As much as any other season, the emerging one this time of year is rife with imagery and symbolism. Some of it is even good! And poetry, for me, is often the clearest way to imagine it, to re-engage (believe) in it — expressing something ineffable.
'Poem for the week' -- "The blessed angels":
How much like
angels are these tall
gladiolas in a vase on my coffee
table, as if in a bunch
whispering. How slender
and artless, how scandalously
alive, each with its own
humors and pulse. Each weight-
bearing stem is the stem
of a thought through which
aspires the blood-metal of stars. Each heart
is a gift for the king. When
I was a child, my mother and aunts
would sit in the kitchen
gossiping. One would tip
her head toward me, “Little Ears,”
she’d warn, and the whole room
went silent. Now, before sunrise,
what secrets I am told!—being
quieter than blossoms and near invisible.
-- Toi Derricotte
From the author:
“In the morning I make an espresso and sit in a comfortable chair where I can see the outside. Sometimes I’m up so early I can feel the light coming. I just listen to the air. The angels are lovely creatures to talk to. Rilke also enjoyed it! Often I can’t tell the difference between my voice and theirs.”
This feels 'Saturday Morning'-esqe to me, especially as we enter December. Last year, I collected a number of Christmas poems, in particular, which can be found by scrolling here (along with a few other seasonal gems).
