What makes a life rich and interesting in the midst of so much that is superficial and fleeting? For me, it is noticing, catching sublime moments as the come, finding epiphanies in unexpected places, poetry in the every day. Examples abound: an unrepeatable situation; only this, and not another morning, only this and not another sky, only this and not another street, only this and not another leaf. Below are four poems that dwell on this theme.
A Leaf by Bronislaw Maj (b. 1953)
A leaf, one of the last,
parts from a maple branch: it is spinning
in the transparent air of October,
falls on a heap of others, stops, fades.
No one admired its entrancing struggle
with the wind, followed its flight, no one
will distinguish it now
as it lies among other leaves,
no one saw
what I did. I am
the only one.
Translated from the Polish by Cselaw Milosz and Robert Hass
***
Jupiter by Nicholas Hogg (b. 1974)
You get a moment sometimes,
to consider the space
between planets. I open the window
while taking a bath,
floating in the clear night sky
with Jupiter. Naked,
the two of us
in orbit.
***
Living by Denise Levertov (1923-1997)
The fire in leaf and grass
so green it seems
each summer the last summer.
The wind blowing, the leaves
shivering in the sun,
each day the last day.
A red salamander
so cold and so
easy to catch, dreamily
moves his delicate feet
and long tail. I hold
my hand, open for him to go
each minute the last minute.
***
Praising Spring by Linda Gregg (1942-2109)
The day is taken by each thing
and grows complete.
I go out and come in and go out again,
confused by a beauty that knows
nothing of delay, rushing like fire.
All things move faster than time
and make a stillness thereby.
My mind leans back and smiles,
having nothing to say.
Even at night I go out with
a light and look at the growing.
I kneel and look at one thing
at a time. A white spider on a
peony bud. I have nothing to give,
and make a poor servant, but I can
praise the spring. Praise this wildness
that does not heed the hour.
The doe that does not stop at dark
but continues to grow all night long.
The beauty in every degree
of flourishing. Violets lift to the rain
and the brook gets louder than ever.
The old German farmer is asleep
and the flowers go on opening.
There are stars. Mint grows high.
Leaves bend in the sunlight
as the rain continues to fall.
