Reading a Poem
In a meeting of the department I have lately and hesitantly joined, our department chair shared a poem with us that moved me deeply. I sent it to a close friend of mine, but his response was at best, dismissive. He acknowledged that it was a poem and that he understood most of the words.
I was suddenly at a loss. Poetry often moves me, and this poem particularly brought hope and a vision of what we could become. Poetry, at its most common, expresses moments that people connect through. They talk about the mundane, the familiar, or the utterly foreign, but in such intimate terms that we identify in words not just a list of emotions, but a common humanity: not common in the sense of ordinary, but in the sense that it is shared.
I wanted so badly to share this moment with someone who has listened patiently to me for years. I thought that certainly we could meet through this mirror. He does experience physical symptoms that sometimes disconnect him from people, and perhaps that is one reason. Perhaps another might be an undiagnosed neurodivergence.
Some people just don't connect through poetry. I accept this. But I want to share this poem here, and, line by line, explain to my friend what this poem means to me. By all means, eavesdrop.
My reading follows the original text in square brackets [like this].
You are more capable than most at knowing how to love in this odd time, because you have spent your life in a self-quarantine. You are unique. I hope you see a way to help us, because we need you.
I was suddenly at a loss. Poetry often moves me, and this poem particularly brought hope and a vision of what we could become. Poetry, at its most common, expresses moments that people connect through. They talk about the mundane, the familiar, or the utterly foreign, but in such intimate terms that we identify in words not just a list of emotions, but a common humanity: not common in the sense of ordinary, but in the sense that it is shared.
I wanted so badly to share this moment with someone who has listened patiently to me for years. I thought that certainly we could meet through this mirror. He does experience physical symptoms that sometimes disconnect him from people, and perhaps that is one reason. Perhaps another might be an undiagnosed neurodivergence.
Some people just don't connect through poetry. I accept this. But I want to share this poem here, and, line by line, explain to my friend what this poem means to me. By all means, eavesdrop.
My reading follows the original text in square brackets [like this].
By Lynn
Ungar (Unitarian minister)
3/11/20 [This was written just at the onset of the Covid-19 pandemic. Many of us are not only scared of the disease itself on behalf of our loved ones, but bereaved by the actions necessary to save their lives.]
What if
you thought of it ["it" is the social distancing or quarantine required by the pandemic]
as the
Jews consider the Sabbath - [The jewish Sabbath begins at sundown, just as things become dark]
the
most sacred of times? [We think sometimes of the Sabbath as a tithe of time given to God]
Cease
from travel. [We feel the loss of freedom keenly, even if it's normal for you.]
Cease
from buying and selling. [Businesses and stores should close to protect their employees.]
Give
up, just for now, [A temporary surrender, not a pattern of avoidance]
on
trying to make the world different than it is. [Not all of us have surrendered these hopes.]
Sing.
Pray. Touch only those [These are solitary, meditative activities.]
to whom
you commit your life. [Touching people can spread the disease, and potentially kill.]
Center
down. [We are not used to policing our limbs as you might be.]
And
when your body has become still, [When you overcome your frantic, physical needs.]
reach
out with your heart. [Love]
Know
that we are connected [You are not an island, not the hermit you think you are.]
in ways
that are terrifying and beautiful. [Our interdependence is Sublime, in the Romantic sense.]
(You
could hardly deny it now.) [We both know that connection is terrifying, but now we can also see the beauty.]
Know
that our lives [Are you "high risk"?]
are in
one another's hands. [Washing hands, shaking hands, holding rails and door handles. . .]
(Surely,
that has come clear.)
Do not
reach out your hands. [I mean, keep up the good work?]
Reach
out your heart. [We are not meant to be alone. None of us.]
Reach
out your words. [This is your chance to shine, Mister Articulate.]
Reach
out all the tendrils [Grow like a spring plant,]
of
compassion that move, invisibly, [in a way that cares for others by protecting them from illness.]
where
we cannot touch. [Because we love that much.]
Promise
this world your love - [Commit to caring for Heavenly Father's children]
for
better or for worse, [whether you do it well or badly]
in
sickness and in health, [These lines are an adaptation of marriage vows, particularly apt.]
so long
as we all shall live. [Only in this commitment to love without touching can we keep each other alive.]
You are more capable than most at knowing how to love in this odd time, because you have spent your life in a self-quarantine. You are unique. I hope you see a way to help us, because we need you.
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