Poem 57 (Pandemic Day 61) Sunday, May 10, Mother's Day

For a Mother-To-Be

Nothing could have prepared
Your heart to open like this.

From beyond the skies and the stars
This echo arrived inside of you
And started to pulse with life
Each beat a tiny act of growth,
Traversing all our ancient shapes,
On its way home to itself.

Once it began, you were no longer your own.
A new, more courageous you, offering itself
In a new way to a presence you can sense
But you have not seen or known.

It has made you feel alone
In a way you never knew before;
Everyone else sees only from the outside
What you feel and feed
With every fiber of your being.

Never have you traveled farther inward
Where words and thoughts become half-light
unable to reach the fund of brightness
Strengthening inside the night of your womb.

Like some primeval moon,
Your soul brightens
The tides of essence
That flow to your child.

You know your life has changed forever,
For in all the days and years to come,
Distance will never be able to cut you off
From the one you now carry
For nine months under your heart.

May you be blessed with quiet confidence
That destiny will guide you and mind you.

May the emerging spirit of your child
Imbibe encouragement and joy
From the continuous music of your heart,
So that it can grow with ease,
Expectant of wonder and welcome
When its form is fully filled

And it makes it journey out
To see you and settle at last
Relieved and glad in your arms.


- John O'Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings, Doubleday, 2008.

Robin Citrin, connected to me by those complicated connections we call family ties, but much simpler by the bonds of friendship and common idealism, shared a lovely poem by O'Donohue a few weeks ago that was so fitting for this time in history, that I just had to find O'Donohue on my shelf and share one of his blessings on a special day.  

Robin has a son that is just as far away from her as my eldest son is from me (in Korea). Of course there are no distance limits on the extent of a mother's love.  Here's the poem she shared with me.  Happy Mother's Day to all of you who give out "mother love".

this is the time to be slow,
lie low to the wall
until the bitter weather passes.
try, as best you can, not to let
the wire brush of doubt
scrape from your heart
all sense of yourself
and your hesitant light.
if you remain generous,
time will come good;
and you will find your feet
again on fresh pastures of promise,
where the air will be kind
and blushed with beginning.
john o’donohue ~

http://www.johnodonohue.com/to-bless-the-space-between-us

Poem 56 (Pandemic Day 60)

Two People

She reads the paper,

while he turns on TV

she likes the mountains,

he craves the sea.

He'd rather drive,

she'll take the plane;

he waits for sunshine,

she walks in the rain.

He gulps down cold drinks,

she sips at hot;

he ask, "Why go?"

she asks, "Why not?"

In just about everything

they disagree,

but they love one another

and they both love me.

Illustration by John Nez

Eve Merriam, A Word or Two With You: New Rhymes for Young Readers,  Atheneum, 1981.

How comforting to imagine that people with differing habits, interests and propensities can still love one another and create a happy family.  How remarkable it would be if we could expand that beyond the couch and the home and into the world.

 I turned to works by Eve Merriam often as a teacher.  You could truly experience the joy that she felt in poetry as she played with words.  When I directed a choral reading choir of 2nd and 3rd graders, her poems were often chosen, because as... Merriam urged: "Whatever you do, find ways to read poetry. Eat it, drink it, enjoy it, and share it."

"As one who practiced what she preached, Merriam's poetry was particularly conducive to being read out loud. Her poems exemplify her fascination with language, as evidenced by her puns and word puzzles, her concentration on the eccentricities and idiosyncracies of the English language, and her broad use of poetic devices, such as onomatopoeia, inner rhyme, alliteration, assonance, metaphor, and so forth, in addition to traditional rhyming. "How to Eat a Poem," originally from Merriam's second children's poetry collection, It Doesn't Always Have to Rhyme, illustrates Merriam's use of metaphor, but it is also "a poem of the invitational mode," noted Zaidman. Accordingly, "How to Eat a Poem" includes the lines: "Don't be polite./ Bite in./ Pick it up with your fingers and lick the juice that may run down your chin./ It is ready and ripe now, whenever you are." Overall, Zaidman held that It Doesn't Always Have to Rhyme could serve "as an excellent minicourse in the elements of poetry" because it contains the distinctive poems "Metaphor," "Simile: Willow and Ginkgo," "Couplet Countdown," "Quatrain," "Learning on a Limerick," "Beware of Doggerel," "Onomatopoeia," and "A Cliche." Merriam also worked with the positioning of the words on the page, thus bringing the visual sense into her verse more fully." (from the Poetry Foundation; link attached to Eve Merriam's name above)

Poems 53-55 (Pandemic Day 59)

The poems I'm going to share today are from the book Art & Love: An Illustrated Anthology of Love Poetry. (Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1990)   The poems in this book touch on many aspects of love--love for our family and for our friends; the quest for romantic love and the trials and tribulations of loving, that may lead us to celebrate a mature love that can last.

Today is a good day to speak of love for it is the wedding day of my beloved nephew Jerik and his bride Maycie.  Even in times of challenge and chaos, life goes on, and their wedding ceremony will too, although the guests will watch it live-streamed on YouTube.  I think I'll dress up for my virtual attendance, even though no one will see me.  Special occasions should still call for clean socks, regardless.

I'm heartened that Jerik and Maycie have trust in their future together and will put their love and faith out there for the world to acknowledge.  Some love, some belief in tomorrow, some hope for a world to go on that they and their children-to-be will call home.  May it still be a beautiful world.  Let's try to make it so.

The Telephone

Mount Fuji and Flowers, David Hockney, British, (1937-)
Acrylic on canvas, 1972

"When I was just as far as I could walk

From here today,

There was an hour

All still

When leaning my head against a flower

I heard you talk.

Don't say I didn't, for I heard you say--

You spoke from that flower on the windowsill--

Do you remember what it was you said?"

"First tell me what it was you thought you heard."

"Having found the flower and driven a bee away,

I leaned my head,

And holding by the stalk,

I listened and I thought I caught the word--

What was it? Did you call me by my name?

Or did you say--

Someone  said "Come"--I heard it as I bowed."

"I may have thought as much, but not aloud."

"Well, so I came."

 Robert Frost (1874-1963)

Hearing That His Friend Was Coming Back From the War

Wang-Hsi-chih Watching Geese. Ch'ien Hsuan,
Chinese, ca. 1235-after 1301. Handscroll in
ink, color and gold on paper

In old days those who went to fight

In three years had one year's leave.

But in this war the soldiers are never changed;

They must go on fighting till they die on the battlefield

I thought of you, so weak and indolent,

Hopelessly trying to learn to march and drill.

That a young man should ever come home again

Seemed about as likely as that the sky should fall.

Since I got the news that you were coming back,

Twice I have mounted to the high wall of your home.

I found your brother mending your horse's stall;

I found your mother sewing your new clothes.

I am half afraid; perhaps it is not true; 

Yet I never weary of watching for you on the road.

Each day I go out at the City Gate

With a flask of wine, lest you should come thirsty.

Oh that I could shrink the surface of the World,

So that suddenly I might find you standing at my side!

Wang Chien (756-835)

When You Are Old

L'Arlésienne: Madame Joseph-Michel Ginoux,
Vincent Van Gogh, Dutch (1853-1890)

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And pace upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

This is one of my favorite poems.  How can I tell you why?  Perhaps the wonderful phrase "loved the pilgrim soul in you" is reason enough.  It's sad, melancholy, but the ache I always feel when I read it is for the truth of our brief existence.  I felt it when I was 20 years old reading it for the first time, I understand it more deeply now. 

Poems 51 and 52 (Pandemic Day 58)

By My Age

By my age I thought I would finally be able to 

Finish Moby Dick,

Wait for the meal to be served without eating the roll,

And display unruffled composure when I'm at a cocktail party

     where I don't know a single soul

And nobody talks to me,

Instead of wanting to run and hide in the bathroom.

By my age I thought I would finally be able to 

Read a tax return,

Admit that I'm wrong when I'm wrong--and not gloat

     when I'm right,

And display serene acceptance when I watch my married son

     walk out into the cold and snowy night

In a pair of torn sneakers

Instead of screaming, Stop! You'll catch pneumonia.

By my age I thought I would finally be able to 

Speak coherent French,

Refrain from providing advice unless someone begs,

And display mature detachment when this lady M.B.A. with 

     perfect skin and even better legs

Makes a play for my husband,

Instead of plotting to push her face in the pasta.

By my age I thought I would finally be able to 

Cope with Celsius

Drive to New Jersey without getting lost every time,

And display a mature and serene and composed and detached

     and unruffled acceptance of all that I'm 

Still not able to do 

By my age.

And Now You Want to Know If There Is Anything 

Good to Say about Getting Older

We aren't as self-centered as we used to be.

We're not as self-pitying--or as just plain dumb.

Middle age has come, and we find

(Along with the inability to sleep all night without

      a trip to the bathroom)

A few compensations.

We aren't as uncertain as we used to be.

We've learned to tell the real from the tinsel and fluff.

Getting old is tough, but we find

(Along with the inability to shave our legs unless

     we're wearing our glasses)

A few compensations.

We aren't as compliant as we used to be.

We choose our own oughts and musts and got-to's and shoulds.

We're deep into the woods, yet we find

(Along with the inability to eat a pepperoni pizza at 

     bedtime)

A few compensations.

We aren't as judgmental as we used to be.

We're quicker to laugh, and not as eager to blame.

There's time left in this game.  May we find

(Along with the inability to tell ourselves that

     we'll keep playing forever)

A few compensations.

Judith Viorst, Forever Fifty and other negotiations, Simon and Schuster, 1989.

It took Judith Viorst 20 years (1969-1989) to produce the poems I've shared with you in just the last 3 days.  (She's gone on producing these snapshots of life for 30 more).  Literature is a time machine that is available to us all; we can journey with one author through her life and work or hop through time and space just by going down the next aisle in the library.  

If we can acknowledge to ourselves  that our path will eventually lead in the same general direction as the rest of humanity, we have a chance to gain some insight into our own future.  Not 50 yet?  If you are lucky, someday you will be--so be prepared to gain some things, just as you are losing others.  But if you're not 50 yet, maybe you should just be busy living the age you are right now and gain the experience and wisdom that are available to you.  Your body, your mind, your employment, your family, your social circle...all of these things change as you age; some changes are good, some less so, but it's your life to treasure and to build. There are compensations.

Mid-Life Crisis by Judith Viorst

Poem 50 (Pandemic Day 57)

Mid-life Crisis

What am I doing with a mid-life crisis?

This morning I was seventeen.

I have barely begun the beguine and it's 

Good night ladies

Already.

While I've been wondering who to be

When I grow up someday, 

My acne has vanished away and it's

Sagging kneecaps

Already.

Why do I seem to remember Pearl Harbor?

Surely I must be too young.

When the boys I once clung to

Start losing their hair?

Why can't I take barefoot walks in the park

Without giving my kidneys a chill?

There's poetry left in me still and it

Doesn't seem fair.

While I was thinking I was just a girl,

My future turned into my past.

The time for wild kisses goes fast and it's 

Time for Sanka.

Already?

Judith Viorst, How Did I Get To Be 40 & Other Atrocities,  Siimon and Schuster, 1976.

When I was 40 I looked on a map and picked out a place to escape to...White River Junction,VT. if I recall.  My plans didn't extend much beyond that...I didn't divorce my husband, quit my job, abandon my children, but somehow it was important to feel I had a destination, if I needed to get away.  My forties were good for me, but there were upheavals, revelations and atrocities too...that's all I'll say for now.

There's a Word For That! Language in the Pandemic Age

From: CNN Newsletter, "What Matters" by Zachary B. Wolf, May 4, 2020.

 Dutch-born anthropologist Harald Prins wrote to point out the effect coronavirus has already had on his native language:

It appears, not surprisingly, that Covid-19 related neologisms are rampant in the Netherlands (and probably in most if not all other languages, too). I doubt most will survive but some will, albeit with unsuspected accretions.

In Dutch, for example, few realize that a popular word like "klerevent" (difficult to translate, but equivalent to bastard or rotten fellow) derives from cholera (klere).

Here are some Dutch corona neologisms with my free translations (but several terms resonate in a unique social-cultural way in the Netherlands)

Huidhonger / skin hunger: a longing for human contact while in isolation

Anderhalvemetereconomie / six-feet-economy: an economy constructed to avoid spreading coronavirus

Hoestschaamte / cough-shame: the anxiety one may experience about possibly triggering a panic among the people nearby when making a coughing sound for whatever reason

Coronahufter / coronajerk: shopper at a supermarket or store who violates the six-foot social distance prescription or other safe-keeping protocol. 

Druppelcontact / spray-contact: exchange of little droplets when sneezing or coughing, esp. as source of infection

Onthamsteren / dehoarding: processing long-stored shelf-stable food into a meal. 

Straatschaamte / street-shame: the embarrassment someone experiences when being out for urgently necessary errands during lockdown

Toogviroloog / blather-virologist: dilettante who spreads false or unsubstantiated information about the virus, its transmission, or its treatment

A new Dutch corona lexicon was created and is updated. It already comprises 700 new words, including those noted above.

Poem 49 (Pandemic Day 56--8 weeks and many more to come)

A Good Catch

Although he is still wearing his college ring,

And driving a white Imperial.

And taking girls to supper clubs where the entire meal

     is served flambé

Because he still thinks the more flames the better,

Freddie the bachelor

Is what is known in New Jersey as

A good catch.

He has waves in his hair,

Caps on his teeth,

A manicure on his nails,

And what is known in New Jersey as

A nice physique. Also

A clean bill of health,

A great sense of humor,

And a steady job,

With what is known in New Jersey as

Room for advancement.  Also

Serious interests

Such as reading and Broadway plays

That are not even musicals.

Although he still remembers the fraternity handshake,

And the football cheers,

And is still singing in girls' ears while dancing

Because someone once told him that singing in ears

     is sexy,

Freddie the bachelor

Is what is known in New Jersey as

A good catch.

He has cashmere sweaters,

A Danish-modern apartment,

A retirement plan 

And what is known in New Jersey as

Sound investments.  Also

A way with children

Consideration for others,

And what is known in New Jersey as

A good head on his shoulders.  Also

Important contacts

Such as a nephew of the Congressman

From Flushing.

And whenever my husband is showing

What is known in New Jersey as no respect

For my mother,

She tells about Freddie the bachelor,

Who never talks back and is such 

A good catch.

Judith Viorst, It's Hard to Be Hip Over Thirty and Other Tragedies of Married Life,Signet Books, 1968

When are we grown-up?  Is there an age when magically we are adults?  As Judith Viorst let's us know in this poem, she is a married woman, but she still has the tugs and pulls of trying to please her mother, or be subjected to her mother's opinions about her life.  Freddy, the bachelor may have his own apartment, "sound investments" and a retirement plan, but he also still wears his college ring and remembers his football cheers.  

The demarcation line is unclear and wavering.  When you are 30 you may feel grown-up, you may want to be grown-up, but there are so many appealing things about youth...you may keep up your sexy whispering in girls' ears long after you have a ghost of youth about you.  Life's transitions can so often be unsettling--we are always adjusting.  As they say, there is no dress rehearsal for life.  You're on the stage and maybe you'll flub your lines or miss your cues, but the show must go on! 

The Atlantic published a very interesting article about becoming an adult   https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2016/01/when-are-you-really-an-adult/422487/