I have been flummoxed all day, only part of it wondering what poem might be appropriate to post today. I couldn't find one that is appropriately celebratory but not sentimental and silly. I doubt one has been written on this occasion and I am certainly not up to the task, not today and probably never. How often do poets become great-grandmothers? So many of the female ones don't even have children. The male one -- well ... let's say it's not on their radar even if they are old enough. There is a poem by Grace Paley that is not specifically on this subject, beautifully celebratory but very personal to her and not applicable to me. So, finally I decided that Mary Oliver celebrates all kinds of life and in this one she not only receives and rejoices but gives, receives and rejoices. It seems appropriate by extension.
I wanted to thank the mockingbird for the vigor of his song.
Every day hesang from teh rim of the field, while I picked
blueberries or just idled in the sun.
Every day he came fluttering by to show me, and why not,
the white blossoms in his wings.
So one day I went there with a machine, and played some songs
The mockingbird stopped singing, he came close and seemed
Now when I go down to the field, a little Mahler spills
through the sputters of his song.
How happy I am, lounging in the light, listening as the music
And I give thanks also for my mind, the thought of giving
And mostly I'm grateful that I take this world so seriously.
Alex Krivtsov shoots -
7 hours ago