Why I Wake Early: New Poems
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The forty-seven new works in this volume include poems on crickets, toads, trout lilies, black snakes, goldenrod, bears, greeting the morning, watching the deer, and, finally, lingering in happiness. Each poem is imbued with the extraordinary perceptions of a poet who considers the everyday in our lives and the natural world around us and finds a multitude of reasons to wake early.
kindly answered, it’s a gift that can’t be broken by giving it away. All I know is, there was a light that lingered, for hours, under her eyelids—that made a difference when she went back to a difficult house, at the end of the day. The Poet Goes to Indiana I’ll tell you a half-dozen things that happened to me in Indiana when I went that far west to teach. You tell me if it was worth it. I lived in the country with my dog— part of the bargain of coming. And there was a pond
with fish from, I think, China. I felt them sometimes against my feet. Also, they crept out of the pond, along its edges, to eat the grass. I’m not lying. And I saw coyotes, two of them, at dawn, running over the seemingly unenclosed fields. And once a deer, but a buck, thick-necked, leaped into the road just—oh, I mean just, in front of my car— and we both made it home safe. And once the blacksmith came to care for the four horses, or the three horses that belonged to the owner of
Where Does It End? Snow Geese What Was Once the Largest Shopping Center in Northern Ohio Was Built Where There Had Been a Pond I Used to Visit Every Summer Afternoon The Dovekie Something Logos Bear Many Miles Luna “Just a minute,” said a voice … PART TWO This Morning I Watched the Deer The Old Poets of China White-eyes Yellowlegs The Best I Could Do The Wren from Carolina Some Things, Say the Wise Ones Mindful Song of the Builders Look Again Goldenrod, Late Fall November
Daisies One The Soul at Last The Pinewoods Lingering in Happiness “Lord! who hath praise enough?” —George Herbert PART ONE Why I Wake Early Hello, sun in my face. Hello, you who make the morning and spread it over the fields and into the faces of the tulips and the nodding morning glories, and into the windows of, even, the miserable and the crotchety— best preacher that ever was, dear star, that just happens to be where you are in the universe to keep us from
afraid. There is such an unleashing of horror. Then I remember: death comes before the rolling away of the stone. The Marsh Hawk The marsh hawk doesn’t, as other hawks do, work his wings like soft hinges to make progress over the morning marsh, but merely, or so it seems, lays his breast upon the air and the air, as if understanding, floats him along with his wings open, and raised, just a little beyond the horizontal—in thanks, perhaps, to the great crystal