind.
I’ve been enjoying the Shakespearean sonnets superbly delivered by Sir Patrick Stewart on Twitter, under the hashtag #ASonnetADay. Delightful! It seems like artists from every medium are doing their part to make the most of a bad situation.
And then there are those competing in the #CoronavirusChallenge. What fools these mortals be! It prompted me to write the following:
There was a young fellow named Cyrus,
Who licked toilets, despite the C-virus.
It went viral, you see,
Not the video, but he!
Now his headstone is writ in Papyrus.
Okay, so I’m no Maya Angelou.
Stay put, stay safe, and, hard as it may be, do. not. lick. any. toilets.
LOL. You always make me laugh. What a gift you have for humor, Mike. Perhaps you should consider writing a satire. I’m willing to bet you’d write it splendidly!
And thank you for the tip. I just followed Sir Patrick Stewart! Shakespeare is near and dear so I can’t wait to see his readings.
Mary Oliver’s “Instructions for living a life”:
Pay attention
Be astonished
Tell about it
And Mary Oliver’s poem “Mindful” — too long to post all of it so here is the beginning …
Every day I see or hear something that more or less
kills me with delight, that leaves me like a needle
in the haystack of light
It is what I was born for—to look, to listen,
to lose myself inside this soft world—
to instruct myself over and over
in joy and acclamation
“Pay attention
Be astonished
Tell about it ”
Love this!
Oh, how gorgeous. Thank you for sharing, Barbara! I’m looking up her poetry now…
Hey Heather–I just had an epiphany yesterday. I decided to set aside a couple of my current reads. They’re both fairly hot, recent releases from my genre. I’m not big on DNF-ing books, and for me it seems like the perfect time to sink into a big epic fantasy. But these two just seemed so… I don’t know–frivolous, maybe?
To match the moment, I’m looking for depth and meaning. And feeling. I’m digging for it in my own WIP right now. But it would be nice to have both a distraction from it, and some inspiration for it. Maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong places. Maybe some poetry will match the moment for me. Love the Blake excerpt.
Thanks for helping me to course-correct. Here’s to finding beauty in words, both as seekers and providers. Wishing you a healthy, and productive, household!
Vaughn, I’m glad you’ve embraced the DNF! It took me years to do the same, but something happened along my publishing journey that somehow gave me permission to not “waste time” on books that didn’t captivate me. I confess, I find I DNF a lot of books these days at this point. There are loads of “okay” books, some “decent” books, and fewer “amazing’ books. And sometimes a book doesn’t have to be amazing, but it has to be “just right” for my frame of mind. Yes, perhaps you need something completely different from what you typically read, or some poetry, or humor, or just something else to inspire you.
I think this is one of the true and few beauties of the time we’re in right now–we’re being challenged to see the world differently. This is a writer’s dream, if we work it right.
Love your comments as always.
Vaughn. I now have a new word ! DNF. I’d never heard of that. Stretch my brain every day!
I had a writing professor in MFA school who started every class with a favorite poem. This brought back those days and memories. I shall have to dig through my dusty poetry books and find some favorites and some unread. Thanks!
Hi Michele!
I see the merit in that exercise these days. I’m severely missing poetry in my life these days. I’m really happy to have rediscovered it! Happy hunting. <3
Hmm… I may need to find my box of poetry books that I haven’t unpacked yet. Perhaps that’s the reading material I’m craving right now.
Thank you for this reminder that poetry is often the cure for what ails the weary soul.
Ruth
Hi Ruth,
I hope you find that box. Poetry certainly seems to be helping my ailing heart!
Over the past decade I have slowly amassed a collection of poetry books from various living poets to supplement my beloved dead poets. Most of them I found through The Writer’s Almanac, a daily five-minute podcast put together by Garrison Keillor that includes interesting facts about artists, writers, scientists, and other figures, some known, some until then unknown to me. He ends each one with a poem, often from a living poet. I’ve purchased so many of their books after hearing his selections. I HIGHLY recommend the podcast. You can get it on garrisonkeillor.com or have Alexa play it or subscribe and have it emailed to you (that’s what I do). I start almost every day with it.
I also write my own poetry here and there. I’ll share what I wrote on March 19th after staring at Twitter for a while, wondering what to say into the void:
Status Update
I have nothing to say
yet I must say it—
that I have nothing to say—
nothing interesting
nothing clever
nothing controversial
(whether intended or otherwise)
I have nothing to say
to any of you
but I must say something
because you are out there
scrolling
wanting to see
what people have to say
(not me, necessarily)
just anyone
anything to fill the silence
I must somehow say nothing
so it seems like something
to you
I must fill in your space
and you must fill in mine
as far as the character count
will allow, as far as
meaning can be stretched—
spread over barren lives
like white paint
over white canvas
adding up to so much
nothing
filling an emptiness
that was not there
until the possibility of filling it was
Erin:
filling an emptiness
that was not there
until the possibility of filling it was
Um, wow. Thank you.
Thanks, David. :)
An interesting postscript: I found out today on the Writer’s Almanac that it is Robert Frost’s birthday and that he didn’t publish his first book of poems until age 39. As someone who didn’t publish her first novel until age 39 last year, I am in happy company.
Here’s a link to the site if anyone wants to check it out:
https://www.garrisonkeillor.com/radio/twa-the-writers-almanac-for-march-26-2020/
Erin,
Thanks so much for sharing your poetry! <3 And for the tip on the podcast. I've had trouble finding modern poets I can connect to so I'm really excited to check this out. I have a feeling my collection is about to explode and this makes me so happy.
Thanks for the inspiration, Heather!
Thanks, Gaye!
A big thanks for reminding me to read more poetry.
Everytime I see Robert Frosts’ name I’m reminded of his fire and ice poem. In it, he compares two destructive forces, and hate is represented as ice. When I read it, I think about how destructive indifference is. Being cold to each other is one way our world could come apart.
Here’s the poem:
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
James,
That poem is one of my favorites! What’s funny is it reminds me a little of Game of Thrones now. :)
May poetry continue to inspire you (and all of us)!
Thanks Heather. The blessings of sheltering with my husband are highlighted with reading, and poetry can often spark more ideas than prose. Be safe.
How lovely, Beth.
I hope you and your husband stay well.
Wonderful post, Heather, and yes, what a great reminder of the beauty of words… Thank you for the inspiration. I didn’t start reading poetry until later in life, and now I can’t imagine getting through the tough times without it. I have two very well-known poems that I read regularly when I need to remind myself that this, too, shall pass:
“The Peace of Wild Things”
Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
**
The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
That Wendell Berry poem is stunning, Barb, thanks. I’ve added below a thematically related poem by Anna Akhmatova. Hope you like it.
Above is a clip of Berry reading his own poem, if anyone is interested. I find his voice comforting.
Oh, thank you so much for sharing these, Barb. Both are stunning, and there’s nothing we need to remember more right now than, “this too shall pass”.
Yes, beautiful! Thanks, Heather!
Thanks , Thomas. Happy writing!
Heather, I started reading a poem a day to my teens, about a week ago! It’s been fun to find poems for them (mostly I look for light poetry–or poems connected to conversations we’ve had); and they groan whenever I say it’s poetry time, but I think they kind of get a kick out of it too. (I read aloud with a LOT of fervor.) :) Thanks for this reminder to find poems for myself, too.
What a great idea, Heather. My kids grew up on Shel Silverstein–we even have the discs so they can hear him read the poems as well–and they’re all but memorized. One day, I hope they realize how much poetry has played a part in the shaping of their hearts and souls and little minds.
Thank you for the poetry, Heather, and the reminder of what beautiful things we humans can do.
It feels so important to remember the beauty right now, doesn’t it?
May these troubling times move swiftly past.
Heather, there is no frigate like a book. I love Neruda and Rilke (and Billy Collins too), but I haven’t taken up a book of poetry in a while. There’s time now—I’m going to roam through my books, and even if I don’t find the right poetry book, just touching my books and looking at covers will be healing.
Thanks for the suggestion and be well!
Oh, by the way, Patrick Stewart is reading Shakespearean sonnets on his Twitter feed @SirPatStew
Thanks for the tip, Tom. I followed him today. You and Mike both recommended him and I’m all in!
Thanks, Heather! Yes, poetry and music are what I crave now. Here’s one by Lucille Clifton.
blessing the boats
(at St. Mary’s)
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that
Lovely, Barbara. Thanks for sharing.
I’ve been listening to loads of soothing music, too. Opera, for one!
There is such power in words. They transport us and make us realize we are capable of so much more than mundane existence. Lovely choices, Heather. And the poems of those who shared as well.
I was walking along the coast yesterday, feeling a bit down at my own reduced income circumstances during this terrible time. As I wandered along the shore towards sunset, signs were everywhere reminding us of the economic toll the pandemic has taken. There were “Closed due to Coronavirus” signs on restaurants, bars, shops and even the beach. A normally bustling southern California tourist village was shuttered, a stark reminder that there were people in far worse circumstances than mine. I can still enjoy the beauty of a coastal stroll, the magic of a radiant sunset, a stocked fridge and the comfort of my loving husband and exuberant new rescue dog.
As I wandered back through my neighborhood, I noticed a colorful chalk drawing on the footpath outside a house with the words, “HOPE” and then “Stay Safe and Have Fun” in a childish hand. I think that’s all we can do until the future becomes a little brighter.
I love your optimism, Deborah. It’s exactly what we need to hold on to right now until things improve. May you have many more beautiful walks on that beach.
The Fiddler of Dooney by William Butler Yeats
WHEN I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Moharabuiee.
I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.
When we come at the end of time,
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle
And the merry love to dance:
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With ‘Here is the fiddler of Dooney!’
And dance like a wave of the sea.
This is joyous, David! Thank you for sharing. I’ve been missing poetry so much and didn’t even realize it. Love Yeats!
P.S.
Why Then Do We Not Despair? by Anna Akhmatova
Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold,
Death’s great black wing scrapes the air,
Misery gnaws to the bone.
Why then do we not despair?
By day, from the surrounding woods,
cherries blow summer into town;
at night the deep transparent skies
glitter with new galaxies.
And the miraculous comes so close
to the ruined, dirty houses —
something not known to anyone at all,
but wild in our breast for centuries.
How gorgeous and again, hopeful even in the gloom. Thank you, David.
Thematically similar to Berry’s poem, indeed! Thanks, David, for introducing me to Akhmatova, as well as for posting Yeats’ Fiddler poem! I used to work with an 85 year old woman from Ireland who played the fiddle. She brought so much joy into my heart, I can’t help but think of her, and smile, as I read it.
I don’t read poetry often enough. I forget how restorative it is.
Thank you, Heather.
I’d forgotten, too, Bob. I hope you find a great volume where you can lose yourself.
Heather, thanks for sharing these poems. I am grateful for friends, family, health, and my writing community. I am inspired by how many people are pulling together for the greater good during this challenging time. It is a strange and scary time, but we must try to keep a positive attitude and keep in touch with our loved ones. And, stay safe, stay home. Thanks again for sharing your thoughts and insights.
Stay safe, friend! I’m hanging on for happier days as well. We have collective positivity if not individually!
Maybe third time’s the charm. I’ve not picked up a book of poems for a while…but I’ve been singing Byrd’s Ne irascaris Domine. Here’s a link to the Voces8 group singing it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wo8qfyK9c3c SUBLIME
Lovely!
Lovely post, Heather. You introduced me to a new poet full of nature imagery. I love all the responses/conversations in this group.
Not too long ago I listened to a writer interview who said he starts every writing session with poetry to be embraced by the beauty of words.
Dickinson sentiment is fine, but the poem… ??? Sorry, she just turns me off!