Rita Dove reading her poems in the Montpelier Room, May 4, 1995

Dove, Rita, Gertrude Clarke Whittall Poetry And Literature Fund, and Archive Of Recorded Poetry And Literature. Rita Dove reading her poems in the Montpelier Room, May 4. 1995. Audio. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, <www.loc.gov/item/95770167/>.

Contents :

From Mother love : Heroes ; Persephone, falling ; The narcissus flower ; Statistic : the witness ; Mother Love ; Breakfast of champions ; Persehpone in hell (section I) ; Wiederkehr ; The Bistro Styx ; Demeter mourning ; Exit ; Afield ; Lost brilliance ; Demeter, waiting ; Lamentations ; Used ; Missing ; Demeter’s prayer to Hades ; Her island — Evening primrose — Incarnation in Phoenix — The first book — Vacation.


Heroes

A flower in a weedy field
make it a poppy. You pick it.
Because it begins to wilt

you run to the nearest house
to ask for a jar of water.
The woman on the porch starts

screaming: you’ve picked the last poppy
in her miserable garden, the one
that gives her the strength every morning

to rise! It’s too late for apologies
though you go through the motions, offering
trinkets and a juicy spot in the written history

she wouldn’t live to read, anyway
So you strike her, she hits
her head on a white boulder,

and there’s nothing to be done
but break the stone into gravel
to prop up the flower in the stolen jar

you have to take along,
because you’re a fugitive now
and you can’t leave clues.

Although the story’s starting to unravel,
the villagers stirring as your heart
pounds into your throat. O why

did you pick that idiot flower?
Because it was the last one
and you knew

it was going to die.



Related : Louise Glück’s Persephone the Wanderer

Poetry, Permeability, and Healing

Essay by Jane Hirshfield from 2018 via poets.org.

At the etymological root of both healing and health is the idea of “wholeness.” To heal, then, is to take what has been broken, separated, frag­mented, injured, exiled and restore it to wholeness.

[…]

Many things beyond physical illness and physical fracture need healing. Some are personal, some are collective, and these two realms are not disconnected. We don’t live in compartments; we live in our lives.

[…]

kintsugi, done well, offers damage made visible as part of the cup’s his­tory, damage made beautiful because the cup was repaired without denial.

[…]

Poems are words that live in the fractures, […] they make new by rejoining parts into a visibly changed whole.

[…]

a person who can ask words to do things words have not done before is not powerless. To make phrases that increase what is possible to think and feel is both exhilaration and liberation. To expand reality is to counter despair, depression, and impotence.

[..][Poems] loosen us from the loneliness of separation and the erasures of generality. The particularity and unexpectedness of poetry’s language shake us from sleepiness, complacency, habitual mind. Empathy breaks us from the hypnosis of ego’s grip on its own sense of purpose.

[…]

The rational mind, untempered by poetry, divides; […] fierce rational power, in isolation, is inhuman. Art dwells at the crossroads between what in us is body, what in us is emotion, what in us is history, and what in us is mind. To step into wholeness of seeing and feeling, under any conditions, is in itself restorative.

Jane Hirshfield