A Regular Thursday Morning Post with a Couple of Poems and an Invitation
this week's post went rogue when I pressed 'send now'
This week when writing Good In The Garden I pressed ‘send now’ instead of ‘send at 6.00am on Thursday morning’, so those readers who enjoy a quiet early Thursday morning read may have been disappointed to get this week’s post at 9.00pm on a Tuesday night.
Therefore, here’s another short post to accompany your Thursday coffee. It picks up the thought I was joking about with in the mis-sent post. Which is: why should garden problems/disappointments/worries matter when the world is so full of trouble?
I thought this morning, I’ll just take a few pictures of Good Things in The Garden this morning and post them, and I started with Turk’s Cap Lilies - I bought a job lot cheap at the wrong time last year and planted them in pots. I don’t think anything much happened, certainly no flowers. But this year they have come, in all the richness of the Silk Road.
Then I thought I’ll go and find a poem about the Martagon Lily (or Turk’s Cap), there’s bound to be one.
I found a poem by Nazim Hikmet, on a blog called ‘Endless Streams and Forests’. I’ll come back to the blog. First, the poem;
ON LIVING (an excerpt) Living is no laughing matter: you must live with great seriousness like a squirrel, for example— I mean without looking for something above and beyond living, I mean living must be your whole occupation. Living is no laughing matter: you must take it seriously, so much so and to such a degree that, for example, your hands tied behind your back, your back to the wall, or else in a laboratory in your white coat and safety glasses, you can die for people— even for people whose faces you’ve never seen, even though you know living is the most real, the most beautiful thing. I mean, you must take living so seriously that even at seventy, for example, you’ll plant olive trees— and not for your children, either, but because although you fear death you don’t believe it, because living, I mean, weighs heavier.
I hadn’t heard of Nazim Hikmet, before. You can read his wiki page here. There were moments in this poem that spoke to me and some of my current preoccupations very deeply. I have been thinking of planting an olive tree. I am nearly seventy. When I die or leave this house my garden will most like be torn out by a family that needs space for two or more vehicles. I am aware that I am making something temporary, and in a short time and yet … yet… what is the thing I seek to fix by planting an olive tree?
And there are people dying. It’s not morbid to think of that. It’s part of life. As another poet says, ‘there will be dying’…
Everything is Going to be All Right How should I not be glad to contemplate the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window and a high tide reflected on the ceiling? There will be dying, there will be dying, but there is no need to go into that. The poems flow from the hand unbidden and the hidden source is the watchful heart. The sun rises in spite of everything and the far cities are beautiful and bright. I lie here in a riot of sunlight watching the day break and the clouds flying. Everything is going to be all right. Derek Mahon, from Selected Poems
Yes, there will be dying, but the commitment to living feels so vital that each day as I go into the garden to look for The Good, I feel the truth Derek Mahon’s poem. Right now, right here, now, ‘there is no need to go into that.’
Because I am appreciating the life in the Turk’s Cap Lily.
I love that Nazim Hikmet makes his huge claims about the seriousness and reality of life through a squirrel!
So then I had a look at the rest of the blog where I had found his poem, and saw that the writer, Jenny Bennett, had died. The blog stopped in 2015. For some (probably autobiographical reason) I assumed ‘Jenny’ was an old lady and that she had ‘just died’, as, you know, old ladies do. But that was not the case. Jenny, who had been so moved by Turk’s Cap Lilies in the Appalachan Mountains that she had sought out a poem by a Turkish writer, and published it on her blog, had died, mid-life, walking in those mountains.
This series of events - starting with my photograph of the lily, ending with my contemplation of the death of an American woman I never knew, a Turkish man I never knew - gave me good pause this morning.
Yes, I fear death and I wish I was going to live forever. And yet, because I am living now, here, now, quick, now
you’ll plant olive trees— and not for your children, either, but because although you fear death you don’t believe it, because living, I mean, weighs heavier.
Enjoy your living, dear readers.
And try poetry which is wonderful equipment in our work of being. For those within reach, I’m leading a Masterclass in reading poetry on Sunday 15 June, at Calderstones. Beginners especially welcome.
All proceeds to The Reader’s Garden
https://thereader.ticketsolve.com/ticketbooth/shows/1173661132
If you are too far away to come, you might consider buying a ticket (£40) to support our work in The Reader’s Garden. You’ll receive a special video post from me with readings of the poems and my thoughts on them.
Do drop me a note via comments to let me know if you plan to do this, so I’m not waiting for you to arrive on the day!
