Conscientious Objector

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death.
I hear him leading his horse out of the stall; I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
He is in haste; he has business in Cuba, business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
But I will not hold the bridle while he clinches the girth.
And he may mount by hinmself: I will not give him a leg up.

Though he flick my shoulders with his whip, I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.

I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends nor of my enemies either.
Though he promise me much, I will not map him the route to any man's door.
Am I a spy in the land of the living, that I should deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city are safe with me; never through me
Shall you be overcome.

Snow Poem

The snow is melting here in Haines, but they're predicting snow showers for the next couple of days. Where I grew up, April was definitely spring, but in a lot of the country, it's still undeniably winter. Anyway, there's still time to get this poem in.




Snow

David Berman

Walking through a field with my little brother Seth

I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow.
For some reason, I told him that a troop of angels
had been shot and dissolved when they hit the ground.

He asked who had shot them and I said a farmer.




Then we were on the roof of the lake.
The ice looked like a photograph of water.

Why he asked. Why did he shoot them.

I didn't know where I was going with this.

They were on his property, I said.




When it's snowing, the outdoors seem like a room.

Today I traded hellos with my neighbor.
Our voices hung close in the new acoustics.
A room with the walls blasted to shreds and falling.

We returned to our shoveling, working side by side in silence.




But why were they on his property, he asked.



from Actual Air, 1999
Open City Books, New YorkSnow

Haines

I arrived in Haines, AK last Sunday. Haines is a small town, even compared to Sitka, and more rugged climatalogically than the rest of Southeast Alaska. Less rain but more snow. It's right on the water and surrounded three-sixty by mountains. Drop-dead, take-your-breath away gorgeous.

The clinic where I'm working has two of the most talented and devoted doctors I have ever met. The docs here are the first I've met in my training who are willing to discuss the philosophy of medicine, something that intrigues me. One doc told me "I don't really do anything here. I listen and usually the patient heals themself". Memorizing the appropriate antibiotic is easy (even easier to just look it up) but having the humility and generosity of spirit to invest in your patient is harder to learn. Perhaps it can't be taught at all. Perhaps you have to teach yourself, if you're willing.

I went to a talent show last night and the auditorium was standing room only. We watched two little kids singing "Bill Grogan's Goat" and a girl played "Old McDonald Had a Farm" on her violin. Children danced or played the piano, a boy played the drums, and one chubby little girl in a white dress sang "A few Of My Favorite Things". The high school kids in the audience went crazy for every performer, screaming out children's names and whistling. After the show, I saw three or four people who I already knew and was able to compliment their children by name. I went to bed feeling warm and content.

This morning (Saturday) I walked 20 minutes down the road to a trailhead where I gained 3000 feet in 3 miles. The view took in two rivers, a bay, and mountains upon mountains. It had been raining when I woke up, but the weather had cleared by the time I hit the trail. On the summit, above the trees, I listened to Bach on my ipod and laid in the snow in the sun and watched the thin clouds race and tumble across the sapphire sky.

It's no Mayberry, though; no Northern Exposure. I've seen patients who are dealing with meth or coke addictions, teenagers pregnant and girls with eating disorders. A strong community and beautiful mountains can't protect you from rape and incest and domestic abuse. It makes me look hard at what I want from this profession, where I want to be in 10 years. There's money to be made in medicine, certainly, but I already know that isn't my priority. I want to be a good person; I want to be happy; I want to live in the bosom of a happy and healthy family in whatever form that takes. A good provider here could make a real difference in people's lives if she knows when to shut up and listen.

2 by William Carlos Williams

This is Just to Say




I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox



and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast



Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
******
The Red Wheelbarrow



so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white chickens

When Death Comes

This one seems like its going to be depressing, but it turns out to be life-affirming and gorgeous.

When Death Comes

Mary Oliver
From New and Selected Poems by Mary Oliver (Beacon Press, 25 Beacon St, Boston, MA 02108-2892, ISBN 0 870 6819 5).


When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,


and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

cummings

I love e e cummings. This poem is one of his lesser known ones, but I love it for its beautiful imagery.

if a cheerfulest Elephantangelchild

if a cheerfulest Elephantangelchild should sit
(holding a red candle over his head
by a finger of trunk, and singing out of a red

book) on a proud round cloud in a white high night

where his heartlike ears have flown adorable him
self tail and all (and his tail's red christmas bow)
--and if, when we meet again, little he (having flown
even higher) is sunning his penguinsoul in the glow

of a joy which wasn't and isn't and won't be words

while possibly not (at a guess) quite half way down
to the earth are leapandswooping tinily birds
whose magical gaiety makes your beautiful name---

i feel that (false and true are merely to know)
Love only has ever been, is, and will ever be, So

-e.e. cummings

An Ill Wind

A selection from my brother over at Heron House. I think he's got some poems of his own going this month.

"An Ill Wind" by Louis Jenkins, from Sea Smoke © Holy Cow! Press, 2004. Reprinted with permission.

An Ill Wind


Today there's a cold northeast wind blowing, piling up ice all
along the water's edge. The Point is deserted, no one for five
miles down the beach. Just the way I like it. The sand is frozen
mostly, so the walking is easy as I pick my way through the
wrack and drift. Today I don't even leave footprints. Wind,
sand, sun and water. A simplicity that defies comprehension.
The barest essentials for the imagination's work. This shore has
been pretty much the same for ten thousand years. Countless
others have been here before me, musing and pondering, as
they walked down the beach and disappeared forever. So here's
what I'm thinking: wouldn't it be great if one of them dropped
a big roll of hundred dollar bills and I found it?