Poetry

The Song of the Poet’s Soul

Listening to the whisper of the wild places

And this is what they told her, you will hear the words, the songs of poems, and they will be sweet and will strum the chords of your soul.

Amongst the hay and wild grasses, you will find them there, in the melodies of birds and wild cricket wings and frogs and in the dust motes dancing in the last light of day and in the flashing of green springing from the veins of the earth and in the raindrops splatting on fuzzy sage.

But they forgot to warn her that if she did not listen, the song would still. If her heart was too bruised, it could not be filled. And so the world went silent while she was cocooned.

But one day, a whisper crept in through her shell. The hills… go to the hills.

There, amongst the rampant mustards and the boggy bits of earth where watercress sprang forth, and in the rustle of the tule and the cry of the hawk, she heard it again, the song of the poet’s soul. And she knew now to never let the words die, to never let go of the tether of hope, but to always return to the wild places to remember the meaning of this precious, and fleeting, gift of life.

Mary Oliver has been my “guru” for as long as I can remember reading her words. I want to “be dazzled, to cast aside the weight of facts, to float a little above this world” (The Ponds). I want to imagine what trees do in lightening storms (Can You Imagine). But of all her poems, I think that the one that speaks to me the most deeply is The Summer Day which asks:

“Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Every time I hit a rough patch in life, I come back to these words. And they give me hope. This poem is dedicated to the memory of Mary.

Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, neurophilosopher, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her love and amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem, or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).

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