Poem for Monday

Watercolors from my new show at Crowell's Veckatimest Calm (West and East)

September feels like the autumnal version of June. The beginning of the lovely season shift gets us buzzed to do it all. See every friend and share every friend's specialness. This weekend we had a friday cocktail party, a saturday play, three sunday art openings, a brunch to make and my art show to make final preparations for. Sunday morning we decided to just stop instead. The joy of doing nothing. I wouldn't be sharing this poem with you now if I hadn't stolen that lovely nothing. But this Naomi Shihab Nye's poem says it better.

The Art of Disappearing

When they say Don’t I know you?
say no.

When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.

If they say we should get together
say why?

It’s not that you don’t love them any more.
You’re trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees. The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.

When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven’t seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don’t start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.

Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time. 

Naomi Shihab Nye

The poet reading this poem here

Poem for Monday

So Much Happiness 

-Naomi Shihab Nye

 

It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness. 

With sadness there is something to rub against,
A wound to tend with lotion and cloth.
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up,
Something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change.

But happiness floats.
It doesn’t need you to hold it down.
It doesn’t need anything.
Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,
And disappears when it wants to.
You are happy either way.
Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house
And now live over a quarry of noise and dust
Cannot make you unhappy.
Everything has a life of its own,
It too could wake up filled with possibilities
Of coffee cake and ripe peaches,
And love even the floor which needs to be swept,
The soiled linens and scratched records….

Since there is no place large enough
To contain so much happiness,
You shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you
Into everything you touch. You are not responsible.
You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit
For the moon, but continues to hold it, and to share it,
And in that way, be known.

Painting by Yangyan Pan