I’m a terrible poet. Absolute rubbish. But I love to listen to it. I can sit and listen to the spoken words of poetry for hours (though I haven’t been able to for years because I’ve been living in the bush… but all of that’s about to change as of next week!).
While I love listening to poetry, I rarely ever read it, let alone buy it. But today, while working on my structural edit for my forthcoming novel, The Tea Chest, sitting in the lovely Rosetta Books at Maleny, a book off the shelf caught my eye. (I believe books often choose us, not the other way around, and this one certainly did.) It was Rumi, the book of love, a collection of writings and poetry from the 13th century Sufi poet, Jalaluddin Rumi. (I think he may have been ‘trendy’ for a while but I’m generally a few years behind trends. Don’t come to me if you’re looking for the latest cool thing.)
And what a charming little book it is.
Something I love so much about poetry is the way it frees the mind from structural concerns, bends our thoughts and clashes words together in a way that is so fresh and fascinating. I think it bypasses are critical minds and heads straight to the emotions.
I’ve been hopping my way through the book, opening pages randomly. Here are just a few gems that have made me laugh, long and melt.
The ground’s generosity takes in our compost
and grows beauty. Try to be
more like the ground.
a wished-for song.
Put seeds and cover them.
Blades will sprout
where you do your work.
Drive slowly. Some of us
walking alongside are lame.
Keep walking, though there is no place to get to.