"Finding time for poetry in the middle of our sometimes-frenzied lives can help us live more deliberately."
Do you think it better to have high expectations of others and risk disappointment, or to have low expectations and have them exceeded regularly?
Poetry, to me, has always seemed like a second language. I can learn to read it, learn to interpret it, but though I enjoy finding and using creative turns of phrase and well-placed metaphors where I see them, I still naturally think of a table as a table first, rather than as, say, an “elevated platform for family gathering and nourishment.”
As we can see, since World War I, Great Britain and the U.S. have been interfering in Iraq on the assumption that “Iraqis are Muslims”—with terrible consequences for those Iraqis who aren’t. If we are to avoid turning that assumption into a self-fulfilling prophecy, great care must be taken: a care that recognizes that human beings are not transplantable puzzle pieces, but image-bearers of the Most High God, with all the beauty, freedom and diversity that title brings.
On a daily basis, I am reminded of the world’s depravity as I am inserted into our community’s darkest places. I am also a witness to its restoration.
I’m haunted by the ghost of Li-Young Lee’s father. He’s there, in Lee’s poetry, tromping around upstairs or reading aloud so we can’t sleep. He lingers by the pear trees at the corner of our …