Poem of the Day

Seriously, I need to get some of Mark Strand’s collections!

The Remains
By Mark Strand

I empty myself of the names of others.
I empty my pockets, I empty my shoes and leave them beside
the road. At night I turn back the clocks; I open the family
album and look at myself as a boy.

What good does it do? The hours have done their job.
I say my own name. I say goodbye.
The words follow each other downwind.
I love my wife but send her away.

My parents rise out of their thrones
into the milky rooms of clouds. How can I sing?
Time tells me what I am. I change and I am the same.
I empty myself of my life and my life remains.

I’m surprised that I haven’t searched for more of Mark Strand’s poems until now. Since Eating Poetry has become one of my favorite poems, it’s hard to think anything could live up to it. That one still remains at the top of my list, but I like this one because it restores a little hope. I think I needed to be reminded that it’s never too late for something wonderful to happen and I think the phrase “the coming of light” could give hope to anyone.

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.

I came across this in the Norton Anthology of Contemporary Poetry a while ago and immediately fell in love with it. One of my poetry pals celebrated his 80th birthday a couple weeks ago and I couldn’t be there for the shindig, but I made a page for his birthday scrapbook. I included this poem and the picture below (which I actually created by biting holes in pieces of paper on which I’d written some of our favorite poems). I get chills every single time I read the first three lines of this poem.

Eating Poetry
By Mark Strand

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

Pink: Why I Wake Early by Mary Oliver
Blue: Famous by Naomi Shihab Nye
Orange: The Waking by Theodore Roethke
Green: One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

Current Tea: chocolate ginger rooibos (rooibos, flavored with cocoa bits, ginger, barley, and mint)