Happy the
man, whose wish and care
A few
paternal acres bound,
Content to
breathe his native air
In his own
ground.
Whose
herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose
flocks supply him with attire,
Whose
trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter
fire.
Blest, who
can unconcernedly find
Hours,
days, and years slide soft away,
In health
of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by
day,
Sound
sleep by night; study and ease,
Together
mixed; sweet recreation;
And
innocence, which most does please,
With
meditation.
Thus let
me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus
unlamented let me die;
Steal from
the world, and not a stone
Tell where
I lie.
—Alexander
Pope, “Ode on Solitude,” Poetry
Foundation
This
remarkable poem by Alexander Pope has worn well with time. Its description of
an idyllic, pastoral existence still speaks to the present day. Ostensibly, the
longing for a peaceful, solitary life untroubled by want, away from society and
close to nature, enlivened by study, has deep roots in the human spirit.
The last
stanza is intriguing because it expresses the desire to die unknown and
forgotten, a sentiment that goes against the grain of human yearning for
immortality. The closing statement is possibly inspired by the speaker’s wish
for the peace that converges with hiddenness.
THE
SOLITUDE OF NIGHT by Li Po
Translated
by Shigeyoshi Obata
It was at
a wine party—
I lay in a
drowse, knowing it not.
The blown
flowers fell and filled my lap.
When I
arose, still drunken,
The birds
had all gone to their nests,
And there
remained but few of my comrades.
I went
along the river—alone in the moonlight.
—Li Bai,
transl. by Shigeyoshi Obata, “The Solitude of Night,” Poetry Foundation
One of the
charms of ancient poetry is its power to transport us to a distant time and
place, offering us an experience of the unfamiliar and exotic that makes our
visit well worthwhile. In this poem we are carried off to 8th century Tang
China, our host a whimsical, tippling man of letters. The poem displays some of
the hallmarks of the inimitable Li Po—vignettes about the pleasures of wine and
the allures of nature, limned with a simple, direct gaze and an endearing eye
for memorable details.
SOLITUDE
by Lia Purpura
No one
home.
Snow
packing
the
morning in.
Much white
nothing
filling up.
A V of
birds
pulling
the
silence
until some
dog
across the
street
barks, and
breaks
what I
call my peace.
What a
luxury
annoyance
is.
It bites
off
and keeps
just
enough of
what I
think
I want to
be endless.
See: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/58825/solitude-56d23d8a6bbce
—Lia
Purpura, “Solitude,” Poetry Foundation
In this
selection of some of my favorite poems, I wanted to include at least one
contemporary piece. This poem was published in 2015.
One virtue
of Lia Purpura’s poem is incisive imagery—“much white nothing filling up,” “a V
of birds pulling the silence.” Another is keen paradox—“what a luxury annoyance
is.” The latent punch line is that annoyance is hardly luxury. It is a bane, a
dog that bites off just enough of your peace to basically destroy it.
Lia
Purpura has garnered multiple honors and awards:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/lia-purpura
—“Lia
Purpura,” Poetry Foundation
