I admire poets who know their own work and others' work by heart and have resolved to commit more poems to memory. A few weeks ago, I memorized William Stafford's poem, Yes, which goes like this:
Yes
It could happen anytime, tornado
earthquake, armaggedon
it could happen.
or sunshine, love, salvation,
it could you know
that's why we wake
and look out - no
guarantees in this life
but some bonuses:
like morning,
like right now,
like noon, like evening.
(I am not positive about line breaks, but I'm sure of the words which are now mine to call up whenever I want them.)
Today, I gave myself two of my poems:
Tips for Painters
Concentrate on distances and light.
That hidden matter you want
to run from, depict it
definite as a new roof.
Rescue is as visible as despair.
Even if you forget to paint it
there is a door.
----
I love that poem.
While driving, I memorized my poem "Summer Job":
Summer Job
Last tree in the orchard and rain is coming.
Heavy drops will drum, split cherries.
You and four Mexicans climb ladders.
Your fingers are cracked and black, bleed
when you open your hand. Your bucket clipped
to the canvas strap you wear like a bandolier.
You have labored for weeks to match
their speed. You're up to four bins a day.
They pick ten. They don't pick leaves
and they don't pick green fruit. They joke
and sing. They tell you stories like you're
three years old and slow, as much Spanish
as you understand. You watch their fingers
to teach your own to pluck as you reach
from your rickety rung. Thunder threatens
from over the hill, lightning lunges from
the side of your eye - you're so young you
see a flock in the strobe of a new kind of bird.
---
If I'm not going to be loyal to my work, who will?
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