"Poetry can startle you, awaken you, make you fall in love, take your breath away. When those words sink in, you'll never look at your life or your journey the same way again."
American Journalist, Author
1955 -
When you find the right poem, it can open up new worlds and change the way you look at life. And so can a painting, a novel or even a play. That is the power of art. Planted within each story, painting or poem are the seeds of awareness that when they sprout in the heart of the reader or observer will change his or her life.
Unfortunately, in the American society, poets and poetry get the short end of the stick. Fewer and fewer people read it while the number who claim to write it continues to grow. I am amazed by people claim to write poetry but have never picked up a book and read any.
One of Maria Shriver's favorite poets is Mary Oliver. Maria's interview of Mary appears in the April 2011 edition of the Oprah Magazine. If you haven't read it, you should. Here is a poem by Mary Oliver that Shriver keeps on her desk. Very inspiring.
The Journey
by Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.
Here is Maria Shriver reading The Journey in 2010.
