The practice I’ve been following since Advent began has been to choose a daily poem that includes the AdventWord of the day. It’s introduced me to some beautiful poetry written by some brilliant poets. Many are brand new to me: the poems, the poets, or both.
Today’s #AdventWord is STIR, and I had a hard time narrowing down the choice to just one poem. All kinds of things get stirred in poems: trees, spirits, tea, soup, souls, and more. A few stood out.
Willa Cather wrote a short poem called “Prairie Dawn” where there is “a sudden stirring of the huddled herds.” Cows or bison, I’m not sure which, but it took me right back to this past fall’s trip to her hometown with my writing group. Another fine poet—Tracy K. Smith—describes how “all that stirs under the soil is a little tickle of knowledge” in “Everything That Ever Was.” I came close to choosing “You are Who I Love” by Aracelis Girmay, where “you stirring the pot of beans” joins a long list of other beloved humans.
But it was another gem from Mary Oliver that won the day. On a beach retreat 14 years ago my writing group used “When I am Among the Trees” for a group prompt. The poem had been cut up into individual lines, and we each drew one out of a bowl. My line was “but walk slowly, and bow often.” I had never read the poem before, and only had my one line to use as a prompt. We each wrote pieces based on our line, then read them in turn, after hearing the full poem. It’s a rich way of writing with others, and it certainly was for us that weekend. My piece from that day ended up closing the last chapter of our book, Farther Along: The Writing Journey of Thirteen Bereaved Mothers.
Writing helps me walk slowly and bow often.
Oliver’s poem stirs up all the connections for me—not just her lovely words and images, but the memory of hearing them for the first time, and then writing with and about dear ones at Emerald Isle.
Use the poem—one line or all of them—as your prompt for the week. What gets stirred in you?
a poetry prompt
When I am Among the Trees —by Mary Oliver When I am among the trees, especially the willows and the honey locust, equally the beech, the oaks and the pines, they give off such hints of gladness. I would almost say that they save me, and daily. I am so distant from the hope of myself, in which I have goodness, and discernment, and never hurry through the world but walk slowly, and bow often. Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out, “Stay awhile.” The light flows from their branches. And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say, “and you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.”
—in Thirst: Poems
