海角大神

When life feels difficult or bleak, where do you turn for comfort and inspiration? For many people, good poetry is an obvious choice.

[Have you found poetry comforting right now? Email us at books@csmonitor.com with your favorite poem and what you love about it. We鈥檒l be in touch if we want to publish your submission.]聽

That鈥檚 not surprising, since oral poetry predates written language in cultures around the world. Both spoken and written verse have always expressed people鈥檚 hopes and fears, their desire to understand life and to connect with something immutable.

鈥淧oetry is indeed something divine,鈥� wrote Percy Bysshe Shelley, one of the finest English Romantic poets, in 1821. 鈥淧oetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed ...鈥� and 鈥渁 mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.鈥�

Roughly a century later, Robert Frost, who won four Pulitzer Prizes, described poetry in less lofty terms: Poetry provides 鈥渁 momentary stay against the confusion of the world.鈥� He argued that a poem 鈥渂egins in delight but ends in wisdom.鈥澛�

Regardless of how one defines the art form, poetry requires lively, memorable language that leads to new perceptions or even new roads of understanding.

Sometimes the understanding we need most is that we are not alone in our struggles. Others have felt what we are feeling and found a way to articulate聽their complex, amorphous thoughts.

Poetry that comforts and consoles also聽lifts our gaze beyond current circumstances聽鈥� or reminds us that we have the grit, strength, and grace to persevere, just as generations before us have done.

If perseverance sounds exhausting or days blend together during this strange time, poems can jolt us out of inertia with their imagery, metaphor, color, and rhythm.聽

鈥淚 dwell in Possibility,鈥� wrote Emily Dickinson, who chose to live most of her life in isolation so she could focus on her writing.聽

The poems that follow, which Monitor staff members have loved for years, are intended to spark hope and encouragement. As one of Dickinson鈥檚 most famous poems notes, 鈥溾�楬ope鈥� is the thing with feathers.鈥� Let those feathers lift you now.

Favorite poems of Monitor staff

[Due to copyright constraints, we are publishing full poems only when they are in the public domain or we have permission. We鈥檙e including links so you can find the others elsewhere on the internet.]

Francine Kiefer,聽West Coast bureau chief

My mother wrote poetry, and she started feeding me poems when I was in high school. I fell in love with Edna St. Vincent Millay 鈥� her passion, her acute observations of life, her lyricism. 鈥淩ecuerdo鈥� is one such poem, singing to the world about two companions, presumably lovers, who have not much between them except enough money to buy fruit and ride the ferry back and forth all night. Their youthful exuberance is infectious, too strong to keep to themselves, and at dawn, they end up sharing what they have left over with a mother, a 鈥渟hawl-covered head.鈥� It reminds me of how love is too big to be contained.

Recuerdo

By聽Edna St. Vincent Millay

We were very tired, we were very merry鈥�
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable鈥�
But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;
And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.

We were very tired, we were very merry鈥�
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,
And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.

We were very tired, we were very merry,
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
We hailed, 鈥淕ood morrow, mother!鈥� to a shawl-covered head,
And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
And she wept, 鈥淕od bless you!鈥� for the apples and pears,
And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.

***

Scott Armstrong,聽Weekly cover story editor

Sometimes you just need to laugh. And 鈥淎rithmetic鈥澛燽y Carl Sandburg聽works for me.

Arithmetic

By Carl Sandburg

Arithmetic is where numbers fly like pigeons in and out of your head.
Arithmetic tells you how many you lose or win if you know how many
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽you had before you lost or won.
Arithmetic is seven eleven all good children go to heaven鈥�
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽or five six bundle of sticks.
Arithmetic is numbers you squeeze from your head to your hand
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽to your pencil to your paper till you get the answer.
Arithmetic is where the answer is right and everything is nice
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽and you can look out of the window and see the blue sky鈥�
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽or the answer is wrong and you have to start all over and
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽try again and see how it comes out this time.
If you take a number and double it and double it again and then
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽double it a few more times, the number gets bigger and bigger
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽and goes higher and higher and only arithmetic can tell you
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽what the number is when you decide to quit doubling.
Arithmetic is where you have to multiply 鈥� and you carry
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽the multiplication table in your head and hope you won鈥檛 lose it.
If you have two animal crackers, one good and one bad, and you eat one
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽and a striped zebra with streaks all over him eats the other,
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽how many animal crackers will you have if somebody offers you
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽five six seven and you say No no no and you say Nay nay nay
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽and you say Nix nix nix?
If you ask your mother for one fried egg for breakfast and she gives you
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽two fried eggs and you eat both of them, who is better in arithmetic,
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽you or your mother?

***

Timmy Broderick,听颁辞苍迟谤颈产耻迟辞谤

鈥淎utumn鈥澛燽y T.E. Hulme聽describes what is surely a cold fall evening 鈥� a portent of nights to come. And the image of a 鈥渞uddy moon鈥� has stayed with me for nearly a decade. Reading the poem leaves me feeling impossibly warm. I鈥檝e always personified that ruddy moon as the benevolent stranger who stops to help you fix a spare when you鈥檙e stranded on the highway.

Autumn

By聽T.E. Hulme

A touch of cold in the Autumn night鈥�
I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
I did not stop to speak, but nodded,
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children.

***

Ryan Lenora Brown, Johannesburg bureau chief

鈥淭hings I Didn鈥檛 Know I Loved鈥� by Nazim Hikmet聽is a poem I鈥檝e come back to many times in my life. It鈥檚 about recognizing and appreciating the small things around us, and about marveling at being alive. I鈥檝e found this message especially helpful in the past couple of weeks.

Things I Didn鈥檛 Know I Loved (excerpt)

By聽Nazim Hikmet

it鈥檚 1962 March 28th
I鈥檓 sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
night is falling
I never knew I liked聽
night descending like a tired bird on a smoky wet plain
I don鈥檛 like
comparing nightfall to a tired bird

I didn鈥檛 know I loved the earth
can someone who hasn鈥檛 worked the earth love it
I鈥檝e never worked the earth
it must be my only Platonic love

and here I鈥檝e loved rivers all this time
whether motionless like this they curl skirting the hills
European hills crowned with chateaus
or whether stretched out flat as far as the eye can see
I know you can鈥檛 wash in the same river even once
I know the river will bring new lights you鈥檒l never see
I know we live slightly longer than a horse but not nearly as long
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽as a crow
I know this has troubled people before
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽and will trouble those after me
I know all this has been said a thousand times before
聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽and will be said after me

...

Nazim Hikmet, 鈥淭hings I Didn鈥檛 Know I Loved,鈥� translated by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk, from 鈥淧oems of Nazim Hikmet.鈥� Copyright 漏聽1994, 2002 by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk. Reprinted by permission of Persea Books, Inc (New York), www.perseabooks.com. All rights reserved.

***

Patrik Jonsson, Georgia bureau chief

I come back to 鈥淗appiness鈥澛燽y Raymond Carver聽for comfort because it explains how much of life is feeling beyond words. The image of two boys delivering newspapers in the early morning light is a beautiful one 鈥� simple, yet resounding. The line 鈥渁nd they are doing this thing together鈥� caught me when I reread recently.

***

Kendra Nordin Beato, Intern coordinator and staff writer

I spotted 鈥淪aint Francis and the Sow鈥澛燽y Galway Kinnell聽printed on a signed poster at the Boston Book Festival years ago during a difficult time in my life (shortly after my dad had passed away unexpectedly). For some reason it resonated with me so much I bought it, had it framed, and hung it on my bedroom wall, where it鈥檚 been ever since.聽To me, this poem speaks to the hope and gratitude we all hold in our hearts, despite any disappointments, and the kindness we feel when someone appreciates our hard work.

***

Yvonne Zipp, Daily Edition editor

I first read 鈥淭he Peace of Wild Things鈥� by Wendell Berry聽at a particularly tough time in my life. It was like a hush descended. No matter how many times I come back to it, I feel that same sense of quiet abiding and emerge grateful for Berry and his understanding of what lasts.

And聽鈥淭he Lanyard鈥� by Billy Collins is a touchstone in our family. In fact, when I dropped our then-10-year-old son off at summer camp for the first time, it was with one request (besides have a great time): Could he make me a lanyard? He delivered. It was blue and red, and I loved it.

***

Melanie Stetson Freeman, Staff photographer

鈥淭eddy Bear鈥澛燽y A.A. Milne, from the 1924 book 鈥淲hen We Were Very Young,鈥澛爓as one of my favorites when I was a child. I even had it memorized at one time. It鈥檚 not highbrow, but I love it! The bear in the poem goes on to become very famous as Winnie-the-Pooh.聽

***

Amelia Newcomb, Managing editor

I first learned of Wallace Stevens as a high school senior. In 鈥淭he Poem That Took the Place of a Mountain,鈥� I loved the sense Stevens conveys of the journey around seeking and creating meaning. To me, the poem gave power to embracing that journey, and the task of weighing ideas and testing outlooks over time. There鈥檚 a quiet confidence, even amid the search, that I found reassuring. And still do.

***

Greg Fitzgerald, Communications manager

Children鈥檚 poems have been my favorites because my kids (now in their late 20s) absolutely loved us to read them. Shel Silverstein, who also illustrated his own poems, was the best to read because you could always throw in a tickle in the middle of 鈥淚ckle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me Too.鈥� In fact, if you didn鈥檛 throw in the tickle somewhere in this poem, you had to read it over again until you did.

***

Whitney Eulich,聽Latin America editor

In 鈥渘ormal鈥� times, I鈥檓 not much of a worrier. But in recent weeks the opportunity to worry about just about everything and everyone has been overwhelming. I came across 鈥淚 Worried鈥� by聽Mary Oliver; it聽has helped settle my heart and reset my outlook repeatedly.

[This poem has not been cleared for web publication, but you can find it in the book 鈥淪wan: Poems and Prose Poems,鈥� by Mary Oliver.]

***

Linda Feldmann,聽Washington bureau chief

I was recently reminded of 鈥淭his Is Just To Say鈥� by William Carlos Williams, a poem that聽makes me laugh. I find humor to be comforting in times of stress.聽

Here鈥檚 the backstory: A friend posted a photo on Facebook of the 鈥渜uarantine biscuits鈥� his tween daughter had made. On top of the plastic-wrap-covered plate of biscuits was a handwritten note that said: 鈥淒ad, DO NOT eat all my biscuits! If you do, everyone in this house will shun you!鈥澛�

Someone responded to the post with this comment: 鈥淢y roommates used to leave William Carlos Williams-type poems whenever we had anything worth taking from the fridge in college.鈥澛�

鈥淭his Is Just To Say鈥� could certainly be the model!

***

April Austin, Deputy Weekly editor and books editor

鈥淭his Inwardness, This Ice鈥� by 海角大神 Wiman聽might strike some people as a bit gloomy at first glance, but I find it compelling and mysterious. Sometimes we all feel as if the ice is cracking under our feet. I see it as encouragement to live with bravery, to keep going, to not look back. And especially to not let our perceived flaws stop us. I particularly like reading this poem aloud, because the sounds fit with the wintry mood. I, too, want to 鈥渓earn a blue beyond belief.鈥� I don鈥檛 know what that line means exactly, but it gives me chills every time.聽