It may be that when we no longer know what to do we have come to our real work, and that when we no longer know which way to go we have come to our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings. —… Continue reading Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the last sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the… Continue reading Wendell Berry
Geese appear high over us, pass, and the sky closes. Abandon, as in love or sleep, holds them to their way, clear, in the ancient faith: what we need is here. — Wendell Berry, from “Wild Geese,” Collected Poems 1957-1982, (North Point Press; 4th edition April 1, 1987) Originally published 1985.
I move in the descent of days from what was dreamed to what remains. — Wendell Berry, from “Boone,” New Collected Poems (Counterpoint Press 2012)
And I have dreamed of the morning coming in like a bird through the window not burdened by a thought, — Wendell Berry, from “The Design of The House: Ideal and Hard Time,” New Collected Poems (Counterpoint Press, 2012)
The Silence Though the air is full of singing my head is loud with the labor of words. Though the season is rich with fruit, my tongue hungers for the sweet of speech. Though the beech is golden I cannot stand beside it mute, but must say ‘It is golden,’ while the leaves stir and… Continue reading Wendell Berry
How to be a Poet (to remind myself) Make a place to sit down. Sit down. Be quiet. You must depend upon affection, reading, knowledge, skill—more of each than you have—inspiration work, growing older, patience, for patience joins time to eternity… Breathe with unconditional breath the unconditioned air. Shun electric wire. Communicate slowly. Live a… Continue reading Wendell Berry