A Poem Is Worth 1,000 Words

By: Kay Davidson

I have on my computer a collection of some 500 poems. Each was chosen for a reason. Sometimes a line may have captured my attention, like Mary Oliver’s “You do not have to be good” or sometimes I come across a phrase that deserves contemplation like Stanley Kunitz’s “Live in the layers, not on the litter.” Maybe I sensed a truth that I needed to hear (Patience with small detail makes perfect a large work, like the universe. Rumi Kapur) or was given a caution for a day that was to include unpleasant circumstances (There’s no use hiding it / What's inside always leaks outside. Yunus Emre)

Then, there are those occasions when I need prompting to practice gratitude instead of complaining (Be glad your nose is on your face / not pasted on some other place / for if it were where it is not,/ you might dislike your nose a lot./ Imagine if your precious nose/were sandwiched in between your toes,/ that clearly would not be a treat / or you'd be forced to smell your feet. Jack Prelutsky)

When discouraged by my personal shortcomings, I can find empathy (Each time you judge yourself, you break your own heart. Bapuji), humor (You are a divine elephant with amnesia/ trying to live in an ant hole. Hafiz), solace in my common humanity (Remember that you are all people and that all people are you. Joy Harjo), or a reality check (In this short Life that only lasts an hour/ How much - how little - is within our power. Emily Dickinson)

This collection began to grow when I came to know how useful poetry can be when talking about mindfulness. Several of my meditation teachers quoted verse when giving dharma talks, and to me, the message of the talk was often deepened and made more memorable by the poem. There is something about the careful languaging of a poem — its brevity or its realness — that partners well with the principles of mindfulness. So, whether about the importance of slowing down enough to be present (Efficiency is not God’s highest goal for your life/neither is busyness. Rob Bell), being with the difficult aspects of life (Don't turn your head. / Keep looking at the bandaged place. Rumi Kapur), or acknowledging how our minds are constantly buzzing and grasping (Everyone is overridden by thoughts;/ that’s why they have so much heartache and sorrow. Rumi Kapur) — poetry has a way to say it.

Of course, there is much more to poetry than a single line or a moving phrase. There is the sound and the rhythm of the words, the patterns and shape of the lines, the unfolding in successive phrases “...of necessary human information that cannot be communicated in any other way.” (Edward Hirsch, How to Read a Poem)

Consider these stanzas:

later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?
it answered
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere
    -- Warsan Shire.

Can’t you see it? A person, sitting by lamplight, large volume in her lap, tracing a map of the world, whispering to the world as a living thing. And as we engage with these words, we experience the rhythm of the repetition, the insistence of the italics, and maybe, as I do when reading this — especially out loud —  feel a welling of compassion for all of those wounded places. Human information, indeed.

As in Warsan Shire’s stanzas, poetry often inspires me to practice what is most important in this life.

stop asking: Am I good enough?
Ask only:
Am I showing up
with love?
     -- Julia Fehrenbacher

And, in this category of remembering what’s important, I have to include Toyohiko Kagawa’s singular “Prayer”: May I never Yawn at Life.

With 500 poems to choose from, I could go on and on citing beautiful, meaningful, funny treasures from my collection. Those I’ve offered here are samples of words that have somehow spoken to me. I want to say they are words that have entered me. That’s how I know they are meant to be guidance on my path. And of course, what is meaningful can change over time. So I’ll include one last selection that has relevance to me at this stage of my life: 

I pause in this moment at the beginning of my old age
and I say a prayer of gratitude for getting to this evening
a prayer for being here today, now, alive
in this life, in this evening, under this sky.
       -- David Budbill