Do you have a favorite poem? What is it?

The Peace of Wild Things – by Wendell Berry

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s life may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Last year I was inspired by Lola to memorize a poem. She knows many by heart and can recite multiple stanzas. The advice she had was to pick a poem you really loved. This was very good advice. While this poem is short and even though I carried it around in my pocket on an index card, it has taken me a long time to memorize. And to be honest I still mix it up. But I absolutely love this poem. I do not mind going over and over it, because each time I do, it sinks in deeper. And I have developed a better understanding about poetry. It used to perplex me, but Wendell Berry is very accessible.

Years ago I discovered Wendell Berry by way of an essay in an organic gardening magazine. This led me to his many works of non fiction and fiction. His regard for a sense of place and our role in it, always provokes a litany of questions and self examination.

In the early 1980’s he came to do a reading at Elliot Bay Books in Seattle. We waited in a long line and lucked out to get the last two seats. This was a small intimate venue. He is a tall man, a salt of the earth type with a southern drawl. He began by reading this poem. The lilt of his voice was transportive and I was transfixed for the rest of the evening. At the end of the reading we waited in line to get our book signed. When I was face to face, no words came out. I smiled, slightly embarrassed. He signed the book, “Thank you for appearing to be moved by my writing”. He wrote exactly what I had wanted to say, but could not. He smiled and touched my hand as he gave me the book back. I’ll never forget his compassion or his kind sense of humor.

This poem offers understanding of what it is to go to nature for solace.  It is about communion with the peace of wild things. It is truly the only place I know to go where things make sense, in a world where often things do not. It is a place where being sensitive or shy or not understanding the pain of the world is okay. A place to restore and replenish. When leaving this place, what stays is this sense of peace. This is what sustains me as I make my way in the world. To read this poem is transportive.  The power of that inspires me to continue my attempts at memorizing. And I feel like that would be honoring Wendell Berry and truly embodying his words.