Poetry for the Camino

[CaminoDebrita]

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
BY E. E. CUMMINGS
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

 

[naplesdon]

I have attached the English translation of a famous Basque poet.

 

[DavidsRetired]

No Footprints

I woke to find no footprints
What was - is only wind
A sea without a shore
No lips, no voice, nor song to sing
And a love, which is no more.

 

[Peter Fransiscus]

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
BY E. E. CUMMINGS
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Love the story , Peter.

 

[Stephen Nicholls]

No Footprints

I woke to find no footprints
What was - is only wind
A sea without a shore
No lips, no voice, nor song to sing
And a love, which is no more.

David! That is SO sad!
And I love it......

 

[scruffy1]

If we are talking poetry and we are on the Camino it must be Rosalía de Castro! I offer two for the same ticket: the first relating to Camino mornings:

From de Cantares Gallegos 1864

There in the early morning
I climb up the hills,
nimbly, nimbly.
Nimble as a goat,
To hear the first peal
the airs bring me,
To see me cheer up.
To see me less mournful,
they bring it on their wings,
playful and plaintive.
Plaintive and trembling
Amid the green thicket,
amid the green woodland.
Over the green meadow,
across the smooth dale,
playful, playful.


One more with an explanation, all along the Camino the first sight of many many small towns and villages is their cemetery. The Camino guides us along and teaches us humility as we go.

Fgrom En las orillas del Sar 1884

The Bells
I love them, I hear them
as I hear the sound of the wind,
the murmur of the fountain
or the bleat of the lamb.
As soon as the first dawn ray
appears in the sky, they,
like the birds,
greet it with their echoes.
And their notes that carry
over the plains and hills,
there is a touch of candour,
something gentle and encouraging.
Were they forever silent,
what sadness to the air and sky!,
what silence in the churches!
what astonishment among the dead!

Buen Camino!

 

[waveprof]

Antonio Machado "Walker there is no path, the path is made when walking"

Everything passes and everything stays,
but our fate is to pass,
to pass making paths,
paths on the sea.

I never looked for glory,
nor to leave in the memory
of mankind my song;
I love subtle worlds,
lightnessful and gentile,
like soap bubbles.

I like to watch them painting
of sun and garnet, to fly
under the blue sky, tremble
suddenly and break...

I never looked for glory.

Walker, your treads are
the path and nothing more;
walker, there is no path,
the path is made when walking.

When walking the path is made
and when looking back
you see the path that never
has to be walked again.

Walker, there is no path,
but trails in the sea...

Some time ago in that place
where woods dress with hawthorns today
the voice of a poet was heard, screaming
'Walker, there is no path,
the path is made when walking...'

Stroke by stroke, verse by verse...

The poet died far away from home.
He's covered by dust of a neighboring
country.
When going away, they saw him crying.
'Walker, there is no path,
the path is made when walking...'

Stroke by stroke, verse by verse...

When the goldfinch cannot sing.
When the poet is a pilgrim,
when praying has no use.
'Walker, there is no path,
the path is made when walking...'

Stroke by stroke, verse by verse.

 

[peregrineheron]

lurker turned newbie--
this is a poem I wrote for my daughter as she prepared for her camino fances. Perhaps a bit sophomoric, but it spoke of my love as she turned her dilemma into a purpose.

On your way

Feat achieved one step at a time.
(words
Held close to your heart become your dreams
Set adrift to the winds become your purpose;

Hands
Soft as a whisper hold your dreams
Strong as a sculptor’s shape dreams to life;

outlook
exchanged with silence
traded for reflection)

Fete every mile you travel.
Feet in motion measure the way

 

[CaminoDebrita]

lurker turned newbie--
this is a poem I wrote for my daughter as she prepared for her camino fances. Perhaps a bit sophomoric, but it spoke of my love as she turned her dilemma into a purpose.

Not at all sophomoric. I enjoyed it immensely, and found that its rhythm and spare use of language worked very nicely.

 

[jefferyonthecamino]

All along this road

not a single soul—only

autumn evening

- Basho

 

[CaminoDebrita]

Just last night, I researched Antonio Machado--he is one of Spain's most celebrated poet, perhaps "the" poet of Spain. He died quite young --in his sixties--and apparently, the great tragedy of his life was when his beautiful young wife died very young, after they had been together a short time. She died in her twenties, and I believe she married him at the age of sixteen. His poetry is absolutely beautiful, and the example above is especially striking. It is said that he wrote his best poetry when his wife was still alive; this does not surprise me.

I also love Basho: simple, beautiful images. Haiku at its very best!

 

[Walter1407]

Strangers in the day
Exchanging glances
Wondering in the heat
What are the chances
We'll be making it
To Santia-ah-gooo
(Frank Sinatra of sorts)

Sung in the Meseta by my Camino family

 

[JennyH94]

Hi Deb - fantastic thread!

Here's my contribution - there's two. They are poems by Rainer Maria Rilke and by Rumi. I first read both poems in a wonderful Camino memoir "Sinning Across Spain" by the much-loved Australian author Ailsa Piper.

“A WALK” by Rainer Maria Rilke …

My eyes already touch the sunny hill
Going far ahead of the road I have begun
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp
It has its inner light – even from a distance –
And changes us, even if we do not reach it,
Into something else, which, hardly sensing it, we already are,
A gesture waves us on, answering our own wave …
But what we feel is the wind in our face.

An untitled poem by Rumi ...

Out beyond the ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language and even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense.

These poems are sustenance for any pilgrim's soul!

 

[CaminoDebrita]

Jenny--I have loved Rilke for a long time, but haven't read him for awhile. I especially loved his Letters to a Young Poet? I may be remembering the title incorrectly.

The poem by Rumi is exquisite....the world is too full to talk about...my, my!

I'll meet you there, Jenny. I'll meet you there.

 

[JennyH94]

Jenny--I have loved Rilke for a long time, but haven't read him for awhile. I especially loved his Letters to a Young Poet? I may be remembering the title incorrectly.

The poem by Rumi is exquisite....the world is too full to talk about...my, my!

I'll meet you there, Jenny. I'll meet you there.

Hi Deb -

Thank you for your beautiful post!

I only know a little of Rilke's work but your post has inspired me to take a closer look - thank you!

Rumi's amazing! He was a thirteenth-century Sufi mystic. After reading this poem in Ailsa Piper's book I started researching him - I found a ton of his quotes and poems on the net - and more of his work was revealed to me by the recommendation of a dear, dear friend to buy the book "The Essential Rumi". The poem in my post is on Page 36 of that book. There are so many poems in that book that will enchant you - it's a great book!

I'll meet you there too Deb. I'll meet you there.

 

[AlanSykes]

Conozco bien los caminos
conozco los caminantes del mar, del fuego,
del sueño, de la tierra, de los aires.
Y te conozco a ti
que estás dentro de mi sangre.

That's by Miguel Hernández (1910-42), a lovely shepherd poet who was sentenced to death by the fascists after the civil war. He died in Alicante jail, and is buried in the municipal cemetery, at the beginning of the Camino del Sureste and the Ruta de la Lana. Part of the first day of those caminos goes along the senda del poeta, a 54km walk that follows the poet's journey, when he was a teenager, from his home village of Orihuela on the Murcian border, to Alicante.

 

[pilgrim b]

Hi Deb - fantastic thread!

Here's my contribution - there's two. They are poems by Rainer Maria Rilke and by Rumi. I first read both poems in a wonderful Camino memoir "Sinning Across Spain" by the much-loved Australian author Ailsa Piper.

“A WALK” by Rainer Maria Rilke …

My eyes already touch the sunny hill
Going far ahead of the road I have begun
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp
It has its inner light – even from a distance –
And changes us, even if we do not reach it,
Into something else, which, hardly sensing it, we already are,
A gesture waves us on, answering our own wave …
But what we feel is the wind in our face.

An untitled poem by Rumi ...

Out beyond the ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language and even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense.

These poems are sustenance for any pilgrim's soul!

Thanks so much Jennie the second poem you posted wow it hit me right "there" I appreciate your posting it so much thank you!

 

[CaminoDebrita]

Quiero conocer bien los caminos....


Thank you for not only the poem, but for the fascinating background, Alansykes!

 

[SThompson]

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
BY E. E. CUMMINGS
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

 

[SThompson]

Poetry creates one of the "thin places" where our humanity meets the mystery. I have just published a journal specifically for use by pilgrims on the Camino to record their experiences, thoughts, and dreams, among others. It's called The Pilgrim Soul: Your Journal for the Camino de Santiago (on Amazon.com) and there is a quote for each day, much of it from poems relating to walking the Way. Here is one by Jan Richardson (American) included in this journal that I adore:

That each step may be a shedding.
That you will let yourself become lost.
That when it looks like you're going backwards,
you may be making progress.
That progress is not the goal anyway,
but presence to the feel of the path on your skin,
to the way it reshapes you in each place it makes contact,
until the moment you have stepped out.

Buen Camino!

 

[pilgrim b]

Poetry creates one of the "thin places" where our humanity meets the mystery. I have just published a journal specifically for use by pilgrims on the Camino to record their experiences, thoughts, and dreams, among others. It's called The Pilgrim Soul: Your Journal for the Camino de Santiago (on Amazon.com) and there is a quote for each day, much of it from poems relating to walking the Way. Here is one by Jan Richardson (American) included in this journal that I adore:

That each step may be a shedding.
That you will let yourself become lost.
That when it looks like you're going backwards,
you may be making progress.
That progress is not the goal anyway,
but presence to the feel of the path on your skin,
to the way it reshapes you in each place it makes contact,
until the moment you have stepped out.

Buen Camino!

The Pilgrim Soul: Your Journal for the Camino de Santiago is it available on Amazon Uk though ?

 

[JennyH94]

Thanks so much Jennie the second poem you posted wow it hit me right "there" I appreciate your posting it so much thank you!

Thank you dear b! I hope that all is going fantastically well with you and Jennie and that you are now on the countdown for your Camino in May.
Cheers - Jenny

 

[pilgrim b]

Thank you dear b! I hope that all is going fantastically well with you and Jennie and that you are now on the countdown for your Camino in May.
Cheers - Jenny

Ooooh it is so exciting Jennie but I have to get through Lent first but that will have to be on another thread, sorry AugustCaminodeb.

 

[SThompson]

Thank you so much for your question. Amazon.com said they will distribute the journal internationally, except to Canada that has a law forbidding American products on Amazon.ca. In all cases, if you send an email to ultreiapress@gmail.com, I can let you know the shipping charge (which in most cases is cheaper than Amazon) to any country and then you would send a money order to: Ultreia Press, 5631 Ridge View Drive, Alexandria, VA 22310. However, when Amazon opens on Tuesday for business, I will ask them specifically about Amazon.uk. Again, thanks!

 

[Albertagirl]

Deb,
I have just noticed that the other pilgrim announcing her arrival in Madrid on September 29th is the same woman who has begun and enriched this wonderful thread on poetry for the camino. I have been returning to poetry recently, as being the most profound way of pointing to the ineffable. As I tried to recall a poem suitable to this context, all that came to me was an "Almost Haiku" written by me about 45 years ago:

Today I paced homeward slowly, drunk on the awful beauty of bare trees.

It seems an appropriate motto for an October/November camino. Now I am really hoping that we will get to know one another on the camino.
Albertagirl

 

[SThompson]

The Pilgrim Soul: Your Journal for the Camino de Santiago is it available on Amazon Uk though ?

Dear Pilgrim B,

Yes, The Pilgrim Soul: Your Journal for the Camino de Santiago is available to UK buyers, but you need to go through Amazon.com (not Amazon.uk) to obtain it.

In the US, distribution of US books is only through Amazon.com (not country specific Amazon sites) and international distribution (which I have) allows for distribution to:

"Argentina, Australia, Austria, Bahrain, Belgium, Bermuda, Brazil, Bulgaria, Canada, Chile, China, Colombia, Costa Rica, Cyprus, Czech Republic, Denmark, Ecuador, Egypt, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Guadeloupe, Hong Kong, Hungary, Iceland, India, Indonesia, Ireland, Israel, Italy, Japan, Jordan, Kazakhastan, Kenya, Kuwait, Latvia, Liechtenstein, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Malaysia, Malta, Mexico, Monaco, Netherlands, New Zealand, Nigeria, Norway, Oman, Panama, Peru, Philippines, Portugal, Poland, Qatar, Romania, Russia, Saudi Arabia, Serbia, Singapore, Slovakia, Slovenia, South Africa, South Korea, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, Taiwan, Thailand, Trinidad & Tobago, United Arab Emirates, United Kingdom, Uruguay, Venezuela."

Thank you so much for asking the question.

Buen Camino!

 

[CaminoDebrita]

Deb,
I have just noticed that the other pilgrim announcing her arrival in Madrid on September 29th is the same woman who has begun and enriched this wonderful thread on poetry for the camino. I have been returning to poetry recently, as being the most profound way of pointing to the ineffable. As I tried to recall a poem suitable to this context, all that came to me was an "Almost Haiku" written by me about 45 years ago:

Today I paced homeward slowly, drunk on the awful beauty of bare trees.

It seems an appropriate motto for an October/November camino. Now I am really hoping that we will get to know one another on the camino.
Albertagirl

Really nice poem. I am quite intrigued by the "awful beauty of bare trees"---it always startles me when writers use those unusual "opposites" (the notion of beauty being awful, but they are awfully beautiful in their skeletal forms).

You are a treasure, Albertagirl. I can't wait to meet you!

 

[waveprof]

Just last night, I researched Antonio Machado--he is one of Spain's most celebrated poet, perhaps "the" poet of Spain. He died quite young --in his sixties--and apparently, the great tragedy of his life was when his beautiful young wife died very young, after they had been together a short time. She died in her twenties, and I believe she married him at the age of sixteen. His poetry is absolutely beautiful, and the example above is especially striking. It is said that he wrote his best poetry when his wife was still alive; this does not surprise me.

I also love Basho: simple, beautiful images. Haiku at its very best!

He didn't just die quite young.....he died while walking (to France)! Can you get more perfect than that?

I always open my international, interdisciplinary modernism course with Machado. Sometimes it is the only poetry I do all semester (I spend more time on novels, films, art, architecture, fonts, food, fashion, etc). But Machado blows me away every time.

 

[CaminoDebrita]

Waveprof: I can't wait to learn more about him. I teach literature too, but am pretty swamped in high school American Lit and English for sophomores--I taught a humanities course long ago, but only for a term. I am so eager to retire from secondary teaching so I can learn more about writers like Machado! I would love to take your course. It sounds wonderful.

 

[waveprof]

Waveprof: I can't wait to learn more about him. I teach literature too, but am pretty swamped in high school American Lit and English for sophomores--I taught a humanities course long ago, but only for a term. I am so eager to retire from secondary teaching so I can learn more about writers like Machado! I would love to take your course. It sounds wonderful.

If you teach high school literature you'd hardly need to "take" my course. I'm sure you'd have as much to teach me as I you (I'm a bit rusty on my american lit pre 1900 and my british lit post 1900). And from all the secondary teachers I know, you probably have your hands tied (in terms of curriculum) and time swamped (from overwork) to have many literary pleasure allowances lol All of that said, if you are interested in seeing the syllabus send me a PM. Glad you are enjoying Machado. My wife (a peninsular spanish prof) is particularly obsessed with him. She studies/teaches poetry more than I tend to (not because I'm adverse to poetry, but because I'm mostly a 20th century guy when a lot of emphasis moved away from poetics)

 

[Arn]

On a lighter note...reprise of my tongue in cheek offering from several months ago (Al liked it):


The Force of the Camino


Six pilgrims on Camino

One night under the stars

Pondered at the wisdom

At settling truths in bars


What is the real reason

For walking far and wide

Let no barrier be erected

Expose what you might hide


“It’s obvious,” said the writer

The Camino holds its sway

By romanticizing suffering

As each pilgrim makes their Way


“I disagree and I can prove it,”

Declared the Catholic Priest

“It’s scripture and repentance”

God’s shield against the Beast


“Hold on,” the ageing hippie

Dead flowers in her hair

It’s spiritual not dogma

That draws me to this fair


Withdrawn until this moment

A vagabond’s drink in hand

“For me a cheap vacation”

No roots, no home, no plan


“My demons, they are many”

And war my daily bread

The Camino Calls, I answer

Cleansing heart and soul of dread


It’s all of these and none of these

The Camino ebbs and flows

The same, yet ever changing

The truths each pilgrim knows


“Two chairs for late arrivals.

It’s Arn and Ann the twins!”

They’re identical, but different

Now the real fun begins


Arn’s a browbeat master

While Ann cajoles and sways

The perfect alter egos

Brilliant lights on darkest days


“The Camino,” Arn quips forcefully.

“Both provides and takes away.

As each pilgrim seeks to answer.

Why is it I walk the Way?”


Ann, with soft words whispers,

“Is your need now satisfied?

Are new truths and commitments

Safely nesting deep inside?”


Eight pilgrims on Camino

Sitting underneath the stars

Have made a revelation

Wisdom can be found in bars

 

[Arn]

Here are a few:
On poetry, very selective. I try not to read a piece that is free verse, such as:

I see the world through critical eyes. The tomorrows never as good as the todays. All light turns dark and sucks all emotion. Still alone after all these years.

Or Haiku:

Oh, her face...she smiles, the room alights.

a Cinquain:

Cruciero
high a far
beacon
true
Guide to Santiago

Whimsey:

See the clouds against the blue sky
Hear the birds...their plaintive cry
Makes life a mystery
But don't know why

I rather prefer poetry that tells a story...with the timbre relative to the activity it describes:

The Pilgrim Mass

For many leagues the pilgrims trod to reach this hallowed place

Spiritual, some...nothing else to do...and others seeking grace

The Catholics kneel while others stand...confused, yet still at home

The Mass for all now unified as one...yet not alone
++++++++++++++++++++++
Templars One and All

First nine who under Hugues approached King Baldwin there
Give Solomon's Temple unto us
In return we'll guard pilgrims fair

So Baldwin and the Patriarch agreed...the die now cast
A legend steeped in mystery
A life that would not last

St Bernard also agreed...a patron they have found
A voice our good Pope Innocent
Raised the Knights to great renown

First one victory: Montgisard
Proved their worth in force of arms
With caravels, heavy horse and a Papal Bull
The Templars lives seemed charmed

Alas, the crusades faltering the piper called for pay
The French king and Pope in Avignon conspired...as some might say

What God can give...he can take away...said Clement to Jacques
Disband, Disrobe, be destitute
Recant evil Templar ways

Led to the stake...Master De Molay many thought a broken man
Called God to witness who is just...smiting others by His hand

Pope Clement was the first to fall
Hardly thirty days had past
King Philip died a hunting
When he fell and broke his ass.

So to Templars...past and present
Only God knows who you are
Fight on for His greater glory
Wear proudly the eight pointed star.

 

[jefferyonthecamino]

At times The Camino and Whitman seem to go hand in hand


I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

 

[CaminoDebrita]

I've got a lot to read through. I'll be back later, but am smiling very widely....

 

[pep7702]

David Whyte has a collection of poems called "Pilgrim". I carried many of them with me on my Camino. One of my favorites is "Santiago":


Santiago

The road seen, then not seen, the hillside
hiding then revealing the way you should take,
the road dropping away from you as if leaving you
to walk on thin air, then catching you, holding you up,
when you thought you would fall,
and the way forward always in the end
the way that you followed, the way that carried you
into your future, that brought you to this place,
no matter that it sometimes took your promise from you,
no matter that it had to break your heart along the way:
the sense of having walked from far inside yourself
out into the revelation, to have risked yourself
for something that seemed to stand both inside you
and far beyond you, that called you back
to the only road in the end you could follow, walking
as you did, in your rags of love and speaking in the voice
that by night became a prayer for safe arrival,
so that one day you realized that what you wanted
had already happened long ago and in the dwelling place
you had lived in before you began,
and that every step along the way, you had carried
the heart and the mind and the promise
that first set you off and drew you on and that you were
more marvelous in your simple wish to find a way
than the gilded roofs of any destination you could reach:
as if, all along, you had thought the end point might be a city
with golden towers, and cheering crowds,
and turning the corner at what you thought was the end
of the road, you found just a simple reflection,
and a clear revelation beneath the face looking back
and beneath it another invitation, all in one glimpse:
like a person and a place you had sought forever,
like a broad field of freedom that beckoned you beyond;
like another life, and the road still stretching on.

- David Whyte
from Pilgrim

And the road still stretching on! I don't know a peregrino who isn't looking forward to their first steps on their next Camino!

 

[CaminoDebrita]

David Whyte has a collection of poems called "Pilgrim". I carried many of them with me on my Camino. One of my favorites is "Santiago":


Santiago

The road seen, then not seen, the hillside
hiding then revealing the way you should take,
the road dropping away from you as if leaving you
to walk on thin air, then catching you, holding you up,
when you thought you would fall,
and the way forward always in the end
the way that you followed, the way that carried you
into your future, that brought you to this place,
no matter that it sometimes took your promise from you,
no matter that it had to break your heart along the way:
the sense of having walked from far inside yourself
out into the revelation, to have risked yourself
for something that seemed to stand both inside you
and far beyond you, that called you back
to the only road in the end you could follow, walking
as you did, in your rags of love and speaking in the voice
that by night became a prayer for safe arrival,
so that one day you realized that what you wanted
had already happened long ago and in the dwelling place
you had lived in before you began,
and that every step along the way, you had carried
the heart and the mind and the promise
that first set you off and drew you on and that you were
more marvelous in your simple wish to find a way
than the gilded roofs of any destination you could reach:
as if, all along, you had thought the end point might be a city
with golden towers, and cheering crowds,
and turning the corner at what you thought was the end
of the road, you found just a simple reflection,
and a clear revelation beneath the face looking back
and beneath it another invitation, all in one glimpse:
like a person and a place you had sought forever,
like a broad field of freedom that beckoned you beyond;
like another life, and the road still stretching on.

- David Whyte
from Pilgrim

And the road still stretching on! I don't know a peregrino who isn't looking forward to their first steps on their next Camino!

Beautiful, Pep.

 

[Albertagirl]

It has occurred to me that a poem by Christina Rossetti which has long fascinated me could have an appropriate reading in the context of the Camino:

"Uphill"
Does the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labor you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.



What do you think?
Albertagirl

 

[CaminoDebrita]

It is so perfect, Albertagirl!

So perfect.

 

[Damien Reynolds]

Plea for Reason

Give me something
to believe in.

A statue or
season.

Just a reason.

Give me wonder
and dreaming.

Even scheming.

Just a meaning.

Damn it I sit here and
call.
No answer but that guessed
within.

 

[CaminoDebrita]

Reminds me of R.E.M.'s song "Losing My Religion," Damien, which is NOT about losing one's religion, but rather, being at the end of one's rope (or patience), according to online digging.

Some of the lyrics to that song....

Oh life, it's bigger
It's bigger than you
And you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
The distance in your eyes
Oh no, I've said too much

 

[CaroleH]

I don't know why this stream reappeared with todays postings, must be 'the camino providing'. Whatever and why ever, it's wonderful. I wrote haiku and tanka as I walk the camino, and now we have all these poems you have all shared.

In 2011 on the Camino del Sur, in Zalamea La Real, a friendly librarian gave me a pile of about 6 books, mostly poetry by Spanish writers. I wanted to keep them all, but couldn't, too heavy of course, but I kept just one, "poems' by Antonio Machado. I battle to translate the Spanish but I'm glad I kept this one book.
'waveprof' you have now stirred my interest and I'll look for English translations of Machado. I'd love to read more of his poetry and about him too.

Here's a Pablo Neruda (translation) that I love which could have been written for el camino...

"And that's why I have to go back
to so many places in the future,
there to find myself
and constantly examine myself
with no witness but the moon
and then whistle with joy,
rambling over rocks and clods of earth,
with no task but to live,
with no family but the road."

 

[CaminoDebrita]

I don't know why this stream reappeared with todays postings, must be 'the camino providing'. Whatever and why ever, it's wonderful. I wrote haiku and tanka as I walk the camino, and now we have all these poems you have all shared.

In 2011 on the Camino del Sur, in Zalamea La Real, a friendly librarian gave me a pile of about 6 books, mostly poetry by Spanish writers. I wanted to keep them all, but couldn't, too heavy of course, but I kept just one, "poems' by Antonio Machado. I battle to translate the Spanish but I'm glad I kept this one book.
'waveprof' you have now stirred my interest and I'll look for English translations of Machado. I'd love to read more of his poetry and about him too.

Here's a Pablo Neruda (translation) that I love which could have been written for el camino...

"And that's why I have to go back
to so many places in the future,
there to find myself
and constantly examine myself
with no witness but the moon
and then whistle with joy,
rambling over rocks and clods of earth,
with no task but to live,
with no family but the road."

This Pablo Neruda poem is very beautiful. I think it's exceptionally musical, introspective, and --of course-- the final two lines are really a nice closure: "with no task but to live, / with no family but the road."

Thank you very much for sharing it.

I think that poetry and music are natural manifestations of the Camino spirit. I think you do too...

 

[CaminoDebrita]

It has occurred to me that a poem by Christina Rossetti which has long fascinated me could have an appropriate reading in the context of the Camino:

"Uphill"
Does the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labor you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.



What do you think?
Albertagirl

This was a good poem for me to read this evening. I am doing some serious walking, and was on my feet today for eight hours or more in the boots, socks, and compression socks I am testing. I did a 2.5 hike, with lots of ups and downs. Gardened. Walked, walked, and walked....so the question is this:

"Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?"

And comfort I have in abundance. I just have to go close the door on the chicken coop and collect eggs, and then I'm down for the evening.

12 --twelve--XII--teaching days left, and I will be officially retired from full-time teaching as a secondary (high school) English teacher. How about that?

 

[VNwalking]

12 --twelve--XII--teaching days left, and I will be officially retired from full-time teaching as a secondary (high school) English teacher. How about that?

Almost single digits. Tick tock tick tock....
And how about that? I'd say heartfelt well done for years of service and congratulations!...but am sorry for the kids who will clearly have lost a wonderful teacher.
And this thread? WONDERFUL!
...
This applies best to the Jerusalém Way, I guess...but I love it.

Selah (A.E. Lefton)

On this, first morning of my life,
hosannas are not enough.

I walk and walk,

up streets with Jewish names,
down streets with Arab names —

all in celebration of great poets
or killers.

Men who were both poets and killers.
May my pen draw blood and pour wine.

I walk through old monuments,
tombs of alabaster, car soot.

Slogans half hid
behind green bombs of melon,

grenades of black and purple grapes.

In the end, who will history anoint?
I forget who was Isaac, who Ishmael.

I walk and walk,
forgetting my own language, my alphabet,

the one carried by Phoenicians
from port to port —

trading letters aleph bet

that were rounded like stones
by a lapidist alif ba

and passed from mouth to mouth
until they lost all but essence a b

and continue to be worn and smoothed,
until, as jewels,

only their memory is left —

as I limp through harbours,
the bilge of refugees —

in this, last moment of the day,

when the sky burns purple
and the ocean breaks black,

when the streetlamps tremble and,
all around,

the noise of guns and worship —

Selah. Enough.

 

[CaminoDebrita]

Almost single digits. Tick tock tick tock....
And how about that? I'd say heartfelt well done for years of service and congratulations!...but am sorry for the kids who will clearly have lost a wonderful teacher.
And this thread? WONDERFUL!
...
This applies best to the Jerusalém Way, I guess...but I love it.

Selah (A.E. Lefton)

On this, first morning of my life,
hosannas are not enough.

I walk and walk,

up streets with Jewish names,
down streets with Arab names —

all in celebration of great poets
or killers.

Men who were both poets and killers.
May my pen draw blood and pour wine.

I walk through old monuments,
tombs of alabaster, car soot.

Slogans half hid
behind green bombs of melon,

grenades of black and purple grapes.

In the end, who will history anoint?
I forget who was Isaac, who Ishmael.

I walk and walk,
forgetting my own language, my alphabet,

the one carried by Phoenicians
from port to port —

trading letters aleph bet

that were rounded like stones
by a lapidist alif ba

and passed from mouth to mouth
until they lost all but essence a b

and continue to be worn and smoothed,
until, as jewels,

only their memory is left —

as I limp through harbours,
the bilge of refugees —

in this, last moment of the day,

when the sky burns purple
and the ocean breaks black,

when the streetlamps tremble and,
all around,

the noise of guns and worship —

Selah. Enough.

Wow, that's a good one. I love the "Selah" at the end!

Hey, I'm curious about you: are you currently in Hawaii? Is Hawaii your homeland, or? You seem so worldly.

This poem deserves more than the cursory glance. I'll return to this later.

 

[VNwalking]

Indeed...layers of meaning upon meaning, with that mysterious/ambiguous 'selah' at the end...
And I just sent you a PM...

 

[VNwalking]

Resurrecting this lovely thread with some Rilke. After a week of sad news, and just before Deb takes off for her journey it seems apt. Poetry gives a perspective that prose does not. Life...and the Camino...it is a long and mysterious journey.

Widening Circles
I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I give myself to it.

I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I've been circling for thousands of years
and I still don't know: am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?

Rilke
Book of Hours, I 2

 

[CaminoDebrita]

When is it time?

When the coin drops, and the sound
like ripples in the pond

or the black note on the piano
not the sharp, nor the flat
stands on its own

When the duck startles
flying up to surprise
and in the mystery of its wings
leaves the sound of nothing

When you gaze at me
for just a long moment
and we smile the smile
of Buddha, but say nothing

Then it is time, and we know
not by the round dial
nor the ubiquitous i phone

But perhaps by the ripening of a season,
or the slow turning of the ground
beneath our very feet.
It is time to go.

Buen Camino.


For Vira, who loves poetry and resurrected the beautiful thread that we all need. 9/20/15. Attached is a photo of my beautiful husband and handsome stepdaughter, words intended as is!

 

[VNwalking]

Congratulations, Deb...and thank you so much for posting the photo from yesterday!
I was thinking of you, wishing you and all your family well on what must have been a busy but very special day. Your beloveds...wow. Both beautiful.

And this incredible poem you posted...I am still trying to get the goosebumps on my arms to settle.
Soon you will make the leap. It is time.

 

[VNwalking]

And one more...Pablo Neruda...

Keeping Quiet
Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.
For once on the face of the earth,
let's not speak in any language;
let's stop for a second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment,
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would not look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;

If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps the huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of frightening ourselves with death.

Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.

 

[IngridF]

I love Jan Richardson's Epiphany Blessing from her Painted Prayer Book called
"For those who have far to travel".

For me it resonates deeply. ..and especially this time on my Camino...(yes I am still in Spain ...now soaking up the sun on the beach in Valencia) but so ready to go home.

IF you could see the journey whole,
You might never undertake it,
Might never dare the first step that propels you from the place you have known toward the place you know not.

Call it one of the mercies of the road:
That we see it only by stages as it opens before us,
As it comes into our keeping step by single step.

There is nothing for it but to go and by our going take the vows the pilgrim takes:
To be faithful to the next step;
To rely on more than the map;
To heed the signposts of intuition and dream;
To follow the star that only you will recognize;
To keep an open eye for the wonders that attend the path;
To press on beyond distractions, beyond fatigue beyond what would tempt you from the way.

There are vows that only you will know;
The secret promises for your particular path and the new ones you will need to make when the road is revealed by turns you could have foreseen.

Keep them, break them, make them again: each promise becomes part of the path;

Each choice creates the road that will take you to the place where at last you will kneel to offer the gift most needed - the gift that only you can give - before turning to go home by another way.

Ingrid

 

[jelle]

I like this poem. For me it ties in with walking the camino perfectly and was a big inspiration.


To Risk by William Arthur Ward


To laugh is to risk appearing a fool,
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.
To reach out to another is to risk involvement,
To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self.
To place your ideas and dreams before a crowd is to risk their loss.

To love is to risk not being loved in return,
To live is to risk dying,
To hope is to risk despair,
To try is to risk failure.

But risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing.
He may avoid suffering and sorrow,
But he cannot learn, feel, change, grow or live.
Chained by his servitude he is a slave who has forfeited all freedom.

Only a person who risks is free.

 

[Albertagirl]

I love Jan Richardson's Epiphany Blessing from her Painted Prayer Book called
"For those who have far to travel".

For me it resonates deeply. ..and especially this time on my Camino...(yes I am still in Spain ...now soaking up the sun on the beach in Valencia) but so ready to go home.

IF you could see the journey whole,
You might never undertake it,
Might never dare the first step that propels you from the place you have known toward the place you know not.

Call it one of the mercies of the road:
That we see it only by stages as it opens before us,
As it comes into our keeping step by single step.

There is nothing for it but to go and by our going take the vows the pilgrim takes:
To be faithful to the next step;
To rely on more than the map;
To heed the signposts of intuition and dream;
To follow the star that only you will recognize;
To keep an open eye for the wonders that attend the path;
To press on beyond distractions, beyond fatigue beyond what would tempt you from the way.

There are vows that only you will know;
The secret promises for your particular path and the new ones you will need to make when the road is revealed by turns you could have foreseen.

Keep them, break them, make them again: each promise becomes part of the path;

Each choice creates the road that will take you to the place where at last you will kneel to offer the gift most needed - the gift that only you can give - before turning to go home by another way.

Ingrid

Thank you for sharing this wonderful poem which resonates deeply with me as I prepare to begin my camino (Next week! How can I possibly be ready?).

 

[VNwalking]

Ready or no-ot......
Well...a very Buen Camino to you, Albertagirl!
And no worries. There's no way to be completely ready for this--that's why I love the first lines from that perfect poem Ingrid posted:

IF you could see the journey whole,
You might never undertake it,
Might never dare the first step that propels you from the place you have known toward the place you know not.

Call it one of the mercies of the road:
That we see it only by stages as it opens before us,

SO true....

 

[Arminius]

The Romantic poet Wordsworth... This extract from Wordsworth's great autobiographical poem The Prelude:

Thus did I steal along that silent road
My body from the stillness drinking in
A restoration like the calm of sleep
But sweeter far. Above, before, behind,
Around me, all was peace and solitude.

 

[VNwalking]

Armenius, this is beautiful. Thank you.
I had many moments like that across the meseta. (It was not at the busy time of year, obviously...)

 

[Arminius]

Armenius, this is beautiful. Thank you.
I had many moments like that across the meseta. (It was not at the busy time of year, obviously...)

Have heard and read over the Meseta.
I know that it will not be an easy path ... but we will! Trying to find the right balance and seek answers to questions ...

 

[Biff]

Don't know much poetry, but I've liked this one ever since I first read it (many years ago):

The Road goes ever on and on
Out from the door where it began,
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
Let others follow it who can!
Let them a journey new begin,
But I at last with weary feet
Will turn towards the lighted inn,
My evening-rest and sleep to meet.

Bilbo Baggins (actually J.R.R. Tolkein, but what the heck .....)

Biff

 

[VNwalking]

I happily admit I've always liked that...

 

[CaminoDebrita]

Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
from Dream Work by Mary Oliver
published by Atlantic Monthly Press
© Mary Oliver

 

[jeffnd]

*cough* https://www.caminodesantiago.me/community/threads/lord-give-me-a-blister.34701/ *cough*

 

[CaminoDebrita]

*cough* https://www.caminodesantiago.me/community/threads/lord-give-me-a-blister.34701/ *cough*[/QUOT

Don't you *cough* love it?

 

[jeffnd]

My shameless plug!

 

[jefferyonthecamino]

Extract from Rosalía de Castro's ‘A Orillas del Sar’ (On the banks of the Sar):

El viajero, rendido y cansado,
que ve del camino la línea escabrosa
que aún le resta que andar, anhelara,
deteniéndose al pie de la loma,
de repente quedar convertido
en pájaro o fuente,
en árbol o en roca.

---

The traveller, exhausted and tired,
that sees the abrupt route of the path
that he/she still has to walk, yearns,
stopping at the foot of the hill,
to suddenly become
a bird or fountain,
a tree or rock.

 

[John Finn]

Not directly Camino related but I often think of this, one of my favourite A.E. Housman poems, when on the trail.


Tell me not here, it needs not saying,
What tune the enchantress plays
In aftermaths of soft September
Or under blanching mays,
For she and I were long acquainted
And I knew all her ways.

On russet floors, by waters idle,
The pine lets fall its cone;
The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing
In leafy dells alone;
And traveller’s joy beguiles in autumn
Hearts that have lost their own.

On acres of the seeded grasses
The changing burnish heaves;
Or marshalled under moons of harvest
Stand still all night the sheaves;
Or beeches strip in storms for winter
And stain the wind with leaves.

Possess, as I possessed a season,
The countries I resign,
Where over elmy plains the highway
Would mount the hills and shine,
And full of shade the pillared forest
Would murmur and be mine.

For nature, heartless, witless nature,
Will neither care nor know
What stranger’s feet may find the meadow
And trespass there and go,
Nor ask amid the dews of morning
If they are mine or no.