Yes, this world is strange and sometimes scary.
That's why we should still, and always, read poetry.
Poetry is a path to hope.
While the bulk of my efforts, energies, and waking hours this week have been spent trying to nail down a house to live in, I’ve wrestled free a few moments here and there to read. I returned to Christian Wiman since he is always thought-provoking, even when I puzzle over his theology. His poetry is precise, and striking, and his ability to curate the compelling work of other poets brings me back, re-reading and digesting works I wouldn’t stumble across otherwise.
In Zero at the Bone, Wiman turns to Lucille Clifton and these two poems:
won’t you celebrate with me won't you celebrate with me what i have shaped into a kind of life? i had no model. born in babylon both nonwhite and woman what did i see to be except myself? i made it up here on this bridge between starshine and clay, my one hand holding tight my other hand; come celebrate with me that everyday something has tried to kill me and has failed. miss rosie when i watch you wrapped up like garbage sitting, surrounded by the smell of too old potato peels or when i watch you in your old man's shoes with the little toe cut out sitting, waiting for your mind like next week's grocery i say when i watch you you wet brown bag of a woman who used to be the best looking gal in georgia used to be called the Georgia Rose i stand up through your destruction i stand up
So simple, and yet, these poems resonate deeply.
I don’t read these as statements of the power of self-realization, but I also don’t know enough about Clifton’s life to know her full intentions. I do think Wiman’s exacting explanation of the strength of her work rings true:
“The smallness of Clifton’s poems does make, in total, a large statement. Which is: I have been almost crushed by this culture’s gargantuanism and idolatry of power. I will not play your game… I will not swagger. I will not pretend to know more than I do. Or less.”
Sound familiar? From Psalm 131:
“O Lord, my heart is not lifted up;
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvelous for me.”
But also, there’s an echo of this, from 2 Corinthians 4:8-10:
“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.”
How do words enliven us? It’s a mystery to me, always. We are broken, unable to overcome on our own. But, if we keep our hearts soft and open, we are stitched back together by this sacred thread of hope. And we stand up.