Meryl Streep reads a poemNational Poetry Month, April 2011

I’m not proud to admit it, but I didn’t have the best attitude about attending my wife’s recent college reunion. I felt an enthusiasm probably typical of spouses attending such events. “Are you sure you want me to go?” I asked Lori a few too many times. 

And this despite the fact that I’m fond of Vassar and the many alumni I’ve met over the years. Moreover, this was its 150^th gala, at Lincoln Center.

But because I fancy myself a good husband, I suited up and walked the carpeted stairs at my wife’s side, girded by the pleasant knowledge that little would be expected of me that evening.

And I was right: no one expected anything of me. But what I wasn’t expecting was the bolt of lightning that shot through the theater.

Meryl Streep, Class of ’71, was on stage.

After the applause died down (including my own, for an actress I have long admired), Meryl paused to let the silence soak in. Then she read this sonnet by a fellow alumna, class of ’17: Edna St. Vincent Millay.

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

Meryl Streep delivered the poem as only Meryl Streep could—with grace and clarity, and at a pace in which each word, each phrase, each image went into me, and through me, and left me flattened.

Quite unexpectedly, in what had been my haze of indifference, I had my lights punched out by poetry.

What better poem for an anniversary like this? For looking back to youth and love, across the sea of gray hair like mine. The rest of the evening was sweet, but that moment will be with me always.

April is National Poetry Month. I celebrate by sharing this poetry moment with you.
Do you, read reader, have a moment to share? I’d love to hear. Just click on the Comments link below with your submission. (If you’re reading this as an email, click here and you'll connect to Comments).

Comments

[Ada Roelke]

When I was in college many decades ago, I fancied I was able to write poetry until I came upon a small volume by Edna St. Vincent Millay. I can imagine how lovely it would be to hear Meryl Streep read those words.
Ada

[Lynda Stilkey]

Just the way you expressed your experience at the reunion was, as a whole, almost like being there! I can almost hear the reading...and am moved. Beautiful. Lynda

[Will Provine]

Steve, you are a wonderful writer. No wonder you appreciate a fine actor reading a profound poetry.

[Deborah Pearce]

I was stirred notably in my silent reading of that poem and felt the ache. Oh to have heard it as you did. Now you will have the memory to accompany you whenever you feel the ache of years and loves gone by. Deborah

[Robert McDowell]

Thank you, Steve, for sharing this beautiful recollection. I believe Everyone is born with a soul-poem, the prayer-song that tells each person's unique story and connects each of us to divinity. This is our hero’s journey, our poetry as spiritual practice. I call on my own poetry and the poetry of others in my daily spiritual practice because it’s the deepest conversation I can have with myself and with those who inhabit, as the Irish say, the unseen world next to this one. Along the way, I’m aware of how writing poetry, sharing poetry, and journaling enriches my family life, relationships, and work. I know how transformative and fun writing can be. It's accessible to everyone.

As the Poetry Mentor, I work with people every day who share their stories of poetry's healing power. A woman in her seventies told me recently how her husband has been staving off Alzheimer's by sharing a nightly poetry hour in which they read to each other. A man in his thirties told me that he and his wife repaired their marriage by writing poems to each other for 30 days. Such stories go on and on. We only have to open our hearts (and our right brains) to hear and experience them. Then we're living our soul-poem, our heroic journey.

Here is a poem of mine that suggests the territory one can cover in a poem, the discoveries we can make together.

So That’s It

We are all reflections of original catastrophe.
So the poor in spirit are dumbstruck
As a rabbit of inconceivable size
Is pulled by an even bigger hand
From a hat of limitless darkness.
So the unemployed go on and on,
Survivors of eons of random collisions;
So the loveless, wandering in their grief,
Imagine the sweet madness of tendrils
Shooting heavenward in an ecstasy of photosynthesis.
Who lives and who dies?
The cosmos breathes and stars are born, stars go out.
It takes forever as it happens in a heartbeat.
The miracle, I guess, is that the vast soul and puny soul
Are somehow like the centered rider on the trail
Amid solar wind, rubble, and debris,
Their course through chaos the only way home.

[Steve Leveen]

Dear Friends,

What lovely words--Ada, Lynda, Will, Deborah, thank you so much for sharing your feelings.

And Robert--wow! Your poem floors me. Again I'm punched out by poetry. And a visit to your website showed me that one of my favorite deep thinkers also loves your work--Jean Houston. So glad to find out about you and your fine work:

http://www.robertmcdowell.net/

I'm tweeting you next.

Best wishes to you all--and thanks for teaching me,

Steve

[Haydn Reiss]

Dear Steve,
Thank you for your personal story of feeling poetry's magic. I'm sure you know the line from William Carlos Williams, "It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there." I have made a number of films that highlight what our poets and writers contribute to the common good. I'm working on a new project on global literacy and would very much like to send you a private email regarding. Regards, Haydn Reiss

[Steve Leveen]

Dear Haydn,

Of course. I'd love to hear from you in more detail. Our editor, Mim Harrison, will be in touch with you. Sounds exciting. All best, Steve