I’ve happened onto a new process with poetry and I want to share what I’m learning from it. When someone finds a use for a poem of mine, I take that as a signal that the Universe wants me to pay attention to the poem myself, and to learn something new from it. Always there is something new. I may have had something in mind when I first wrote the poem, but other people see different things in it. And so might I in this moment. Things I’d not seen before. Here’s my most recent example of that practice.

Out of the blue, I got an e-mail from a stranger named Justin Wise in the UK with a link to a half-hour podcast that he and colleague Lizzie had done, about my poem Fire and what it suggests to them. Justin was reflecting on his habit of piling on more work. And Lizzie who is three weeks into motherhood, sees the poem as guidance and encouragement. I'm delighted (it's always a gift to know that our work in the world has been of use, near or faraway). The words of the poem are my own. But I'm curious about their take on it. So I listen.

Yesterday, a friend was searching for a poem to share with people who are training to be coaches—life coaches not football coaches. (Although come to think of it poetry for football coaches might be a good thing.) 

As I thought about it, I realized that when I need coaching, myself, (which is fairly often) it is usually because I am feeling stuck, confused, mired in.

And what came to mind for me were these words by the farmer poet Wendell Berry:

Time magazine recently ran a piece on all the factors that contributed to the closing of Ringling Brothers Circus.  Not the least of which has been the rise of a different kind of circus:Cirque de Soleil. While I've been fascinated with the ascent of Cirque, I am
haunted by a photo that accompanied the Time magazine story--a photo of the empty Ringling Bros circus circle with the lion tamer and lion together in what could only be described as an embrace. A last embrace.