133.

Peak's Island, Maine

[a poem for the masses]

this year my love of poetry has been no secret. in my attempt to help my students simply enjoy poems and be less afraid of them we begin each class by sitting still - not fidgeting or unzipping backpacks, not checking our phones, or interrupting uncomfortable silences - and we listen to a self-selected poem being read by one of our very own. for better or worse, i teach them that two things they should always have in their back pockets are 1. a good poem and 2. a good joke. now jokes and poems may seem like strange cousins to you, but in my little mind, they are members of the same dysfunctional family. this poem that ole' wendell wrote for his beloved Tanya has been speaking truth to my heart for some weeks now. not just in matters of l-o-v-e, love, but also in the labor of all things (read: work, going after those dreams of yours, finishing the novel you've been reading for far too long, meditating, developing a writing practice, etc.) that are truly worth laboring over...if, of course, we can spare the time.

enjoy it and don't forget to listen to old wendell, because if we can't listen to one another and learn lesson from those that came before us then what are we doing with these lives of ours anyhow?

without further ado, my most recent favorite from wendell berry to you:

Over the Edge

To tell a girl you loved her—my God!—

that was a leap off a cliff, requiring little

sense sweet as it was. And I have loved

many girls, women too, who by various fancies

of mind have seemed loveable. But only

with you have I actually tried it: the long labor, 

the selfishness, the self-denial, the children

and grandchildren, the garden rows planted

and gathered, the births and deaths of many years. 

We boys, when we were young and romantic

and ignorant, new to mystery and the power,

would wonder late into the night on the cliff’s edge: 

Was this love real? Was it true? And how

would you know? Well, it was time would tell,

if you were patient and could spare the time, 

a long time, a lot of trouble, a lot of joy.

This one begins to look—would you say?—real?