Three Poems to Live By

Photo: Erik Rittenberry

"One of the virtues of good poetry is the fact that it irritates the mediocre."

--Theodore Roethke

Novalis once said that Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason. Plato, too, understood that Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history. Even the strict rationalist Sigmond Freud was forced to admit that “the poets and philosophers before me discovered the unconscious. What I discovered was the scientific method by which the unconscious can be studied.”

The great poet Theodore Roethke used to tell his students: “The teaching of poetry requires fanaticism… I’ll deliver you, dear doves, out of the rational, into the realm of pure song.”

Poetry, in its highest and most sacred form, holds the power to mend the wounds inflicted by cold, unyielding rationality. The "wound" Novalis speaks of is nothing less than the alienation from the spiritual, the intuitive, and the transcendent—the very essence of life that reason, in its precision, so often neglects.

Where reason divides and dissects, poetry unites and restores.

It calls us back to the realms of wonder and beauty, to the ineffable mysteries that lie beyond logic’s reach. Poetry forges a bridge between the mind, heart, and soul, offering solace and a profound wholeness, a reconnection to the eternal rhythms of existence.

Through its symbols and imagery, poetry revives what reason cannot—a sense of awe, the deep pulse of emotional truth, and the quiet awareness of infinity.

For me, poetry is not merely an escape but a return—a healing balm that reminds us of what is most essential, the invisible truths that lie beyond the grasp of reason yet sustain the soul’s deepest longings.

And so, I wish to begin the year with a handful of poems that nourish the soul—why not? These three, in particular, were chosen for their quiet beauty and their gentle reminder of what it means to simply BE amidst the endless noise and the weight of life’s tedious demands.

May they bring you the same stillness and solace they have brought me. Happy New Year!

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I Go Among Trees

By Wendell Berry

Photo: Erik Rittenberry

I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle.

Then what is afraid of me comes
and lives a while in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings, and I hear its song.

Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
and the fear of it leaves me.
It sings, and I hear its song.

After days of labor,
mute in my consternations,
I hear my song at last,
and I sing it. As we sing,
the day turns, the trees move.

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Mindful

By Mary Oliver

Photo: Erik Rittenberry

Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle

in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for -
to look, to listen,

to lose myself
inside this soft world -
to instruct myself
over and over

in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant -
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these -
the untrimmable light

of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?

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My Symphony

By William Henry Channing

Photo: Erik Rittenberry

To live content with small means.
To seek elegance rather than luxury,
    and refinement rather than fashion.
To be worthy not respectable,
    and wealthy not rich.
To study hard, think quietly, talk gently,
    act frankly, to listen to stars, birds, babes,
    and sages with open heart, to bear all cheerfully,
    do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never.
In a word, to let the spiritual,
    unbidden and unconscious,
    grow up through the common.
This is to be my symphony. 

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