Time is all we have, and it isn’t much. “Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? / Tell me, what is it you plan to do / With your one wild and precious life?” asked the famed American poet Mary Oliver in her celebrated poem, “The Summer Day”. It’s a great reminder for us to number our days, listen to each moment and appreciate what is truly meaningful and important. Below, I’ve gathered five poems on this theme with the hope that it can inspire us all to live inspired lives with the time that we have. I hope you like them.
Here’s a moving poem by Stanley Kunitz who has been praised as one of the greatest American poets of the 20th century. Stanley Kunitz became the tenth Poet Laureate of the United States in the autumn of 2000. He was 95 years old at the time, still actively publishing and promoting poetry to new generations of readers.
END OF SUMMER
An agitation of the air,
A perturbation of the light
Admonished me the unloved year
Would turn on its hinge that night.
I stood in the disenchanted field
Amid the stubble and the stones
Amaded, while a small worm lisped to me
The song of my marrow-bones.
Blue poured into summer blue,
A hawk broke from his cloudless tower,
The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew
That part of my life was forever over.
Already the iron door of the North
Clangs open: birds, leaves, snows
Order their populations forth,
And a cruel wind blows.
~ Stanley Kunitz
This poem marks a significant change in Kunitz’s work, shifting from the exuberance of youth to a more somber reflection on mortality. The poem’s imagery is sparse and understated, yet evocative of the season’s end. The “agitation of the air” and “perturbation of the light” suggest an impending change, while the “disenchanted field” and “stubble and stones” evoke a sense of desolation and decay. The “small worm” and its “song of my marrow bones” are a haunting reminder of the cycle of life and death while the final line’s “cruel wind” symbolizes the harshness of time’s passage. The melancholy of the poem is its beauty, gently reminding us that time is all we have, and it isn’t much.
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The next poem is an excerpt from a longer poem by Denise Levertov (1923-1997), who in the course of a prolific career, created a highly regarded body of poetry that reflected her beliefs as an artist and a humanist. Her many accolades include the Shelley Memorial Award, Robert Frost Medal, Lenore Marshall Prize, Lannan Award, and a Guggenheim Fellowship. She also received the Governor’s Award from the Washington State Commission for the Humanities.
THE POEM UNWRITTEN
The poem unwritten, the act
left in the mind, undone. The years
a forest of giant stones, of fossil stumps,
blocking the altar.
~ Denise Levertov
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I will now share a short poem by the Lebanese American poet and visual artist, Kahlil Gibran (1883-1931) who is best known as the author of The Prophet. First published in the US in 1923, The Prophet has become one of the best-selling books of all time, having been translated into more than 100 languages. Gibran has been called him “the single most important influence on Arabic poetry and literature during the first half of 20th century,” and he is still celebrated as a literary hero in Lebanon today.
IN MY YOUTH
In my youth I was but the
slave of the high tide and
the ebb tide of the sea, and
the prisoner of half moons
and full moons. Today I
stand at this shore and I rise not
nor do I go down.
~ Kahlil Gibran
This brief poem speaks volumes about the universal reality of life – that we are “slaves of the high tide” in our youth, where “high tide” symbolizes the collectives forces such as work, business, family, ambition, and wealth that drive us relentlessly until we become mentally and spiritually exhausted or reached the age where we can finally let go and find our true selves. For some, there is no such opportunity. We should bloom when we can.
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American poet Sharon Olds (b. 1942) received many honors, including the first San Francisco Poetry Center Award in 1980, the 1984 National Book Critics Circle Award, and the 2013 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. She teaches creative writing at New York University and is a previous director of the Creative Writing Program at NYU. Here is a punchy two-liner by Olds that should encourage those of us who still have time to bloom.
LATE BLOOMER
I was a late bloomer.
But anyone who blooms at all, ever, is very lucky.
~ Sharon Olds
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Finally, here’s a poem I dug out from my collection, which I think fits into today’s theme.
SING THE BROKEN MUSIC
Look – there is no way out
of this waning tide. With time,
everything gets lost and
the world that once showered you
will leave you dry. But
it’s not all bad. Even this late
you have you,
whom you have loved
all your life, though not always
in the right way. Come, sit
with yourself by the evening light
and bid the air be still,
as you look out to the fields.
There are songs
among the haystacks.
Find yours.
Sing the broken music
before the light goes out.
~ Wallace Fong