Gratitude Poem by Daniel Brick
Gratitude
How many times a day
do you breathe, pulling
swirling air, fresh and
sweet, into your lungs?
How often have you said,
"Many thanks, air, for always
giving me what I most need? "
How often do you see
Sonya's watercolor of
the musician in Renaissance
attire playing fiddle for a dancing
couple and walked blindly passed it,
with no melody in your mind,
no rhythm in your gait?
How often have you finished
writing a poem to your satisfaction
and ignored your debt of inspiration
the Muse hovering close by?
And then you will tell
your friends a likely story,
"Today I wrote a poem."
What of your luck sleeping
through the night visited
only by benign dreams
of fountains and waterways,
the scent of pine trees, and
the kind regard of yellow-eyed owls?
Do you acknowledge the Gate of Ivory?
When you re-read "Hamlet"
yet again, are you once again
churlish to sweet Ophelia
and oblivious to thoughts
beyond the reaches of your soul?
Does the Abyss open its maw
only after you have passed by?
What makes you so callow?
Is it a hidden life
that isolates your waking life?
Is it a stony heart that
crushes your tenderest feelings?
Have the threads connecting your soul
to the Soul of the World snapped?
Observe, my friend, the signs
that flash behind your eyes,
to the sounds that linger
after listening to Schoenberg's
"Verklarte Nacht", to the sudden
illumination that floods your mind when
flesh and soul clasp flesh and soul.
hey, daniel! you know that the theme of this poem is close to my heart and occupies so much of my writing. in response to the first stanza i thought of ife, a nigerian man who works at the food coop down the street from me. we've seen lots of each other and sometime exchange greetings in other languages. he speaks about five if i remember right. typically when i ask how he's doing, he says, still breathing, still lucky, in his deep and resonant voice. this line particularly struck me Have the threads connecting your soul to the Soul of the World snapped? it's a good image, and i suppose it gets me at least in part because i've just been thinking of people who call themselves christians, who live in a bubble, and need to join the human race. just reading back, this is another powerful line for me Does the Abyss open its maw only after you have passed by? brother, i enjoyed the read. as i do in your poetry i note the natural flow, the worthy theme, and the richness of cultural allusion. appreciatively, glen
In a way we are indebted to thousands little things and many many people around us, starting from the air we breathe to the book we read to a distant bird flying in the horizon, those who fill our life with love, beauty and bliss, but we do not realize their importance and do not care to stop and say our thanks.Another stunning piece, thanks for sharing.
Your comment in prose, Bharati, is not cast in verse but it is still poetic, because you express a moral idea in lyrical language. And that is what poetry in the larger sense means: we grasp the morality of true human life and add to it with our poetic sensitivity. l love your image of A DISTANT BIRD FLYING IN THE HORIZON (!)
Amazing poem Daniel.. We always ignore the debt of inspiration Observe the signs of flash, the sudden illumination that floods the mind.. Lovely lines
Thanks for being amazed, Rini. That's how how poems should strike us. BTW I just posted that poem five minutes before you saw and read it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/11/2024 2:46:21 PM # 1.0.0.1119
What a beautiful poem. I love the end and the references to beauty in the speaker's world.....the speaker is daily surrounded by images and sounds of beauty, yet still has to remind himself to SEE it. I see this poem as the speaker speaking to himself, reminding him to have gratitude to experience the natural world, which is a superlative in every way, and an amazing existence. Gratitude is powerful and a helpful response to grief, sadness, or depression. Well written. Wonderful Daniel.