The Simple Gift of Understanding

How poems can help us make sense of ourselves

Like many of you, I’m sure, I’ve gone through a strangle little metamorphosis this year. Strange not in the changing (as the always near-at-hand stoics remind us, that’s one of life’s only constants), but rather in the circumstances of this change.

In an ordinary year, we have the constants we construct. The seasons and the structure we fill them with, our personal and communal rituals, even the near-invisible everyday of a life lived filling grocery carts, executing projects in shared spaces, and otherwise spending our time on familiar and comfortable activities. The constants provide benchmarks. They’re the doorframes against which we record our height, the trees or the cornfields whose rootedness allows us to perceive the speed of our vehicles out the window.

But in this most recent stretch of time (which it feel wrong even to call “a year”), it’s felt like very few of the variables have been controlled. I’ve sometimes found myself with the dizzying sensation you get when a car starts unexpectedly starts moving next to you at a stoplight and you’re not sure, for a moment, whether they’re going forward or you’re backing up. Or whether, perhaps, the entire universe has somehow pitched into motion. (Of course, inconveniently for my metaphor, I suppose, the reality is that there’s nothing that isn’t moving, at least relative to something…)

I’m lucky. (#Blessed or whatever.) Very little of this disorientation has been unpleasant for me. I took advantage of the total collapse of working life to join a gym and establish a surprisingly resilient workout routine. My wife (who had already planned to stay home with our kids) provided, in her care and attention and initiation of familial rituals, new and more profound centers around which we could find our balance.

Even still. I’ve found myself more in need of tools and resources for self-reflection and self-understanding this year, and, serendipitously, I’ve stumbled across a series of poets (and poems) that have provided just that.

First up is Christian Wiman, who is the source of a quote that’s been echoing in my mind throughout the days and weeks since I’ve been introduced to it…

plblaschko

A post shared by @plblaschko

Taken from this poem (which may or may not be behind a paywall on the New Yorker’s website), the line never fails to ground me in the present by reminding me that nothing that fills the anxious space my mind generates when I’m not in the present moment will be lost, that nothing is ever really lost, in the vast wilderness of our lives.

Next up is Mary Oliver, which I realize will reveal to you just how out-of-the-poetry-loop I’ve been for the past (how old am I?) 32 years. But since purchasing this collection at my beloved Boswell Book Co., I’ve been moved to tears (on a weekly if not daily basis) by reading these poems with my wife and kids.

I recommend owning a copy, it’s not unlike a prayer book. And you can also buy yours from Boswell!

As an illustration of what I find so stabilizing about this stuff, consider her poem (which I found posted here) entitled “The World I Live In”:

I have refused to live
locked in the orderly house of
     reasons and proofs.
The world I live in and believe in
is wider than that. And anyway,
     what’s wrong with Maybe?

You wouldn’t believe what once or
twice I have seen. I’ll just
     tell you this:
only if there are angels in your head will you
     ever, possibly, see one.

I’ve found great strength in these words. And in many of the poems of Oliver, Wiman, Wendell Berry (see below), and others. There’s something deeply comforting about seeing your life — or perhaps an aspirational version of it — reflected in the words of someone who is so careful, so attentive to the representational force of language. I’m grateful for these poets, too, in their accessibility. In their desire to provide the simple gift of understanding, self-understanding, that I’ve so gratefully clung to in the flux of things in time.

-pb

Deep(ish) Thoughts

I mentioned Berry above, and here’s a video I made basically to capture the contents of a conversation I had with my mom. I was trying to explain to her why I found this poem to cathartic, and we ended up just reading it together, over and over, and marveling.

(As always, if you like what you see here, feel free to subscribe to my channel here.)

Parting Recs

Since I’ve already provided more than a few recommendations above, I’d be most grateful for your recommendations now.

• What poems, poets, or other poetic artifacts have helped you achieve some stability or self-understanding as you’ve gone through periods of transition in your life?

• What else do you read, do, or contemplate to find peace amidst change?

I know there aren’t many of us on this list yet, but let’s go ahead and try this out anyways 😊. Please…

…and let me know!