Poetry, Mountains, and Wilderness

[greenonion]

Feel the fear and do it anyway

Book title by Susan Jeffers

[Stratosfearsome]

I have long been fond of:

"There is pleasure in the pathless woods,
there is rapture in the lonely shore,
there is society where none intrudes,
by the deep sea,
and music in its roar;
I love not Man the less,
but Nature more."

-Lord Byron

[DeTour]

Far too long to quote in its entirety, but linked below, worth revisiting repeatedly, like a wise friend or a favorite spot to watch a sunset. Walt Whitman:

From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines,
Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,
Listening to others, considering well what they say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.
I inhale great draughts of space,
The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.

I am larger, better than I thought,
I did not know I held so much goodness.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/ ... -open-road

[MtnHub]

A member of my wife's poetry group contributed this:

CAIRNS
(From the Scots)

Cairns
mounds of stones
stacked pieces
of earth's crust
each one
meticulously
balanced
trail markers
stone sculptures

tombstones or memorials
directional indicators
or garden decor
good fortune omens
meditation sites
silent mystical messengers

Carol Winter

[Squirrellysquirrel]

Genuinely enjoyed reading the poetic verses herein this thread.

Being a poet and someone with a great fondness for Nature and it’s collection of expression, well, it’s an itch that loves to be scratched. I’ve many poems that adhere to the proposed criteria... just unsure of which to pick!


In my previous years, I busked poetry profusely and met some fantastic poets as a result. Gary Snyder is an all-time favorite and upon meeting with him, you get a definite sense that he’s a full-blooded poet with genuine affection for common/mundane human experience; he actually taught me how to remember and recite long poems from memory. Lord Byron’s quote noted in this thread was used in one of my poetry books, as was Tolkien’s. Luci Shaw is a new poet for me; thanks for the introduction!

It’s refreshing to see a thread on poetry and the personal entries thus far. Looking forward to seeing more entries.

[osprey]

Squirrelly. Would you send an email or pm (so as to avoid selling or advertising on the forum) to me with the names of your poetry books. Did you write the poems in the books or they an anthology of other's poems?

[MtnHub]

Great to see this thread picking up again! Thanks to everyone who's contributed!

As I mentioned earlier, my wife's poetry group recently met (virtually now) and their theme was 'rocks.' Here's another one that was submitted:

At Stonehenge
by Katherine Lee Bates (author of ‘America, the Beautiful’)

Grim stones whose gray lips keep your secret well,
Our hands that touch you touch an ancient terror,
An ancient woe, colossal citadel
Of some fierce faith, some heaven-affronting error.
Rude-built, as if young Titans on this wold
Once played with ponderous blocks a striding giant
Had brought from oversea, till child more bold
Tumbled their temple down with foot defiant.
Upon your fatal altar Redbreast combs
A fluttering plume, and flocks of eager swallows
Dip fearlessly to choose their April homes
Amid your crevices and storm-beat hollows.
Even so in elemental mysteries,
Portentous, vast, august, uncomprehended,
Do we dispose our little lives for ease,
By their unconscious courtesies befriended.

[peter303]

The National Parks Service funds up to 50 artists-in-residence each year. Poetry is one of the designated arts.

https://www.nps.gov/subjects/arts/air.htm

[MtnHub]

I just came across this prose poem by Mary Oliver. It strikes me similarly.

How I go to the woods

Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single
friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore
unsuitable.

I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds
or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of
praying, as you no doubt have yours.

Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit
on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds,
until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost
unhearable sound of the roses singing.

If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love
you very much.”

― Mary Oliver, Swan: Poems and Prose Poems

[greenonion]

I just came across this prose poem by Mary Oliver. It strikes me similarly.

How I go to the woods

Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single
friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore
unsuitable.

I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds
or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of
praying, as you no doubt have yours.

Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit
on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds,
until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost
unhearable sound of the roses singing.

If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love
you very much.”

― Mary Oliver, Swan: Poems and Prose Poems

Love this. Thanks for sharing.

[Marmot72]

I put together a book of poems and photos several years ago and have yet to publish it, but I've condensed portions of one of them here, called simply "Crestone Needle:"

I.
a peak not a precipice
Still,
a narrow crown
sibling summits at eye level to north and south, and
air – step to the right and drops of fathoms
step left, a view one thousand feet down to the lake.

I breathe, a deep pull of sky
I soar
tranquility, joy: to stand again
on this sacred perch.

Climber, not conqueror,
I am here by the mountain’s grace.

II.
The climb
rough rock, fatal fall exposure
felt fast,
comfortable
solid holds, soft autumn sunshine
more: confidence from knowing,
from having climbed down
this same stone stair-maze
two months prior.

III.
Odd triumph
winner's pride mingled with penitent’s humility.
Today I did well
but I remember past mistakes, mishaps

Now I realize I am not victor
Or – if I am, it is only over myself—
on this summit, as on all this earth,
merely a guest.

[Squirrellysquirrel]

I put together a book of poems and photos several years ago and have yet to publish it, but I've condensed portions of one of them here, called simply "Crestone Needle:"

I.
a peak not a precipice
Still,
a narrow crown
sibling summits at eye level to north and south, and
air – step to the right and drops of fathoms
step left, a view one thousand feet down to the lake.

I breathe, a deep pull of sky
I soar
tranquility, joy: to stand again
on this sacred perch.

Climber, not conqueror,
I am here by the mountain’s grace.

II.
The climb
rough rock, fatal fall exposure
felt fast,
comfortable
solid holds, soft autumn sunshine
more: confidence from knowing,
from having climbed down
this same stone stair-maze
two months prior.

III.
Odd triumph
winner's pride mingled with penitent’s humility.
Today I did well
but I remember past mistakes, mishaps

Now I realize I am not victor
Or – if I am, it is only over myself—
on this summit, as on all this earth,
merely a guest.

Awesome!
Enjoyed the vivid imagery and humble/triumphant themes. Doesn’t seem like you walk a path of “most resistance”, tho, as cited by your signature....