Skip to main content

Poetry Sunday: Barking

Jim Harrison died last weekend. He was a prolific writer of many books, including his latest, The Ancient Minstrel, which had just been published in March. His best known work was undoubtedly Legends of the Fall. 

In addition to essays and long and short works of fiction, Harrison was also a poet of some renown. Whatever he wrote, he wrote it with passion. By all accounts, he lived a lusty and full life and most likely had little to regret at the end of it.

This is one of his better known poems and it feels particularly appropriate to feature it as this week's poem of the week. It seems to feature a narrator who is looking back on his life after his death - a death that came just as spring had begun to "bring new birds up from Mexico."

Barking

The moon comes up. 
The moon goes down. 
This is to inform you 
that I didn't die young. 
Age swept past me 
but I caught up. 
Spring has begun here and each day 
brings new birds up from Mexico. 
Yesterday I got a call from the outside 
world but I said no in thunder. 
I was a dog on a short chain 
and now there's no chain.

Comments

  1. Nice! I think if you have liked any of Jim Harrison's novels you could read The Vegetarian.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Interesting. Perhaps I'll add it to my (very long) list.

      Delete
  2. thank you appreciate this

    ReplyDelete
  3. Birds coming from Mexico...I like that, I also like the image of the dog with no chain at all; freedom at last!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Death sets one free, I suppose. The man had an amazing ability to express ideas through his imagery.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters!  Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...