Poetry Friday -- Get Started Immediately

THE FOURTH SIGN OF THE ZODIAC (PART 3)
by Mary Oliver

(in Blue Horses)

I know, you never intended to be in this world.
But you’re in it all the same.

So why not get started immediately.

I mean, belonging to it.
There is so much to admire, to weep over.

And to write music or poems about.

Bless the feet that take you to and fro.
Bless the eyes and the listening ears.
Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste.
Bless touching.

You could live a hundred years, it’s happened.
Or not.
I am speaking from the fortunate platform
of many years,
none of which, I think, I ever wasted.
Do you need a prod?
Do you need a little darkness to get you going?
Let me be as urgent as a knife, then,
and remind you of Keats,
so single of purpose and thinking, for a while,
he had a lifetime.


















John Keats, who died at the age of twenty-five, had perhaps the most remarkable career of any English poet. He published only fifty-four poems, in three slim volumes and a few magazines.

I've had my prod. I've had a little darkness to get me going. And indeed, "There is so much to admire, to weep over." What a beautiful world. What an amazing gift life is.

It's good to be back. Catherine has this week's Poetry Friday roundup at Reading to the Core.

**Edited to add A. E. Houseman's version of this theme, the poem for today at The Writer's Almanac, a poem I am glad to have memorized so that I can hug it whenever need be. (The photo is an apricot tree, but it will do in a pinch...)


A Shropshire Lad, II
by A. E. Housman

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.