Posted by: DCox | December 19, 2010

Words that paint pictures

My son sent this poem to me today. We both have begun to enjoy poetry during the last couple of years. I’ve always thought it hard to understand, but perhaps that’s reading from the head rather than the heart.

From Blossoms
by Li-Young Lee

From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.


Responses

  1. I was going along nicely until the last stanza. When the poem turned from life to death. Not Untrue, just the focus doesn’t fit. For the life giving vision in the first stanzas are also true, even with the spectre of death. For me, death is not the spectre to life, just a different chapter, my belief holds that death will not be a bad thing, and so the blossom to blossom are not impossible, or spoiled, but fulfilled.


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