I was reminded by fellow poet Francis Fike last Sunday, while eating the pancake feast that Karmen and her husband Duane had spearheaded, that April is Poetry Month. Karmen has shared with us her love of poetry this month, highlighting two fellow poets whose works she has taken to heart. We all can celebrate this month the many and varied ways poetry impacts our lives. In honor of Poetry Month, and with thanks to Karmen, enjoy some poetry today! ~Rhonda (for R&R)
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Water can evoke many images and emotions. We drink it, bathe in it, swim in it, play with it, stand by its shores and breathe in the healing beauty of it. We are baptized with it.
My cousin Barbie and my brother Greg both drowned in lakes. When I think of them, I try not to dwell on their last moments in the waters that took their lives. Still, I cannot forget. Given this sorrow, and yet somehow defying logic, some of the happiest times of my life have been spent on the shores of lakes. Lake Macatawa, close enough to walk to from my home. Houghton Lake, where my grandparents once had a cottage. Hamlin Lake in Ludington, where Duane and I have sailed and camped. Lake Champlain, which we crossed in a ferry. Lake Michigan, where I stare in wonder at the waves.
No wonder the two poems I share with you here are so powerful for me. They stir up an eddy of emotions and memories. To me, they speak of courage and hope. Deep Water was written by Bruce ten Haken and shared with Early Worship years ago when he led one of our services. Now, When the Waters are Pressing Mightily was written by Yehunda Amicahi and sent to me by one of my classmates from Vermont College. It is translated from the Hebrew by Leon Wieseltier.
I hope these poems hold meaning for you, too.
~Karmen Kooyers
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Now, When the Waters Are Pressing Mightily by Yehunda Amicahi,
translated from the Hebrew by Leon Wieseltier
Now, when the waters are pressing mightily
on the walls of the dams,
now, when the white storks, returning,
are transformed in the middle of the firmament
into fleets of jet planes,
we will feel again how strong are the ribs
and how vigorous is the warm air in the lungs
and how much daring is needed to love on the exposed plain,
when the dangers are arched above,
and how much love is required to fill all the empty vessels
and the watches that stopped telling time,
and how much breath,
a whirlwind of breath,
to sing the small song of spring.
~~~~~
Deep Water by Bruce ten Haken
I am walking out into deep water, uncertain of my destination.
I feel the undertow and see the riptide.
Below me is shifting sand, first shallow, then deep, shallow, then deep.
The last safe sandbar is behind me.
67 people have died in this water; they did not know the limits I have found.
The deep water has only surface to my eyes;
going into that blue, I must close them, take one long deep breath
and dive down into the darkness,
searching what is unknown,
finding my way without direction,
reaching for what can’t be seen.
But, maybe I am mistaken.
Maybe, in the darkness, when I can go no deeper,
when my breath is gone and lungs have shrunk,
in that pause,
my only choice
is to look above me and pull myself toward the light.
This morning, as the water crashes down around me, trying to swim,
I feel the current above, around and beneath me.
The forces pull at my arms and chest,
push at my legs and lungs.
And in that pause,
of opposing force,
I know
what I must do.
I know because,
it is Life
that calls me out into the Deep Water,
it is Life
that makes my lungs burn with each breath,
it is Life
that makes my muscles sore with each kick and stroke,
it is Life
that reaches for what is living in me and alive in this world.
~hosted by Randy Smit and Rhonda Edgington