Several weeks ago, I received a poem in the mail. I tore open a small cream envelope, and upon a thin sheet of paper, a poem was handwritten:
The sea can do craziness, it can do smooth,
it can lie down like silk breathing
or toss havoc shoreward; it can give
gifts or withhold all; it can rise, ebb, froth
like an incoming frenzy of fountains, or it can
sweet-talk entirely. As I can too,
and so, no doubt, can you, and you.
For context, about a week before, an artist I follow on Instagram announced that she would mail poems to the first ten people to send in their addresses. By the time an envelope sent from Brooklyn was in my hands just the following week, delightful remembrance came as I tore open the letter and found just one thing inside: the words of the late poet Mary Oliver, penned in black ink.
Mary Oliver’s poetry has long been a favorite of mine. She has this profound ability to evoke wonder and stir gratitude for the simple bits of life that make it miraculous, all the while exploring the honest realities of being human. I feel grateful, most of all, for how her words have taught me to pay attention to the miracles of nature and existence around me.
There was something about receiving this poem on the day it came; I needed those words. Especially in this complicated time, my days can feel more wild than ordered; and a poem describing the wildness of the ocean felt calming to my stirring mind. Some of my days can feel like an ebbing tide… smoothed out and gentle waters of recovery, while others feel more like a frothing hurricane. I’m learning how to navigate both kinds of days, and find myself grounded still.
Poetry has this unique ability to meet us with words in ways that actually go beyond them. A wise mentor of mine, Jessie Miller, has said “Poetry humbly gives up the control of saying exactly what we mean, in hopes that others might find something they need to hear.” A poem holds within its margins endless possibilities for finding what is nourishing and needed. It does not need the specificity or clarity required for conversation and does not give answers per se, but instead gives space for personal reflection and mystery. There have been times when writing a poem has given me the language to remember a sacred moment, and more times than I can count when reading a poem has met me with the feeling of being less alone and more at home in this world.
I think there is something in the poetic that our souls need; and in this challenging time, I think we could use more of it— to embrace us, to inspire us, to comfort us, and to awaken us again to the beauty of life. Finding beauty in life does not mean the denial or avoidance of the very real pain and injustice in our world. Instead, I’ve been learning the need to press into the tension of a life that gives space for the presence of beauty and sorrow at the same time. I’ve found that poetry, in its honesty and beauty, can meet me in this place of tension.
So why not find a book of poetry and immerse yourself in its golden pages? Or even jot down one of your favorite poems and mail it to a friend? Poetry might just be what’s needed on a wild, October afternoon.
If you’re not sure where to start, or looking for some fresh pages to dive into, here are a few of my poetry favorites:
– Mary Oliver, A Thousand Mornings
– Morgan Harper Nichols, Storyteller / and her Instagram account
– Preston Hornbeck, States Lines
– Tess Guinery, Moonflower Monologues
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