"A poem is when you hear the heartbeat of a stone" Oh Mary what a profoundly beautiful line, surely Arthur must be very close to finding the poem to heal his fish now?
@David Perry says he listens to feathered poems and I hear poems whispered in the ghosts of fallen trees... makes me believe that all nature is poetry and all we need to do is pay attention.
If a poem has the power to let you hear the heartbeat of a stone it can surely heal Arthur’s fish. Keep on looking, Arthur, you’re getting closer all the time.❤️!
Jane Kenyon's Otherwise and Stanley Kunitz's The Snakes of September and The Portrait can make me hear the heartbeat of a stone. I keep returning to them for gratitude, the beauty of nature and memoir.
Perfect, Isabelle, with my thanks for pointing me back to them, and this one too noted by Maureen below: Wisława Szymborska, translated by John & Bogdana Carpenter
— A poem is when you hear the heartbeat of a stone.— Mr. Mahmoud is a wise man and probably a poet. He must have heard many stones in the heartbeat of the desert.
But before hearing the heartbeat of a stone ~ or a poem ~ we first have to listen. That would be the definition of a poet. Someone who listens for the hearbeat of stones, and sand, and palm trees, and words, and ... perhaps fish?
What a perfect way to describe what Jean-Pierre Siméon has done in this precious little book -- and what you do in every essay you write and in the generosity and goodness that you shed on those you read. I am so grateful you you, Veronika,
Until broken open, a stone conceals its layers of history. A poem has a history, too, bound in its origins and revisions; it is more than the eye sees in the words on the page. Investigate it, and you're apt to discover its rhythm and meter, and if you read it aloud, you hear its beat; and if you understand what it says to you, you've found its heart, which exists in the heart of the poet.
"In the heart of the poet" --that's what we hear in every poem that reaches our own heart the way this little book reached mine and the way everything you write or quote reaches my heart. In this precious way, I feel I know you, Maureen, though from afar.
That you can hear the poem sung by the water defines the way you read and give the gift of letting others know. I am so grateful for you. The way you do this defines your goodness, Lor.
"A poem is when you hear the heartbeat of a stone" Oh Mary what a profoundly beautiful line, surely Arthur must be very close to finding the poem to heal his fish now?
@David Perry says he listens to feathered poems and I hear poems whispered in the ghosts of fallen trees... makes me believe that all nature is poetry and all we need to do is pay attention.
Oh, how lovely.
a poem is when you hear the heartbeat of a stone. I have much to say about this, sometimes I think a poem is a stone trying to hear its own heartbeat.
Lovely to hear from you-- Do say more!
If a poem has the power to let you hear the heartbeat of a stone it can surely heal Arthur’s fish. Keep on looking, Arthur, you’re getting closer all the time.❤️!
I so agree, Rafael!
Love this Mary! What a beautiful way to describe a poem, when you hear the heartbeat of a stone! It will stay with me, for sure!
Lovely, Imola.
Love it that Arthur, while still not clear what a poem is, cares enough to put his ear to the stone and just see, maybe, maybe...
Love that -- and dear Arthur in search of a poem!
Well, now, since a poet, W.B. Yeats, tells us that ""too long a sacrifice / can make a stone of the heart," then we need poetry to hear its heartbeat.
And to be "enchanted to a stone" -- We need this poem now: an uprising with force and verve to save our country.
A poem is the heartbeat of a stone… but more, “when you HEAR the heartbeat of a stone.” Now there’s a profound bit to ponder.
xx Much more below in comments: read on!
Jane Kenyon's Otherwise and Stanley Kunitz's The Snakes of September and The Portrait can make me hear the heartbeat of a stone. I keep returning to them for gratitude, the beauty of nature and memoir.
Another gorgeous chapter, Mary xo
Perfect, Isabelle, with my thanks for pointing me back to them, and this one too noted by Maureen below: Wisława Szymborska, translated by John & Bogdana Carpenter
"CONVERSATION WITH A STONE" 💕
I'm just smiling now
I'm so grateful for you, Ellen.
— A poem is when you hear the heartbeat of a stone.— Mr. Mahmoud is a wise man and probably a poet. He must have heard many stones in the heartbeat of the desert.
But before hearing the heartbeat of a stone ~ or a poem ~ we first have to listen. That would be the definition of a poet. Someone who listens for the hearbeat of stones, and sand, and palm trees, and words, and ... perhaps fish?
agree! everything to love about that line
What a perfect way to describe what Jean-Pierre Siméon has done in this precious little book -- and what you do in every essay you write and in the generosity and goodness that you shed on those you read. I am so grateful you you, Veronika,
Oh Mary, your words are melting my heart. The gratitude is mutual 🙏 💗
Poetry in nature is not a thing. It's real!
So, well-said, dear Writer Pilgrim! Blessings!
Thank you and to you!
See the first poem here:
https://pnreview.substack.com/p/two-poems-by-wisawa-szymborska-translated
I love her work and am off to the link with hope and to hear the heartbeat of a stone ...
When I read that poem at the link, I thought it was so apt. I too love her work.
Until broken open, a stone conceals its layers of history. A poem has a history, too, bound in its origins and revisions; it is more than the eye sees in the words on the page. Investigate it, and you're apt to discover its rhythm and meter, and if you read it aloud, you hear its beat; and if you understand what it says to you, you've found its heart, which exists in the heart of the poet.
"In the heart of the poet" --that's what we hear in every poem that reaches our own heart the way this little book reached mine and the way everything you write or quote reaches my heart. In this precious way, I feel I know you, Maureen, though from afar.
Thank you, Mary. Such a lovely comment. I will endeavor to make “afar” not so far.
“A poem is when you hear the heart beat of a stone.”
Could Arthur’s searching and the answers he has found , be any more endearing, each one, surpasses the next.
I hear the poem sung by the water, in every rock I have sat upon, next to a stream.
Vermont? Me too!
Thank you, Mary. (I really dislike when AI, changes my text for me).
That you can hear the poem sung by the water defines the way you read and give the gift of letting others know. I am so grateful for you. The way you do this defines your goodness, Lor.
Yes, there are places that are so permeated with history that you can hear the stone's heartbeat, and that is poetry.
Rosa, what a perfect way to explain the stone's heartbeat and the poem's force and the way a poem reaches the heart.
It resonated.