As anyone who lives the quiet life I love books. This poem reminds me of the power of the written word and the depths to which it reaches us in our souls. I also love humor and whimsy so one of my favorite poets was Shel Silverstein.
This is my amateurish contribution to honor books.
REQUIEM FOR THE LIBRARY
In times gone by, people of every class
would seek a place to feel some blessed peace.
A date-stamped card became their entry pass
to rest where they could find a sweet release
Bound beauties lined a narrow, cozy nook.
KEEP SILENT was the honored golden rule
but they screamed out, “I am your friend, the book.
My favorite poets are Mary Oliver and Emily Dickinson. In 6th grade I dressed up as Emily for a biography project where I had to do a soliloquy as a famous person. I pretended I was sitting at her writing desk in the middle of penning "I'm Nobody! Who are you?" and was startled by my classmates sitting there. Really wish I had that on film, haha.
I love the photo of the Bibliotheque Athenaeum, Boston MA. I was able to get a little peek inside last summer on a trip to visit my hometown. I dream of someday being able to get a pass to do some research there for the day!
The line …still wet/as shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn… jolted me into dear and treasured memories-of walks in my early childhood neighborhood, through parks in Prague as a traveling college student. From Milosz’s single line I can feel the breeze and smell the air, feel the morning sun on my back, and see the glistening chestnuts peeking out of their prickly wombs.
As for poets, Edna St. Vincent Millay, (particularly “Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare”), Yeats, Wordsworth, Mary Oliver, and of course, Leonard Cohen.
I don’t recall the grade (definitely not third-!) but I too have never forgotten the storytelling conflicts: individual vs nature, self, or society. Thank you for sharing Milosz’s poem.
Thank you Suz-an! We just had a beautiful celebration/dedication yesterday outdoors, among the trees (made me think of the Lorax), in her honor & Mother Nature was glorious. I will take peace, love + hugs
and yet the books! thank you! when i was maybe 7 or 8 yrs old, a bookmobile came once or twice a week after school to our neighborhood. i was ecstatic to discover this resource for my already voracious reading appetite. it's never abated.
ever since i realized that reading books 'online' in most formats means being 'tracked' ... well, it feels to me like such an invasion of privacy. now i know why. reading a book is truly a meeting/sharing of our own soul with the author's in a sacred space.
This post was . . . wonderful. I've been deeply impacted by several of Milosz's poems--especially "Late Ripeness"--but have never read this one. Thank you for introducing it to me. (The images in the post are stunning, too!)
Too many beloved poets to narrow down to two, but I'm happy to mention Ross Gay and Seamus Heaney.
I marvel at the ability of poets to capture and express the essence of feelings and experiences so sparingly yet powerfully in a few words or lines.
In The Cure for Sorrow Jan Richardson--artist, writer, and ordained minister in the United Methodist Church--addresses grief, and I have found so much solace in her words following the death of my husband. One of my favorite stanzas comes from her poem Blessing Where a Life Was Made:
Bless this place
that knows full well
what was made here,
that wears
the mark of it
always,
imprinted forever
by what passed by
in its intricate,
astonishing grace.
I also love the poems of Billy Collins, U.S. poet laureate from 2001 to 2003. His pithy words and lines are gems of wit and pathos. This comes from his book Musical Tables:
Jan Richardson gave me goosebumps and Billy Collins (he's one of my favorites too) made me LOL. Thank you. And I'm so sorry for the loss of your husband, Debbie.
I love Pablo Neruda's poem Aqui te amo. The line 'son mas tristes los muelles quando atraca la tarde' (the docks are sadder when the afternoon docks) always gets me.
I also like a poem by the Scottish poet Burns Singer (not Robert Burns), the first couple of lines 'Tonight I'll meet you. Yes, tonight/I know, there are perhaps a thousand miles'
Thank you for the poem and your reflection on it. It got me thinking on the positive and negative aspects of tribe, although I believe that tribalism does not necessarily always derives from tribe. I know, I'm hard pressed for an example on this. In a world in permanent flux, it is harder to find a tribe I feel.
Our kin, who are our kin? I’ve never been particularly close to my sister perhaps because she is 6 years older. When our brother died I felt completely alone. I am the youngest, my sister was married and her family was young and growing when he died. My brother was a very deep individual and writer of poetry. He was introverted like me and thus his being gone from my life had an incredibly profound impact on me and not always in positive ways. It’s been 42 years since he died, I’ve had two marriages, 3 children, and suffered the death of my middle son. Life has been challenging and I’ve been working it for a long time. Some of the hardest work I’ve had to do is around kin, this poem spoke to me and I’m grateful.
Thank you for introducing me to this poet. It is a very interesting read. I will need more time with it. I am a dancer and I have created dances for groups and individuals. When groups are working to create beauty, they hold so much promise. It requires individuals bend their will to the larger plan. Yet dancing as a soloist brings me great joy! I love being an individual and the freedom to live in my own version of hope. So to me it depends on the purpose of the group to see if the outcome is beauty or destruction. Not necessarily every group is destined for chaos and oppression. My favorite poets right now are rumi and Maya Angelou.
I came across one of my writings, it’s me vs me and me vs society, and as it says…I deserve the space, my writing as a “separate being” deserves the space. I’d like to share my first Substack post:
hmm thinking deeply now about the distinction between “group” (mob, maybe?) and “community” - kin and neighbours for sure, but also friends, beloved colleagues, chosen community. i’m also a bit of a loner by nature but at the same time, the longer i exist on this planet the more aware i become of how vital are community and network (not in the hype beast way but in the more slow subterranean mycelial way)…
What an utterly beautiful poem. And what is also beautiful is your insight into totalitarianism. I share in the suspicion of 'the group' which I think can be one of the most dangerous forces in the world. I often think about how, when we die, we leave alone. We take nobody and nothing with us. Only our soul. And that is why I think that my goal must be to pay attention to the yearnings of my soul, to its nature, to its needs and silent whisperings. At the end, that is all that I will have. No group is coming with me. Not even those that I love so deeply. I feel that it is when I come to know myself better that I can then stand within whatever groups I may find myself in and be a real contributor - not swallowed by them but enriching them. But it was only because I was prepared to know myself first before I knew them.
As to poets, I love the writings of the Indian poet, Rabindranath Tagore. This is a taster.
"If they answer not to your call walk alone.
If they are afraid and cower mutely facing the wall,
As anyone who lives the quiet life I love books. This poem reminds me of the power of the written word and the depths to which it reaches us in our souls. I also love humor and whimsy so one of my favorite poets was Shel Silverstein.
This is my amateurish contribution to honor books.
REQUIEM FOR THE LIBRARY
In times gone by, people of every class
would seek a place to feel some blessed peace.
A date-stamped card became their entry pass
to rest where they could find a sweet release
Bound beauties lined a narrow, cozy nook.
KEEP SILENT was the honored golden rule
but they screamed out, “I am your friend, the book.
I live to serve each villager and school.”
We loved their multicolored leather coats
forming a masterpiece upon the shelves.
Their aging pages filled with wisdom quotes.
Within the covers we could find ourselves.
Hidden in this magical book-tower,
windows gave the sunlight it's admission
and it healed the soul of hardship’s power
as gentle scents showered contemplation.
My private tower lives now in my home.
From it I watch the real world from afar.
It cushions from the pain that others own.
I see each wounded warrior wear a scar.
The Public library, because of them
is owed by me, this humble requiem.
My favorite poets are Mary Oliver and Emily Dickinson. In 6th grade I dressed up as Emily for a biography project where I had to do a soliloquy as a famous person. I pretended I was sitting at her writing desk in the middle of penning "I'm Nobody! Who are you?" and was startled by my classmates sitting there. Really wish I had that on film, haha.
I love the photo of the Bibliotheque Athenaeum, Boston MA. I was able to get a little peek inside last summer on a trip to visit my hometown. I dream of someday being able to get a pass to do some research there for the day!
The line …still wet/as shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn… jolted me into dear and treasured memories-of walks in my early childhood neighborhood, through parks in Prague as a traveling college student. From Milosz’s single line I can feel the breeze and smell the air, feel the morning sun on my back, and see the glistening chestnuts peeking out of their prickly wombs.
As for poets, Edna St. Vincent Millay, (particularly “Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare”), Yeats, Wordsworth, Mary Oliver, and of course, Leonard Cohen.
I don’t recall the grade (definitely not third-!) but I too have never forgotten the storytelling conflicts: individual vs nature, self, or society. Thank you for sharing Milosz’s poem.
Thank you Suz-an! We just had a beautiful celebration/dedication yesterday outdoors, among the trees (made me think of the Lorax), in her honor & Mother Nature was glorious. I will take peace, love + hugs
awwww... so wonderful!
and yet the books! thank you! when i was maybe 7 or 8 yrs old, a bookmobile came once or twice a week after school to our neighborhood. i was ecstatic to discover this resource for my already voracious reading appetite. it's never abated.
ever since i realized that reading books 'online' in most formats means being 'tracked' ... well, it feels to me like such an invasion of privacy. now i know why. reading a book is truly a meeting/sharing of our own soul with the author's in a sacred space.
This post was . . . wonderful. I've been deeply impacted by several of Milosz's poems--especially "Late Ripeness"--but have never read this one. Thank you for introducing it to me. (The images in the post are stunning, too!)
Too many beloved poets to narrow down to two, but I'm happy to mention Ross Gay and Seamus Heaney.
Thank you, Rebecca!
I marvel at the ability of poets to capture and express the essence of feelings and experiences so sparingly yet powerfully in a few words or lines.
In The Cure for Sorrow Jan Richardson--artist, writer, and ordained minister in the United Methodist Church--addresses grief, and I have found so much solace in her words following the death of my husband. One of my favorite stanzas comes from her poem Blessing Where a Life Was Made:
Bless this place
that knows full well
what was made here,
that wears
the mark of it
always,
imprinted forever
by what passed by
in its intricate,
astonishing grace.
I also love the poems of Billy Collins, U.S. poet laureate from 2001 to 2003. His pithy words and lines are gems of wit and pathos. This comes from his book Musical Tables:
English 243: The History of Egotism
You will notice, class,
that Wordsworth did not write
"Edward, the Butcher's son,
wandered lonely as a cloud."
Jan Richardson gave me goosebumps and Billy Collins (he's one of my favorites too) made me LOL. Thank you. And I'm so sorry for the loss of your husband, Debbie.
How fortunate you were to have had that third grade teacher! I’m thrilled for you and all others who learned that so early in life.
I love Pablo Neruda's poem Aqui te amo. The line 'son mas tristes los muelles quando atraca la tarde' (the docks are sadder when the afternoon docks) always gets me.
I also like a poem by the Scottish poet Burns Singer (not Robert Burns), the first couple of lines 'Tonight I'll meet you. Yes, tonight/I know, there are perhaps a thousand miles'
Thank you for the poem and your reflection on it. It got me thinking on the positive and negative aspects of tribe, although I believe that tribalism does not necessarily always derives from tribe. I know, I'm hard pressed for an example on this. In a world in permanent flux, it is harder to find a tribe I feel.
Our kin, who are our kin? I’ve never been particularly close to my sister perhaps because she is 6 years older. When our brother died I felt completely alone. I am the youngest, my sister was married and her family was young and growing when he died. My brother was a very deep individual and writer of poetry. He was introverted like me and thus his being gone from my life had an incredibly profound impact on me and not always in positive ways. It’s been 42 years since he died, I’ve had two marriages, 3 children, and suffered the death of my middle son. Life has been challenging and I’ve been working it for a long time. Some of the hardest work I’ve had to do is around kin, this poem spoke to me and I’m grateful.
I'm so sorry for such losses, Loafergirl.
Finding and reading Quiet has given me tremendous insight into who I really am and the ability to be more and more Thank you Susan.
The poet Andrea Gibson is pretty powerful and poignant:
"Just to be clear
I don’t want to get out
without a broken heart.
I intend to leave this life
so shattered
there’s gonna have to be
a thousand separate heavens
for all of my flying parts."
An amazing poem Karen, thanks for sharing it. I think I've read some of her work before, and will not go and look her up - she understands!
Thank you for introducing me to this poet. It is a very interesting read. I will need more time with it. I am a dancer and I have created dances for groups and individuals. When groups are working to create beauty, they hold so much promise. It requires individuals bend their will to the larger plan. Yet dancing as a soloist brings me great joy! I love being an individual and the freedom to live in my own version of hope. So to me it depends on the purpose of the group to see if the outcome is beauty or destruction. Not necessarily every group is destined for chaos and oppression. My favorite poets right now are rumi and Maya Angelou.
I came across one of my writings, it’s me vs me and me vs society, and as it says…I deserve the space, my writing as a “separate being” deserves the space. I’d like to share my first Substack post:
https://substack.com/@dr3a/note/c-53234270?r=2d4j15&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=notes-share-action
My favorite poet since childhood (I'm 77): Stephen Crane.
My favorite poem of all time - by Crane - (very Scorpio of me!)
"Should the wide world roll away.
Leaving black terror,
Limitless night,
Nor God, nor man, nor place to stand
Would be to me essential,
If thou and thy white arms were there,
And the fall to doom a long way."
hmm thinking deeply now about the distinction between “group” (mob, maybe?) and “community” - kin and neighbours for sure, but also friends, beloved colleagues, chosen community. i’m also a bit of a loner by nature but at the same time, the longer i exist on this planet the more aware i become of how vital are community and network (not in the hype beast way but in the more slow subterranean mycelial way)…
What an utterly beautiful poem. And what is also beautiful is your insight into totalitarianism. I share in the suspicion of 'the group' which I think can be one of the most dangerous forces in the world. I often think about how, when we die, we leave alone. We take nobody and nothing with us. Only our soul. And that is why I think that my goal must be to pay attention to the yearnings of my soul, to its nature, to its needs and silent whisperings. At the end, that is all that I will have. No group is coming with me. Not even those that I love so deeply. I feel that it is when I come to know myself better that I can then stand within whatever groups I may find myself in and be a real contributor - not swallowed by them but enriching them. But it was only because I was prepared to know myself first before I knew them.
As to poets, I love the writings of the Indian poet, Rabindranath Tagore. This is a taster.
"If they answer not to your call walk alone.
If they are afraid and cower mutely facing the wall,
O thou unlucky one,
open your mind and speak out alone.
If they turn away,
and desert you when crossing the wilderness,
O though unlucky one,
trample the thorns under thy tread,
and along the blood-lined track
travel alone.
If they shut doors and do not hold up the light
when the night is troubled with storm,
O though unlucky one,
with the thunder flame of pain
ignite your own heart,
and let it burn alone".