The Hidden Singer
The gods are less for their love of praise.
Above and below them all is a spirit that needs nothing
but its own wholeness, its health and ours.
It has made all things by dividing itself.
It will be whole again.
To its joy we come together --
the seer and the seen, the eater and the eaten,
the lover and the loved.
In our joining it knows itself. It is with us then,
not as the gods whose names crest in unearthly fire,
but as a little bird hidden in the leaves
who sings quietly and waits, and sings.
Wendell Berry
kasey,
JD turned me on to Wendell a few months ago; I had read him in undergrad, though, and heard a bit about his poetry. He also writes on earth conservation issues. Plus, the first line of this poem made me laugh out loud in the library, so I had to put it up.
Posted by: Normal | Oct 31, 2005 at 09:14 AM
who's Wendell Berry? I'll probably just google his name, but I thought I should ask you too. Is he someone who's been influential in your writing?
Posted by: kasey martin | Oct 28, 2005 at 09:20 PM