Wednesday, October 3, 2007

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least 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 peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

— Wendell Berry


secretariat7 said...

I love Wendell Berry. He is, afterall, a good Kentucky boy. *grin* And this poems strikes such a chord with me, Mr. Sec and I find great solace in the wild.

Berry also liked Edward Abbey, one of my favorite writers. Here is a defense of Abbey against his many critics written by Berry:

There is a Berry poem that reminds me of my father because he was one of 13 of the original 600 soldiers of the 509th (parachute Co) to make it home in WWII.

IX (from Given by Berry)
After the campaign of the killing machines
the place, which could be any place,
was heaped with corpses, dismembered and stinking,
For them the great simplification had come
and the fear of suffering, at least, at least was finished.
But the one we have remembered longest was the one
who survived, who was pulled free,
bloody with his own blood and the blood
of the reeking dead who, dying, had sheltered him
--the one who to his horror found that the little light
of our world is beautiful and holy
and he must live.

Murph said...


Are you and your husband watching The War on PBS?

secretariat7 said...

Murph, no, we really don't watch much TV. We live out in the country, only get 2 1/2 stations, and don't have time anyway. He's a history buff, I'm sure he would enjoy that program. Maybe when the boys go off to college...