A poem for graduation time . . .
Hope; An Owner's Manual
Look, you might as well know, this thing
is going to take endless repair: rubber bands,
crazy glue, tapioca, the square of the hypotenuse.
Nineteenth century novels. Heartstrings, sunrise:
all of these are useful. Also, feathers. [emphasis added]
To keep it humming, sometimes you have to stand
on an incline, where everything looks possible;
on the line you drew yourself. Or in
the grocery line, making faces at a toddler
secretly, over his mother's shoulder.
You might have to pop the clutch and run
past all the evidence. Past everyone who is
laughing or praying for you. Definitely you don't
want to go directly to jail, but still, here you go,
passing time, passing strange. Don't pass this up.
In the worst of times, you will have to pass it off.
Park it and fly by the seat of your pants. With nothing
in the bank, you'll still want to take the express.
Tiptoe past the dogs of the apocalypse that are sleeping
in the shade of your future. Pay at the window.
Pass your hope like a bad check.
You might still have just enough time. To make a deposit.
by Barbara Kingsolver
from "How to be Hopeful"
her commencement address at Duke University
Durham, North Carolina, May 11, 2008.
Published online by Duke Today
Also included in Kingsolver's poetry collection:
How to Fly (In Ten Thousand Easy Lessons)
And this one by Emily Dickinson goes along with it:
“Hope” is the thing with feathers
(poem #314)
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm-
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
~Emily Dickinson
"Feather Bag, Stick Bag"
In the Spirit of the Graduation Season!
Thanks Tammy Sandel for letting me know about this great poem, also in "How to Fly (In Ten Thousand Easy Lessons)"
ReplyDeleteHow to Shear a Sheep
Walk to the barn
before dawn.
Take off your clothes.
Cast everything
on the ground:
your nylon jacket,
wool socks, and all.
Throw away
the cutting tools,
the shears that bite
like teeth at the skin
when hooves flail
and your elbow
comes up hard
under a panting throat:
no more of that.
Sing to them instead.
Stand naked
in the morning
with your entreaty.
Ask them to come,
lay down their wool
for love.
That should work.
It doesn't.
~ Barbara Kingsolver