Tag Archives: hope

Why We Must Struggle

Do we really know why bad things happen or why life is sometimes difficult? I surely don’t and I always look for things to ease up. Often it is my attitude or perspective that needs the greatest adjustment.

Why We Must Struggle                Kay Ryan

If we have not struggled
as hard as we can
at our strongest
how will we sense
the shape of our losses
or know what sustains
us longest or name
what change costs us,
saying how strange
it is that one sector
of the self can step in
for another in trouble,
how loss activates
a latent double, how
we can feed
as upon nectar
upon need?

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The Arrival of the Bee Box

Can we celebrate Sylvia Plath’s short legacy enough? How many of us started reading her in high school and have never forgotten her brave life?  She and her husband did order bees and make other moves toward self sufficiency before he left her and before she died. In this poem you may find the scope of her pain and some hope for a future. I include a quote as well from The Bell Jar which came out shortly before her death.

“I felt my lungs inflate with the inrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people, I thought, ‘This is what it is to be happy.’”                                             Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

The Arrival of the Bee Box                                                  Sylvia Plath

I ordered this, clean wood box

Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift.

I would say it was the coffin of a midget

Or a square baby

Were there not such a din in it.

 

The box is locked, it is dangerous.

I have to live with it overnight

And I can’t keep away from it.

There are no windows, so I can’t see what is in there.

There is only a little grid, no exit.

 

I put my eye to the grid.

It is dark, dark,

With the swarmy feeling of African hands

Minute and shrunk for export,

Black on black, angrily clambering.

 

How can I let them out?

It is the noise that appalls me most of all,

The unintelligible syllables.

It is like a Roman mob,

Small, taken one by one, but my god, together!

 

I lay my ear to furious Latin.

I am not a Caesar.

I have simply ordered a box of maniacs.

They can be sent back.

They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner.

 

I wonder how hungry they are.

I wonder if they would forget me

If I just undid the locks and stood back and turned into a tree.

There is the laburnum, its blond colonnades,

And the petticoats of the cherry.

 

They might ignore me immediately

In my moon suit and funeral veil.

I am no source of honey

So why should they turn on me?

Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free.

 

The box is only temporary.

 

*Laburnum is an European tree with poisonous seed pods.

Tomorrow’s Child

I can’t imagine a poem that fills me more with hope or speaks truths as I feel them. It is a balm in a world filled with the kind of disruption that encourages fear and only acknowledges limitations and negativity. When you get to the end of the poem you will want to embrace life again and look to the future. Happy New Year.

Tomorrow’s Child                                                    Rubin Alves

What is hope?
It is the pre-sentiment that imagination
is more real and reality is less real than it looks.
It is the hunch that the overwhelming brutality
of facts that oppress and repress us
is not the last word.
It is the suspicion that reality is more complex
than the realists want us to believe.
That the frontiers of the possible are not
determined by the limits of the actual;
and in a miraculous and unexplained way
life is opening up creative events
which will open the way to freedom and resurrection –
but the two – suffering and hope
must live from each other.
Suffering without hope produces resentment and despair.
But, hope without suffering creates illusions, naïveté
and drunkenness.
So let us plant dates
even though we who plant them will never eat them.
We must live by the love of what we will never see.
That is the secret discipline.
It is the refusal to let our creative act
be dissolved away by our need for immediate sense experience
and is a struggled commitment to the future of our grandchildren.
Such disciplined hope is what has given prophets, revolutionaries and saints,
the courage to die for the future they envisage.
They make their own bodies the seed of their highest hopes.