This year I read a lot of poetry: partly because I have never read much poetry and I was always meaning to, and partly to slow my reading down and improve the way I read (ie. less speed reading, more contemplating) and partly because it has been such a year of turmoil for me and I thought poetry might help and well, it can’t hurt.
My brother sent me this poem last night when he called to wish me a happy Christmas (and hassle me about the article we’re writing together). I love it.
by Dorothy Parker
This level reach of blue is not my sea;
Here are sweet waters, pretty in the sun,
Whose quiet ripples meet obediently
A marked and measured line, one after one.
This is no sea of mine, that humbly laves
Untroubled sands, spread glittering and warm.
I have a need of wilder, crueler waves;
They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm.
So let a love beat over me again,
Loosing its million desperate breakers wide;
Sudden and terrible to rise and wane;
Roaring the heavens apart; a reckless tide
That casts upon the heart, as it recedes,
Splinters and spars and dripping, salty weeds.