Greetings, fellow poets! Here in the northern hemisphere, we have been excitedly watching the days slowly lengthening. Last week was our spring equinox, and we are so ready for the coming of the light. So that is our topic this week – light itself, in whatever season you are in, or its absence. But I am also thinking about inner light, and the light we try to project into the world. During these dark times of so much global misery, it is sometimes hard to hold onto light and positivity.
I am reminded that Louise Erdrich likened one's down times, or times when we feel like nothing is happening, wintery periods, as being times of gestation. I love that idea, that even when we are not consciously doing something, our spirits are still busily at work, processing, helping us grow, much as the earth does, harbouring seeds that will soon burst forth.
And how wonderful is that heart-lift, as the days lengthen and spring unfolds its wonders, a miracle every year. Some of you are experiencing the opposite cycle. What is happening to the light where you are? I always love reading about your lives in other places and other seasons.
When I think of beings who project inner light, Valarie Kaur is such a one. She glows. She advises us, in her Ted Talk, that when things feel darkest, to consider the possibility that “This is not the darkness of the tomb, but the darkness of the womb”. She encourages us to "breathe and push" some light into the world. “It’s time to birth the Beloved Community,” she says. “Are you ready for a revolution of the heart?”
Yes. We are.
So, this week: Contemplate light in whichever way you
choose. Physical light, the coming of the light in spring, departing light, inner light, or the
light we hope to project into the world that needs it so desperately. I look
forward to being enlightened by your poems!
Please visit your fellow poets and check back for those who link later in the week, in the spirit of community.
by Mary Oliver
In the north country now it is spring and there
Is a certain celebration. The thrush
Has come home. He is shy and likes the
Evening best, also the hour just before
Morning; in that blue and gritty light he
Climbs to his branch, or smoothly
Sails there. It is okay to know only
One song if it is this one. Hear it
Rise and fall; the very elements of you should
Shiver nicely. What would spring be
Without it? Mostly frogs. But don’t worry, he
Arrives, year after year, humble and obedient
And gorgeous. You listen and you know
You could live a better life than you do, be
Softer, kinder. And maybe this year you will
Be able to do it. Hear how his voice
Rises and falls. There is no way to be
Sufficiently grateful for the gifts we are
Given, no way to speak the Lord’s name
Often enough, though we do try, and
Especially now, as that dappled breast
Breathes in the pines and heaven’s
Windows in the north country,
Now spring has come,
Are opened wide.
Light
by Rabindrinath Tagore
Light, my light, the world-filling light,
the eye-kissing light,
heart-sweetening light!
Ah, the light dances, my darling, at the center of my life;
the light strikes, my darling, the chords of my love;
the sky opens, the wind runs wild, laughter passes over the earth.
The butterflies spread their sails on the sea of light.
Lilies and jasmine surge up on the crest of the waves of light.
The light is shattered into gold on every cloud, my darling,
and it scatters gems in profusion.
Mirth spreads from leaf to leaf, my darling,
and gladness without measure.
The heaven's river has drowned its banks
and the flood of joy is abroad.
The Coming of Light
by Mark Strand
Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of
light.
You wake and the candles are lit as if
by themselves.
Stars gather, dreams pour into your
pillows,
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body
shine
and tomorrow's dust flares into
breath.
