other deepening places
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In the midst of my series of Advent Tankas, I still wanted to share this Mary Oliver gem that I read a few weeks ago thanks to an email thread I receive at work. Though the snows have already arrived here in Grove City, it’s not until Wednesday that Winter officially begins. As we head
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This post resonated with me today as I read it over lunch. A fitting reminder for the Advent season from one of my favorite deepening grounds: Wendell Berry! Remembering that it happened once. A Sabbath poem by Wendell Berry. Remembering that it happened once | Wendell Berry (Sabbath Poems 1987:VI)
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Thanksgiving may have passed, but may the life found around the kitchen table never end! To my delight, I came across this Joy Harjo poem today and knew immediately that I needed to share this deepening place. There’s good earth here and Harjo’s profound realism and imagery invites us all to savor every sweet bite
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I just couldn’t sit on this one, even if Walt Whitman Wednesdays sounds catchy. I’ve known this poem since I first heard it years ago in the movie Dead Poets Society starring Robin Williams. A fellow AP English teacher I’ve followed for the past two years shared it in her post this week (along with
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Fall and Mary Oliver today. From a wonderful collection of poetry titled Why I Wake Early. Admittedly, waking early isn’t in my vocabulary, save for the demand my job puts upon me as a high school English teacher. But for sights such as these, I would race the sun out of bed, “[t]o love what
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Wendell Berry never ceases to amaze me. Here, I am reminded of the hours my father spent behind one of those old clunky VHS camcorders of the late 1980s. Rather than taking part in our family vacations, he served as video historian and ended up watching us and everything we experienced through a small lens,
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This poem needs no introduction. As the temperatures dropped to the high fifties on Friday and I slipped into one of my favorite hoodies, I knew Autumn had arrived. No better way to celebrate the changing of the seasons than to read “To Autumn” by John Keats. Grab a cup of hot cider, sit down
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Summer draws to a close, a new week begins, and I return to the deepening ground of Mary Oliver’s poetry. Hear the invitation to spend our lives “on some / unstinting happiness,” but not according to the world’s definition. Rather, the simple overlooked gifts that poets like Mary Oliver and Wendell Berry capture so beautifully.
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At the end of long weekend, I returned to the wisdom of Wendell Berry. Oh, for the peace of simple things and the dumb life of roots! (If you haven’t read The Peace of Wild Things, then you MUST follow this link to hear Wendell Berry read the powerful companion piece and fitting follow-up to
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We have returned, having shrunk and grown, having lost and gained, having witnessed death and birth. In my father-of-the-groom speech, I ruminated on each of these thoughts as we celebrated the union of my son and his bride. The day was perfect, despite the downpour just before the ceremony and humidity that followed. I closed
the deepening ground 