The first sentence of the Introduction is: "I was born with the themes of this book buried like seeds in my heart." The mystery of this appealed to me so much!
Moore defines religion as "our creative and concrete response to the mysteries that permeate our lives," and soul as the "unreachable depth, felt vitality and full presence of a person or even a thing." I choose to discuss these elements because I truly believe that most of our poetry stems from these places. If you disagree, no problem. Just read along and disagree. One thing I have learned is that I should not only read those things with which I am aligned; I must also subject myself to those ideas that push up against me in an uncomfortable way. What better way to refine my own beliefs? And let me say, again, I am not trying to win anyone over to my way of thinking, just looking at a body of literature through a particular lens.
One of the first people Moore writes about in his book is Thoreau. He says that Thoreau "started a movement: shifting from the mammoth religious institutions to an inspired and educated personal religion." He added that "this new kind of religion asks that you move away from being a follower to being a creator."
I like that idea of being a creator. So, let's take a look at Thoreau's poetry:
Within the circuit of this plodding life
There enter moments of an azure hue,
Untarnished fair as is the violet
Or anemone, when the spring strews them
By some meandering rivulet, which make
The best philosophy untrue that aims
But to console man for his grievances
I have remembered when the winter came,
High in my chamber in the frosty nights,
When in the still light of the cheerful moon,
On every twig and rail and jutting spout,
The icy spears were adding to their length
Against the arrows of the coming sun,
How in the shimmering noon of summer past
Some unrecorded beam slanted across
The upland pastures where the Johnswort grew;
Or heard, amid the verdure of my mind,
The bee's long smothered hum, on the blue flag
Loitering amidst the mead; or busy rill,
Which now through all its course stands still and dumb
Its own memorial,—purling at its play
Along the slopes, and through the meadows next,
Until its youthful sound was hushed at last
In the staid current of the lowland stream;
Or seen the furrows shine but late upturned,
And where the fieldfare followed in the rear,
When all the fields around lay bound and hoar
Beneath a thick integument of snow.
So by God's cheap economy made rich
To go upon my winter's task again.
I would challenge you to read this poem again and to take note of each word which is not part of your normal vocabulary. Not just those words with which you are unfamiliar, but those words that you never use. Make sure you know what they mean. Make sure you know what they mean to YOU. Try to use a few of these words this week! And let's take time to discuss this poem at our meeting Wednesday.
I hate to leave you without a visual, or at least an auditory experience. So, for some reason this song has been on my mind: "You'll Think of Me," written by Darrell Brown, Ty Lacy, and Dennis Matkosky, and recorded by country music artist Keith Urban. I often find poetry in song lyrics. Listen to this. (Click on the song title.) Listen to the narrative. Read the lyrics. (I have posted them below.) And try to decide what the "hook" of this song was when the writers wrote it. Don't our poems need a hook?
If your life had a hook, what would it be?
I woke up early this morning around four a.m.
With the moon shining bright as headlights on the interstate
I pulled the covers over my head and tried to catch some sleep
But thoughts of us kept keeping me awake
Ever since you found yourself in someone else's arms
I've been tryin' my best to get along
But that's okay
There's nothing left to say, but
Take your records, take your freedom
Take your memories I don't need 'em
Take your space and take your reasons
But you'll think of me
And take your cap and leave my sweater
'Cause we have nothing left to weather
In fact I'll feel a whole lot better
But you'll think of me, you'll think of me
I went out driving trying to clear my head
I tried to sweep out all the ruins that my emotions left
I guess I'm feeling just a little tired of this
And all the baggage that seems to still exist
It seems the only blessing I have left to my name
Is not knowing what we could have been
What we should have been
So
Take your records, take your freedom
Take your memories I don't need 'em
Take your space and take your reasons
But you'll think of me
And take your cap and leave my sweater
'Cause we have nothing left to weather
In fact I'll feel a whole lot better
But you'll think of me
Someday I'm gonna run across your mind
Don't worry, I'll be fine
I'm gonna be alright
While you're sleeping with your pride
Wishin' I could hold you tight
I'll be over you
And on with my life
So take your records, take your freedom
Take your memories I don't need 'em
And take your cap and leave my sweater
'Cause we have nothing left to weather
In fact I'll feel a whole lot better
But you'll think of me
So take your records, take your freedom
Take your memories I don't need 'em
Take your space and all your reasons
But you'll think of me
And take your cap and leave my sweater
'Cause we got nothing left to weather
In fact I'll feel a whole lot better
But you'll think of me, you'll think of me, yeah
And you're gonna think of me
Oh someday baby, someday
"People become famous through all sorts of different reasons... some of it through art and some of it through just wanting to be famous. And I think how that all starts tends to reflect how you live your life daily."--Keith Urban