Betsy Horvath

Category: Quotes and Poems

  • Remembering

    It seems to me that today is not the day for a funny, chatty little blog post.

    Today is a day to remember all of the people lost on 9/11/01.  It’s a day to remember the people around the world who lost their lives to terrorism before that terrible day.  It’s a day to remember all of the people, both in the international armed forces community and civilians, who lost their lives or sacrificed their health and well-being in its aftermath.

    For those of us who are old enough, today is a day to remember where we were on 9/11/01. To remember how we felt – the horror, the shock, the fear. Because when we remember where we were and how we felt, we are connected to everyone who is also remembering and they are connected to us.  That connection is what makes us human.

    And finally, today is a day to think about the last 10 years in our own lives. Where we’ve been.  Where we’re going. What have we, the people who did not die in the World Trade Center, accomplished?  What have we done with our gift of life?

    So, it seems to me that today is a day to remember and to love, to look forward and to look back.

     

    The Harvest Bow

    by Seamus Heaney

     

    As you plaited the harvest bow
    You implicated the mellowed silence in you
    In wheat that does not rust
    But brightens as it tightens twist by twist
    Into a knowable corona,
    A throwaway love-knot of straw.

    Hands that aged round ashplants and cane sticks
    And lapped the spurs on a lifetime of game cocks
    Harked to their gift and worked with fine intent
    Until your fingers moved somnambulant:
    I tell and finger it like braille,
    Gleaning the unsaid off the palpable,

    And if I spy into its golden loops
    I see us walk between the railway slopes
    Into an evening of long grass and midges,
    Blue smoke straight up, old beds and ploughs in hedges,
    An auction notice on an outhouse wall–
    You with a harvest bow in your lapel,

    Me with the fishing rod, already homesick
    For the big lift of these evenings, as your stick
    Whacking the tips off weeds and bushes
    Beats out of time, and beats, but flushes
    Nothing: that original townland
    Still tongue-tied in the straw tied by your hand.

    The end of art is peace
    Could be the motto of this frail device
    That I have pinned up on our deal dresser–
    Like a drawn snare
    Slipped lately by the spirit of the corn
    Yet burnished by its passage, and still warm.

  • Out In The Fields

    Some days, you just need a little tranquility, you know?  And boy, has this been one of those days.   Which is why I thought I would share the following poem with all of you. This poem always makes me feel calmer. I think it has something to do with the rhythm of the words, the cadence, what they are saying.  When I read it, I can almost smell the fresh air, feel the sun on my face, and I find myself…settling. It almost always helps me back to my center. And after a day like today, it’s just what the doctor ordered.  Enjoy!

     

    Out In The Fields
    by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

     

    The little cares which fretted me,
    I lost them yesterday
    Among the fields, above the sea,
    Among the winds at play;
    Among the lowing of the herds,
    The rustling of the trees,
    Among the singing of the birds,
    The humming of the bees.

    The foolish fears of what may come,
    I cast them all away
    Among the clover scented grass,
    Among the new mown hay;
    Among the hushing of the corn,
    Where drowsing poppies nod,
    Ill thoughts can die, and good be born,
    Out in the fields of God.

     

  • Dancing With the Daffodils

    In lieu of an official blog post today, I thought I would take the opportunity to share one of my favorite poems with you. I love this poem, simply love it. It reminds me that although life may sometimes seem dark, or closed, or just cluttered, there is pure loveliness out there, and we can revisit it whenever we wish.

    “I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD”
    by William Wordsworth

    I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
    That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
    When all at once I saw a crowd,
    A host, of golden daffodils;
    Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
    Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

    Continuous as the stars that shine
    And twinkle on the milky way,
    They stretched in never-ending line
    Along the margin of a bay:
    Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
    Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

    The waves beside them danced; but they
    Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
    A poet could not but be gay,
    In such a jocund company:
    I gazed–and gazed–but little thought
    What wealth the show to me had brought:

    For oft, when on my couch I lie
    In vacant or in pensive mood,
    They flash upon that inward eye
    Which is the bliss of solitude;
    And then my heart with pleasure fills,
    And dances with the daffodils.

    May you have a happy Memorial Day, my friends! And may you find a host of daffodils for your very own.