For Wislawa Szymborska, the catalyst is a dream; for Robert Bly, being in the company of his ten-year-old son; for Gerald Stern, it is a grapefruit at breakfast; for Billy Collins, a cigarette. Dancing with Joy includes English and Italian classical and romantic works; early Chinese and Persian verse; and poets from Chile, France, Sweden, Poland, Russia, Turkey, and India, plus a range of contemporary American and English poets.
Whether inspiration is what you need, or an affirmation of what is already joyful in life, Dancing with Joy is a welcome treat for Housden’s numerous fans, as well as anyone looking for sheer happiness, marvelously expressed.
For Wislawa Szymborska, the catalyst is a dream; for Robert Bly, being in the company of his ten-year-old son; for Gerald Stern, it is a grapefruit at breakfast; for Billy Collins, a cigarette. Dancing with Joy includes English and Italian classical and romantic works; early Chinese and Persian verse; and poets from Chile, France, Sweden, Poland, Russia, Turkey, and India, plus a range of contemporary American and English poets.
Whether inspiration is what you need, or an affirmation of what is already joyful in life, Dancing with Joy is a welcome treat for Housden’s numerous fans, as well as anyone looking for sheer happiness, marvelously expressed.
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Overview
For Wislawa Szymborska, the catalyst is a dream; for Robert Bly, being in the company of his ten-year-old son; for Gerald Stern, it is a grapefruit at breakfast; for Billy Collins, a cigarette. Dancing with Joy includes English and Italian classical and romantic works; early Chinese and Persian verse; and poets from Chile, France, Sweden, Poland, Russia, Turkey, and India, plus a range of contemporary American and English poets.
Whether inspiration is what you need, or an affirmation of what is already joyful in life, Dancing with Joy is a welcome treat for Housden’s numerous fans, as well as anyone looking for sheer happiness, marvelously expressed.
Product Details
ISBN-13: | 9780307494702 |
---|---|
Publisher: | Harmony/Rodale |
Publication date: | 01/21/2009 |
Sold by: | Random House |
Format: | eBook |
Pages: | 208 |
File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
A BRIEF FOR THE DEFENSE
Jack Gilbert
Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that's what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered cafes and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.
MINDFUL
Mary Oliver
Every day
I see or I hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in a haystack
of light.
It is what I was born for--
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world--
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant--
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,
the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these--
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?
HAPPINESS
Stephen Dunn
A state you dare not enter
with hopes of staying,
quicksand in the marshes, and all
the roads leading to a castle
that doesn't exist.
But there it is, as promised,
with its perfect bridge above
the crocodiles,
and its doors forever open.
GRAMMAR
Tony Hoagland
Maxine, back from a weekend with her boyfriend,
smiles like a big cat and says
that she's a conjugated verb.
She's been doing the direct object
with a second person pronoun named Phil,
and when she walks into the room,
everybody turns:
some kind of light is coming from her head.
Even the geraniums look curious,
and the bees, if they were here, would buzz
suspiciously around her hair, looking
for the door in her corona.
We're all attracted to the perfume
of fermenting joy,
we've all tried to start a fire,
and one day maybe it will blaze up on its own.
In the meantime, she is the one today among us
most able to bear the idea of her own beauty,
and when we see it, what we do is natural:
we take our burned hands
out of our pockets,
and clap.
GOOD GOD, WHAT A NIGHT
THAT WAS
Petronius Arbiter
Good God, what a night that was,
The bed was so soft, and how we clung,
Burning together, lying this way and that,
Our uncontrollable passions
Flowing through our mouths.
If only I could die that way,
I'd say goodbye to the business of living.
Translated by Kenneth Rexroth
ECSTASY
Hayden Carruth
For years it was in sex and I thought
This was the most of it
so brief
a moment
or two of transport out of oneself
or
in music which lasted longer and filled me
with the exquisite wrenching agony
of the blues
and now it is equally
transitory and obscure as I sit in my broken
chair that cats have shredded
by the stove on a winter night with wind and snow
howling outside and I imagine
the whole world at peace
at peace
and everyone comfortable and warm
the great pain assuaged
a moment
of the most shining and singular gratification.
YOUR LAUGHTER
Pablo Neruda
Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.
Do not take away the rose,
the lanceflower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in your joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.
My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.
My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.
Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.
Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.
Translated by Donald Walsh
WHAT DO WOMEN WANT?
Kim Addonizio
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what's underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their cafe, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I'm the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I'll pull that garment
from its hanger like I'm choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I'll wear it like bones, like skin,
it'll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.
FROM BLOSSOMS
Li-Young Lee
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.
From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.
There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
PHOTOGRAPH
Lucille Clifton
my grandsons
spinning in their joy
universe
keep them turning turning
black blurs against the window
of the world
for they are beautiful
and there is trouble coming
round and round and round
THE BEST CIGARETTE
Billy Collins
There are many that I miss,
having sent my last one out of a car window
sparking along the road one night, years ago.
The heralded ones, of course:
after sex, the two glowing tips
now the lights of a single ship;
at the end of a long dinner
with more wine to come
and a smoke ring coasting into the chandelier;
or on a white beach,
holding one with fingers still wet from a swim.
How bittersweet these punctuations
of flame and gesture;
but the best were on those mornings
when I would have a little something going
in the typewriter,
the sun bright in the windows,
maybe some Berlioz on in the background.
I would go into the kitchen for coffee
and on the way back to the page,
curled in its roller,
I would light one up and feel
its dry rush mix with the dark taste of coffee.
Then I would be my own locomotive,
trailing behind me as I returned to work
little puffs of smoke,
indicators of progress,
signs of industry and thought,
the signal that told the nineteenth century
it was moving forward.
That was the best cigarette,
when I would steam into the study
full of vaporous hope
and stand there,
the big headlamp of my face
pointed down at all the words in parallel lines.
SONNETS TO ORPHEUS
IX
Rainer Maria Rilke
Only the man who has raised his strings
among the dark ghosts also
should feel his way toward
the endless praise.
Only he who has eaten poppy
with the dead, from their poppy,
will never lose even
his most delicate sound.
Even though images in the pool
seem so blurry:
grasp the main thing.
Only in the double kingdom, there
alone, will voices become
undying and tender.
Translated by Robert Bly
THE SUMMER DAY
Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
WHY I AM HAPPY
William Stafford
Now has come, an easy time. I let it
roll. There is a lake somewhere
so blue and far nobody owns it.
A wind comes by and a willow listens
gracefully.
I hear all this, every summer. I laugh
and cry for every turn of the world,
its terribly cold, innocent spin.
That lake stays blue and free; it goes
on and on.
And I know where it is.
OUR HEARTS SHOULD
DO THIS MORE
Hafiz
I sit in the streets with the homeless
My clothes stained with the wine
From the vineyards the saints tend.
Light has painted all acts
The same color
So I sit around and laugh all day
With my friends.
At night if I feel a divine loneliness
I tear the doors off Love's mansion
And wrestle God onto the floor.
He becomes so pleased with Hafiz
And says,
"Our hearts should do this more."
Translated by Daniel Ladinsky
THE SWAN
Kabir
Swan, I'd like you to tell me your whole story!
Where you first appeared, and what dark sand you are going toward,
and where you sleep at night, and what you are looking for. . . .
It's morning, swan, wake up, climb in the air, follow me!
I know of a country that spiritual flatness does not control, nor constant depression,
and those alive are not afraid to die.
There wildflowers come up through the leafy floor,
and the fragrance of "I am he" floats on the wind.
There the bee of the heart stays deep inside the flower,
and cares for no other thing.
Translated by Robert Bly
ADAM AND EVE IN THE GARDEN
John Milton
Both turned, and under the open sky adored
The God that made both sky, air, earth, and heaven,
Which they beheld, the moon's resplendent globe,
And starry pole: "Thou also mad'st the night,
Maker Omnipotent, and thou the day
Which we, in our appointed work employed,
Have finished, happy in our mutual help
And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss."
. . . .
This said unanimous, and other rites
Observing none, but adoration pure,
Which God likes best, into their inmost bower
Handed they went: and, eased the putting off
These troublesome disguises which we wear,
Straight side by side were laid: nor turned, I ween,
Adam from his fair spouse, nor Eve the rites
Mysterious of connubial love refused.
. . . .
Hail, wedded Love, mysterious law, true source
Of human offspring, sole propriety
In Paradise of all things common else!
By thee adulterous Lust was driven from men
Among the bestial herds to range; by thee,
Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure,
Relations dear, and all the charities
Of father, son, and brother, first were known.
Far be it that I should write thee sin or blame,
Or think thee unbefitting holiest place,
Perpetual fountain of domestick sweets,
Whose bed is undefiled and chaste pronounced,
Present, or past, as saints and patriarchs used.
Here Love his golden shafts employs, here lights
His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings.
. . . .
These, lulled by nightingales, embracing slept,
And on their naked limbs the flowery roof
Showered roses, which the morn repaired. Sleep on,
Blest pair, and O! yet happiest, if ye seek
No happier state, and know to know no more.
From Paradise Lost Book IV
SABBATHS 2004
IV
Wendell Berry
(Jayber Crow in old age)
To think of gathering all
the sorrows of Port William
into myself, and so
sparing the others:
What freedom! What joy!
THE DANCING
Gerald Stern
In all these rotten shops, in all this broken furniture
and wrinkled ties and baseball trophies and coffee pots
I have never seen a postwar Philco
with the automatic eye
nor heard Ravel's "Bolero" the way I did
in 1945 in that tiny living room
on Beechwood Boulevard, nor danced as I did
then, my knives all flashing, my hair all streaming,
my mother red with laughter, my father cupping
his left hand under his armpit, doing the dance
of old Ukraine, the sound of his skin half drum
Table of Contents
Introduction 13
"A Brief for the Defense" Jack Gilbert 23
"Mindful" Mary Oliver 25
"Happiness" Stephen Dunn 27
"Grammar" Tony Hoagland 28
"Good God, What a Night That Was" Petronius Arbiter 30
"Ecstasy" Hayden Carruth 31
"Your Laughter" Pablo Neruda 32
"What Do Women Want?" Kim Addonizio 35
"From Blossoms" Li-Young Lee 37
"Photograph" Lucille Clifton 39
"The Best Cigarette" Billy Collins 40
"Sonnets to Orpheus: IX" Rainer Maria Rilke 42
"The Summer Day" Mary Oliver 43
"Why I Am Happy" William Stafford 44
"Our Hearts Should Do This More" Hafiz 45
"The Swan" Kabir 46
"Adam and Eve in the Garden" John Milton 47
"Sabbaths 2004: IV" Wendell Berry 49
"The Dancing" Gerald Stern 50
"Sabbaths 1999: II" Wendell Berry 51
"Happiness" Jane Kenyon 52
"The Swan" Mary Oliver 54
"Thank You, My Fate" Anna Swir 56
"Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey" (Excerpt) William Wordsworth 57
"Lines Composed over Three Thousand Miles from Tintern Abbey" Billy Collins 58
"Eating Poetry" Mark Strand 61
"That City That I Have Loved" Anna Akhmatova 63
"For Angela" Margaret Menges 65
"For My Son, Noah, Ten Years Old" Robert Bly 66
"Welcome Morning" Anne Sexton 68
"All the Earth, All the Air" Theodore Roethke 70
"Magnificent the Morning Was" (Excerpt) William Wordsworth 72
"I Sing the Body Electric" (Excerpt) Walt Whitman 73
"Sea-Fever" John Masefield 74
"The Joys That Sting" C. S. Lewis 75
"Surprised by Joy" (Excerpt) William Wordsworth 76
"A Dialogue of Self and Soul" (Excerpt) W. B. Yeats 77
"My True Home Is Cold Mountain" (Excerpt) Han Shan 78
"The Enquiry" (Excerpt) Anne Finch 79
"Bathing the New Born" Sharon Olds 81
"I Taste a Liquor Never Brewed" Emily Dickinson 83
"Taking Off Emily Dickinson's Clothes" Billy Collins 84
"'Tis So Much Joy!" Emily Dickinson 87
"Mind Wanting More" Holly Hughes 88
"But You Who Are So Happy Here" (Excerpt) Dante Alighieri 90
"The Joy of Writing" (Excerpt) Wislawa Szymborska 92
"Happiness" Raymond Carver 93
"To Sadness" Pablo Neruda 95
"Salt Heart" Jane Hirshfield 98
"Kissing Again" Dorianne Laux 100
"Dance in Your Blood" Rumi 103
"Late Self-Portrait Rembrandt" Jane Hirshfield 104
"A Birthday Poem" Ted Kooser 105
"The Orgasms of Organisms" Dorianne Laux 106
"Variation on a Theme by Rilke" (The Book of Hours, Book I, Poem I, Stanza I) Denise Levertov 107
"Full Summer" Sharon Olds 108
"Poem in October" Dylan Thomas 110
"A Thing of Beauty Is a Joy For Ever" (Excerpt) John Keats 113
"The Source of Joy" Rumi 116
"Written in a Carefree Mood" Lu Yu 118
"New Shining Worlds" Irving Layton 119
"Sonnets to Orpheus: X" Rainer Maria Rilke 120
"I Am Really Just a Tambourine" Hafiz 121
"A Wild Peculiar Joy" Irving Layton 122
"Cutting Loose" William Stafford 124
"Plucking the Rushes" Anonymous 125
"Eternity" William Blake 126
"Your little voice" E. E. Cummings 127
"When the Violin" Hafiz 129
"Visitation" Mark Doty 131
"When I Was Young" Erica Ehrenberg 135
"The White Lilies" Louise Gluck 137
"Upon Julia's Clothes" Robert Herrick 138
"I like my body when it is with your body" E. E. Cummings 139
"It's This Way" Nazim Hikmet 140
"The Widening Sky" Edward Hirsch 141
"Only When I Am Quiet and Do Not Speak" Jane Hirshfield 142
"Pied Beauty" Gerard Manley Hopkins 144
"I Want Something Without a Name" Erica Ehrenberg 145
"Even If I Don't See It Again" Marie Howe 146
"Sitting Up with My Wife on New Year's Eve" Hsu Chun-Ch'ien 147
"Cow Worship" Gerald Stern 148
"Blackberry Eating" Galway Kinnell 149
"The Round" Stanley Kunitz 150
"A Summer Day" Li Po 152
"First Thanksgiving" Sharon Olds 153
"Here" Grace Paley 155
"The Pleasures of the Door" Francis Ponge 157
"Grapefruit" Gerald Stern 158
"In Praise of Dreams" Wislawa Szymborska 161
"Allegro" Tomas Transtromer 163
"The Great Sea" Uvavnuk 164
"This Is Just to Say" William Carlos Williams 165
"A Blessing" James Wright 166
"The Lake Isle of Innisfree" W. B. Yeats 168
"Matins" (Excerpt) Denise Levertov 169
"I Come Home Wanting to Touch Everyone" Stephen Dunn 171
"Snow Geese" Mary Oliver 173
"Why" Wendell Berry 175
About the Poets 177
Permissions Acknowledgments 197
Index of First Lines 203