I am not generally a poetic person or one who gets into poetry much, but I came across this one and it spoke volumes to me:
Kindness
Naomi Shihab Nye
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
You must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.
So, what does it say to you?
3 comments:
Lovely poem!
I was just thinking about you the other day. I was wondering if you knew of any good RV accessory stores? We are going to need to find a sink cover/ cutting board thing, a broiler pan and perhaps some cookie sheets that fit in the tiny oven. We are having the hardest time finding places that sell RV stuff.
You do have a really cute Owen!
I am enjoying your blog! Will keep up with you and your travels. Take care!
I love this poem with the exception of the suggestion that the people "eating maize and chicken" will forever stare out the window. I think the poet is making a judgement about a certain class of people, putting herself above or beyond their situation. Like I said, I am moved by the words, except for this line, so I think this line should be modified to say something like "the passengers, staring endlessly out the window." That would be an improvemen on the poem. I don't like it when poets are literay people put themselves "above" or make judgemental comments about people who they feel "have no clue." Artists are responsible for the messages they create; while everything about this poem makes COMPLETE SENSE, this one line troubles me.
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