Truly Tabitha

Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Gratitude, again

In For fun, Music, Poetry, Tabitha Recommends on April 25, 2013 at 8:42 pm

I’m still on the gift tip here- continuing from my last post. But really, it’s the gratitude tip since giving gifts is an act of gratitude and receiving them also sparks gratitude. So, I got the best gift possible from my sister recently: an ipod loaded with music. Isn’t that a good one?! Feel free to steal the idea and really make someone’s day/week/month/entire span of time that they listen to the music. But I digress as I often do. My sister has an elite and eclectic taste in music. She knows all of the new and upcoming bands and about that guy who makes amazing techno tracks in his mom’s basement in Berlin. One of the bands she included was Modest Mouse. I highly recommend them if you are not familiar with them already! They are experimental rock with quirky, poetic lyrics.

Since I have had gratitude on my mind lately and really always since I believe it is the key to happiness (yep, you heard it here folks), one of their songs jumped out at me. It’s called Lives. I heard it for the first time doing crunches at the gym, and I cried, just a little. It has such a great message: Remember to just be and be grateful for what is in front of you. Now I don’t know about you, but I live a pretty typical western lifestyle: always busy, always on the go, always achieving and always looking for the latest and greatest. I welcome reminders to just slow down and be content with things just as they are. Things like when my mom calls me just because, or when my cat jumps on my lap, purring, blocking me from accessing my laptop, and a beautiful song with beautiful lyrics. Here are some highlights of Lives:

Everyone’s afraid of their own life.
If you could be anything you want I bet you’d be disappointed.
Am I right?

It’s hard to remember we’re alive for the first time.
It’s hard to remember we’re alive for the last time.
It’s hard to remember to live before you die.
It’s hard to remember that our lives are such a short time.

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In Poetry on March 10, 2012 at 5:29 am

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What Love Is And Is Not

In Poetry on March 5, 2012 at 4:04 am

I’ve never encountered a more concrete explanation of the intangible topic of love than what Jack Gilbert offers here. Thank you for sharing this with me (you know who you are). It has become one of my favorite poems of all time.

The Great Fires
by Jack Gilbert

Love is apart from all things.
Desire and excitement are nothing beside it.
It is not the body that finds love.
What leads us there is the body.
What is not love provokes it.
What is not love quenches it.
Love lays hold of everything we know.
The passions which are called love
also change everything to a newness
at first. Passion is clearly the path
but does not bring us to love.
It opens the castle of our spirit
so that we might find the love which is
a mystery hidden there.
Love is one of many great fires.
Passion is a fire made of many woods,
each of which gives off its special odor
so we can know the many kinds
that are not love. Passion is the paper
and twigs that kindle the flames
but cannot sustain them. Desire perishes
because it tries to be love.
Love is eaten away by appetite.
Love does not last, but it is different
from the passions that do not last.
Love lasts by not lasting.
Isaiah said each man walks in his own fire
for his sins. Love allows us to walk
in the sweet music of our particular heart.

You All Know the Story of the Other Woman

In Poetry on June 29, 2011 at 11:22 am

Anne Sexton is my favorite poet. She was married to the same man for most of her adult life and carried on numerous affairs with a wide variety of men. She fell in love easily, and frequently. This is a poem about being the “other woman” when the morning comes.

It’s a little Walden.
She is private in her breathbed
as his body takes off and flies,
flies straight as an arrow.
But it’s a bad translation.
Daylight is nobody’s friend.
God comes in like a landlord
and flashes on his brassy lamp.
Now she is just so-so.
He puts his bones back on,
turning the clock back an hour.
She knows flesh, that skin ballon,
the unbound limbs, the boards,
the roof, the removeable roof.
She is his selection, part time.
You know the story too! Look,
when it is over he places her,
like a phone, back on the hook.

The Paradox of Our Age

In Poetry on June 20, 2011 at 7:53 pm

Beautiful, sad, and dead on – words by His Holiness the XIV Dalai Lama:

“We have bigger houses

and smaller families:

more convenience, but less time.

We have degrees but less sense;

more knowledge, but less judgement;

more experts, but more problems;

more medicine, but less healthiness.

We have been all the way to

the moon and back,  but have trouble

crossing the street to meet

the new neighbor.

We built more computers to hold more

information to produce more

copies than ever,

but have less communication.

We have become long on quantity,

but short on quality.

These are times of fast foods,

and slow digestion;

tall man and short character;

steep profits, and shallow relationships.

It is a time when there is much in the window,

and nothing in the room.

Ahh … Ralph Waldo Emerson

In Poetry, Quotes on May 28, 2011 at 6:56 am

Such quiet and exquisite observations…

“Love of beauty is taste. Creation of beauty is art.”

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