Saturday, May 21, 2005

poet and poetess

I'm not a poet. I don't earn my bread

That way, or flaunt my skill, or even think

My art, my talent, more than just a cup.

Unless my love hands it to me I won't drink.

#1256: From Rumi's Kolliyaat-e Shams-e Tabrizi

Today's theme was the role of the poet. What does a poet do? What purpose is there in poetry? Emily Dickinson did nothing much else but write poetry. Why? Here is what Rumi says of himself as poet. Did she say anything similar?


Besides the autumn poets sing,
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the haze.

A few incisive mornings,
A few ascetic eyes, —
Gone Mr. Bryant's golden-rod,
And Mr. Thomson's sheaves.

Still is the bustle in the brook,
Sealed are the spicy valves;
Mesmeric fingers softly touch
The eyes of many elves.

Perhaps a squirrel may remain,
My sentiments to share.
Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind,
Thy windy will to bear!

- Emily Dickinson


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