I Would Like to Describe

When it comes to poetry, I’m basically happy just to be a reader. Coming across – or returning to – the right poem at the right moment makes order out of the various pieces of my life. The poems I love offer ways of naming what exists in the workings of the world, in the human condition, in the spectrum of experience and emotion.

It feels like a gift – and something of a duty – to be able to teach poetry. Whether or not I have a class, I proselytize. The poems I’ve been given – mostly by teachers of my own – are my most precious possessions.

Then there are times when the poetry I’m reading is so rich and inspiring, or when something strikes me that feels like it warrants translation to words, and I feel compelled to write a poem. When that happens, the impulse ties right into what Zbigniew Herbert says in “I Would Like to Describe”:

I would like to describe the simplest emotion
joy or sadness
but not as others do
reaching for shafts of rain or sun

I would like to describe a light
which is being born in me
but I know it does not resemble
any star
for it is not so bright
not so pure
and is uncertain

I would like to describe courage
without dragging behind me a dusty lion
and also anxiety
without shaking a glass full of water

to put it another way
I would give all metaphors
in return for one word
drawn out of my breast like a rib
for one word
contained within the boundaries
of my skin

but apparently this is not possible

and just to say – I love
I run around like mad
picking up handfuls of birds
and my tenderness

Something in a poem resists its own expression. The hard work of writing is getting as close as possible to getting the words right. This is also my joy as a reader: a well-made poem is nothing short of miraculous.