Friday, August 3, 2012

Poetry Friday--"In the Garden"


Here for your reading pleasure is a poem by Eavan Boland. I will offer it unadorned for it needs no explanations or comments!
In the Garden

Let’s go out now
before the morning
gets warm.
Get your bicycle,

your teddy bear--
the one that’s penny-colored
like your hair--
and come.

I want to show you
what
I don’t exactly know.
We’ll find out.

It’s our turn
in this garden,
by this light,
among the snails

and daisies--
one so slow
and one so closed--
to learn.

I could show you things:
how the poplar root
is pushing through,
how your apple tree is doing,

how daisies
shut like traps.
But you’re happy
as it is

and innocence
that until this
was just
an abstract water,

welling elsewhere
to refresh,
is risen here
my daughter:

before the dew,
before the bloom
the snail was here.
The whole morning is his loom

and this is truth,
this is brute grace
as only instinct knows
how to live it:

turn to me
your little face.
It shows a trace still,
an inkling of it.

This week's Poetry Friday Round-Up can be found On the Way to Somewhere...

--Diane

Photo © Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.

9 comments:

I'm Jet . . . said...

Oh my gosh, Diane! What a terrific poem. My kind of poem!

Thanks for a wonderful gift on this warm-garden morning . . .

Jet

I'm Jet . . . said...

Terrific photo, too!

Diane Mayr said...

The garden in the photo is the butterfly garden at the library, taken in the spring. Right now, it's not looking this good--it's a little tired.

Robyn Hood Black said...

Gorgeous. You know I'm an Eavan Boland fan but I didn't know this poem. Love the phrase, "brute grace."
Thanks for sharing!

Mary Lee said...

Lovely.
So sweet and true.

Rena J. Traxel said...

This brings me back to a time when I was running wild through the fields at home.

Diane Mayr said...

Thanks everyone for stopping by. I knew the minute I read "In the Garden" that it would have great appeal!

Violet N. said...

What a beautiful poem of innocence and wisdom.

Marjorie said...

A beautiful poem. It captures the ephemeral fragility of innocence.