I feel like I’m just being immersed in words this month, which is a good thing, since I’m also being intermittently immersed in rain. At the moment, though, snow is falling, or maybe sleet, but it’s okay, I keep telling myself. I have no place to go, and nothing in particular to do this weekend. Most people would consider that to be boring, but with the wet and the muck outside, and the books inside, I see this to be a Really Great Thing.
I copied down this poem because… it’s not me. I think there’s a teensy riot grrl screeching mouse-like in my inner core. I wish this were me. Maybe it’s kind of like why young readers like fantasy literature; we wish to be powerful. If we were vampires, we’d be up all night, scare the crap out of the establishment, take insane risks with sunrise, be brilliantly sexy and of course — live forever. If we were witches, it’d be the same, except we’d have more power than to just eat people. And hey, if we had dragons…
So, I will muse further on my samurai; hard warriors with no time for anything but discipline and rules. As I said: so not me. But I like this poem anyway.
Samurai Song
— by Robert Pinsky
When I had no roof I made
Audacity my roof. When I had
No supper my eyes dined.
When I had no eyes I listened.
When I had no ears I thought.
When I had no thought I waited.
When I had no father I made
Care my father. When I had
No mother I embraced order.
When I had no friend I made
Quiet my friend. When I had no
Enemy I opposed my body.
When I had no temple I made
My voice my temple. I have
No priest, my tongue is my choir.
When I have no means fortune
Is my means. When I have
Nothing, death will be my fortune.
Need is my tactic, detachment
Is my strategy. When I had
No lover I courted my sleep.
Listen to the author read this brilliant, cold poem and others here.
Why do I love this poem (other than the fact that Stephen Colbert said I should)? Its appeal to my inner warrior is strong, and it lures me into the idea that I can do something about everything. I can finesse the whole world. Or, barring that option, I can detach from it, and ignore it.
Which is a sort of power, too.
Maybe this is a love poem, to the self.
(I am strong. I am invincible.
I am, I am, I am.)
Poetry Friday is at Big A, little a. Thanks for visiting.
A love poem to the self…yes, I can see that.
P.S. My inner rrrriot girl challenges your inner rrrriot girl to make audacity our roof this year.
Sheesh, one look at your archive and I should have known this is not new. Sorry!
It’s not me either, though how I wish I had that kind of confidence in myself, in making great lemonade concoctions with lemons I’m given.
I, too, shall chant along: I can, I can, I will, I will.
(This a new blog? Like it.)
Great poem — a champion of self, and yet at the same time, that detachment that feels like resentment.