Poet and educator Margaret Simon -- one of our Pantone Poetry Project regulars -- is today's guest blogger. Margaret blogs at Reflections on the Teche.
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| Margaret Simon |
Words are the
gift of poets, and Mary Oliver is a master. A good friend gave me one of the
first poems I heard by Mary Oliver. At the time, I was struggling with a
professional position. This was one teaching job that I thought was IT, the
perfect one for me. Then the unimaginable happened. My administrator found me
inadequate, not good enough.
In my contract,
I was being forced to go back to college for math. At the time, I had completed a masters program in gifted,
been a teacher-consultant for the National Writing Project for 10 years, and
had taught for nearly 20 years. My whole body revolted. I knew without a doubt
that I would never be able to be a passionate math teacher. And a part of me
was deeply insulted that it wasn’t enough to be a passionate writing teacher. I
quit. I didn’t sign the contract. But my spirit was devastated. I was not good
enough, a failure.
Mary Oliver
saved me.
“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.”
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.”
The soft animal
of my body fell in love again and again with this poem. Her words were more
than a comfort; they empowered me. I could move on, be good again, and be a
part of the world.
“Whoever
you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.”
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.”
My dear husband
asked, “What do you want to do?” He encouraged me to pursue a job that would
fit me, one where I could teach what I love. I did find it. I have been happily
teaching gifted elementary students for the last 7 years. Ironically, I do have
to teach math sometimes, but I find a way to work in writing, too.
I still go back to
Mary Oliver’s words over and over. I am an achiever, a do-gooder, never-say-no
kind of person. "Wild Geese" has taught
me to honor the person I am and to be willing to make mistakes, to not always
be perfect. I realize that no matter what, I am loved. And I can love what I
love without excuses.
Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver
by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Read the rest at The Writer's Almanac.
Or watch Mary Oliver read the poem:
Knowing
a
response to “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver
The moon glows in
rings of light.
My soft body relaxes,
knowing
Jupiter is shining in
the predawn sky
saying
You are enough.
You do not have to be good.
Love what you love.
Listen
to the train in the
distance
shouting its presence
to the world.
Stop,
write a poem from
your heart.
Wait
for the train to
pass.
I stop to pay
attention
to the fading full
moon
and Jupiter and
the endless cars of
this train.
I can become one
in the family
of things.
--Margaret Simon
italics indicate Mary
Oliver’s words
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| Mary Oliver From The Poetry Foundation |
Margaret Simon is a Mississippi native who married into a
Louisiana life. She lives on the Bayou
Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana with her husband, Jeff. Their now empty nest once housed three
daughters, Maggie, Katherine, and Martha. Margaret has been an elementary school teacher for 28 years, most
recently teaching gifted students in Iberia Parish. She has published poems in the journal The Aurorean, and wrote a chapter about
teaching poetry to young children for Women
on Poetry published in 2012 by McFarland
& Company, Inc. Publishers. Border Press published her collection of
poems with her father’s Christmas card art, Illuminate
in fall of 2013 [featured at AuthorAmok here]. Blessen, a novel for young readers, was published in April 2012,
also by Border Press. In her teaching profession, she has a Masters degree in
Gifted Education and certification by the National Boards for Professional
Teaching Standards. Margaret writes a
blog regularly at http://reflectionsontheteche.wordpress.com.
Previous posts in this series:
Laura Shovan on "This Is Just to Say" by William Carlos Williams
Dylan Bargteil on "On Moral Leadership as a Political Dilemma" by June Jordan
J. C. Elkin on "Hannibal Clim" (author unknown)
Diane Mayr on a haiku by Basho
Jone MacCulloch on "We Are Waiting (a pantoum)" by Joyce Sidman
Mary Bargteil on Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot
Jacqueline Jules on "Mother to Son" by Langston Hughes
Pamela Murray Winters on "The Land of Counterpane" by Robert Louis Stevenson
Dennis Kirschbaum on "Rain" by Robert Louis Stevenson
Janet Fagal on "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" by William Butler Yeats
Janet Fagal on "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" by William Butler Yeats
Linda Baie on "The Way It Is" by William Stafford
Pat Valdata on "Sea Fever" by John Masefield
Shirley Brewer on "The Singers" by Eavan Boland
Renee LaTulippe on "Daddy" by Sylvia Plath
Ann Bracken on "The Well of Grief" by David Whyte
