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Given: Poems
For five decades Wendell Berry has been a poet of great clarity and purpose. He is an award-winning writer whose imagination is grounded by the pastures of his chosen place and the rooms and porches of his family's home. In Given , the work is as rich and varied as ever before. With his unmistakable voice as the constant, he dexterously maneuvers through a variety of forms and themes―political cautions, love poems, a play in verse, and a long series of Sabbath Poems that resulted from Berry's recent Sunday morning walks of meditation and observation. Berry's work is one of devotion to family and community, to the earth and her creatures, to the memories of the past, and the hope of the future. His writing stands alongside the work of William Carlos Williams and Robert Frost as a rigorous American testament.
156 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2005
62 people are currently reading
1027 people want to read
About the author
Wendell Berry
287 books4,820 followersWendell Berry is a conservationist, farmer, essayist, novelist, professor of English and poet. He was born August 5, 1934 in Henry County, Kentucky where he now lives on a farm. The New York Times has called Berry the "prophet of rural America."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 106 reviews
March 21, 2025
4.5 stars if I could.
So many absolute gems in here that range from deeply profound to sweet to funny and everything in between. I love how compact and wise many of these poems are. This is the perfect poem before bed book or poem upon waking book. It’s mostly lived in between my mattress and bed frame for the past 9 mos.
Berry does such a good job helping us think beautifully and truly about time, place, and reality. His work is grounded in the present moment but with anchor points in eternity.
I tried a book of just Sabbath poems first and struggled to get into it entirely. Somehow this collection was quite different and pulled me in from the beginning. Many thanks to David Glick for gifting me this beautiful little collection.
So many absolute gems in here that range from deeply profound to sweet to funny and everything in between. I love how compact and wise many of these poems are. This is the perfect poem before bed book or poem upon waking book. It’s mostly lived in between my mattress and bed frame for the past 9 mos.
Berry does such a good job helping us think beautifully and truly about time, place, and reality. His work is grounded in the present moment but with anchor points in eternity.
I tried a book of just Sabbath poems first and struggled to get into it entirely. Somehow this collection was quite different and pulled me in from the beginning. Many thanks to David Glick for gifting me this beautiful little collection.
December 29, 2016
When his work pops up in a magazine, it always seems restorative, a Thoreauvian plea to remember what matters. But in a collection like this one, it is clear that Berry's poetry is less an antidote for the modern world than a strident rejection. His husband-and-wife-in-the-wilderness fantasy is seductive in small doses. But as a running (nearly exclusive) theme, it is unforgiving and irresponsible, a refusal to address real people in real time, living in a world that is not of their own creation. Ultimately, Berry seems more nihilistic than the modernity he loathes--and even his best poems suffer for it.
January 23, 2021
there were some poems in this book
which seemed to climb right off the page
and into the very breath i breathe.
when beauty and truth rip through your soul,
your only response is to give them permission
to overflow from your eyes and heart.
which seemed to climb right off the page
and into the very breath i breathe.
when beauty and truth rip through your soul,
your only response is to give them permission
to overflow from your eyes and heart.
December 16, 2022
Yet another masterpiece by mentor Wendell Berry. Sigh. My words will never describe what conviction and balm he brings to a reader. All I can say is that I have no plans to cease reading his entire works.
Read
November 11, 2021Interesting, but I would like to try his prose instead. I can feel his wisdom coming out from the pages and it is enough to have me intrigued.
November 2, 2022
Slow and gentle, but packs a punch when you least expect it. In other words, classic Wendell Berry.
May 24, 2023
Poems about creation, gratitude, words, and love. Companion volume for life.
September 2, 2013
HOW TO BE A POET
(to remind myself)
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill---more of each
than you have---inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your work,
doubt their judgement.
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.
(to remind myself)
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill---more of each
than you have---inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your work,
doubt their judgement.
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.
September 17, 2025
On the whole, an excellent and thought-provoking collection of poems. Also read in 2015.
Update, read-through in 2025: some of these poems are gems that just get better with time. The several about his wife and marriage, the sonata depicting a fictional couple musing on their life after their death, and the poems celebrating the Kentucky country and birds...I love these. But Berry's moral vision of sin and death, and correspondingly redemption and Christ, come out in other poems and I find him to be especially weak here. I learn from him...but not wholeheartedly.
Update, read-through in 2025: some of these poems are gems that just get better with time. The several about his wife and marriage, the sonata depicting a fictional couple musing on their life after their death, and the poems celebrating the Kentucky country and birds...I love these. But Berry's moral vision of sin and death, and correspondingly redemption and Christ, come out in other poems and I find him to be especially weak here. I learn from him...but not wholeheartedly.
August 11, 2016
Beautiful, profound, and moving. Most modern poetry seems to be full of posturing, but this is genuine and full of goodness as well.
I have read some of these poems over and over and over, even to my family at the dinner table.
Highly recommended for anyone who loves God, nature, family, and words.
I have read some of these poems over and over and over, even to my family at the dinner table.
Highly recommended for anyone who loves God, nature, family, and words.
June 6, 2021
A great book of poems for those looking to fall deeper in love with the world around us. Wendell helps us slow down, take stock, and be at peace with our insignificance.
July 31, 2025
Some great gems! I personally resonated with the rejection of the post-modern idea that all progress is found only in looking ahead and the embrace of the classical stance that true progress is found by looking back at the now illuminated past.
“We travelers, walking to the sun, can't see
Ahead, but looking back the very light
That blinded us shows us the way we came,
Along which blessings now appear, risen
As if from sightlessness to sight, and we,
By blessing brightly lit, keep going toward
That blessed light that yet to us is dark.”
“We travelers, walking to the sun, can't see
Ahead, but looking back the very light
That blinded us shows us the way we came,
Along which blessings now appear, risen
As if from sightlessness to sight, and we,
By blessing brightly lit, keep going toward
That blessed light that yet to us is dark.”
December 27, 2024
Whoever thought I would choose to read poetry, much less enjoy it? Me least of all. However, it allows my soul to slow down, and Wendell Berry captures nature and life in some really - dare I say it? - poetic ways.
July 22, 2019
A lot of nostalgia for being in nature, for farm life growing up, etc. Berry seems a bit idealistic in a lot of things, but there's some beautiful poetry here.
August 14, 2022
Rivers, geese, warblers and remembrances.
November 26, 2022
Easily one of Berry's best compilations of poems and sabbath contemplations. I will grow old with this book.
October 26, 2023
wendell berry’s words stick with me. I’ve come back to certain poems in this collection again and again as they get stuck in my head, and seem to get richer the more I think about them.
December 24, 2024
"I dream of a quiet man
who explains nothing and defends
nothing, but only knows
where the rarest wildflowers
are blooming, and who goes,
and finds that he is smiling
not by his own will."
who explains nothing and defends
nothing, but only knows
where the rarest wildflowers
are blooming, and who goes,
and finds that he is smiling
not by his own will."
April 9, 2024
A reread, and a million treasures found, again.
I stumbled across this little book of poems while looking for Elizabeth Bishop’s poems, and forgot all about her. I think he helped me learn to love poetry. Just lovely... Images I loved most:
“The soil under the grass is dreaming of a young forest, and under the pavement the soil is dreaming of grass” In A Country Once Forested
“Our friend looks as he did/when we first knew him,/and until I wake I believe/ I will die of grief, for I know/ that this boy grew into a man/who was a faithful friend/who died” The Inlet
How to be a Poet (to remind myself)
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill-more of each
than you have-inspiration
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity…
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensional life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are so unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.
“…we can sit still /keep silent, let the phoebe, the sycamore,/the river, the stone call themselves/by whatever they call themselves, their own/sounds, their own silence, and thus/may know for a moment the nearness/ of the world, its vastness,/its vast variousness, far and near,/which only silence knows. And then/we must call all things by name/out of the silence again to be with us,/or die of namelessness.” Words
“…but the swelling buds and little blossoms make/a new softness to the light/ that is visible all the way here./The trees, the hills that were stark/in the old cold become now/tender, and the light changes.” Sabbaths 1999 I
“I dream of a quiet man/who explains nothing and defends/nothing, but only knows/where the rarest wildflowers/are blooming, and who goes,/and finds that he is smiling/not by his own will.” Sabbaths 1999 II
“…it charms/mere eyesight to believe/The nearest thing not trees/Is the sky, into which/The trees reach, opening/their luminous new leaves…/and thought finds rest/beneath a brightened tree/In which, unseen, a warbler/ feeds and sings. His song’s/Small shapely melody/Comes down irregularly,/as all light’s givings come.” Sabbaths 1999 III
“A tree forms itself in answer/to its place and the light./Explain it how you will, the only/thing explainable will be/your explanation.” Sabbaths 1999 IV
“We travelers, walking to the sun, can’t see/Ahead, but looking back the very light/That blinded us shows us the way we came,/Along which blessings now appear, risen/As if from sightlessness to sight, and we,/By blessing brightly lit, keep going toward/That blessed light that yet to us is dark.” Sabbaths 1999 VI
“When we convene again/to understand the world,/the first speaker will again/point silently out the window/at the hillside in its season…/and we will nod silently,/and silently stand and go.” Sabbaths 2000 II
“I know for a while again/the health of self-forgetfulness.” Sabbaths 2000 V
“Some had derided him/as unadventurous,/for he would not give up/What he had vowed to keep./But what he vowed to keep/Even his keeping changed/ And, changing, led him far/Beyond what they or he/Foresaw, and made him strange./What he vowed to keep/He lost, of course, and yet,/kept in his heart. The things/He vowed to keep, the things/He had in keeping changed,/ The things lost in his keeping/ That he kept in his heart,/These were his pilgrimage,/Were his adventure, near/And far, at home and in/The world beyond this world.” Sabbaths 2000 VII
“I’ve come down from the sky/like some damned ghost, delayed/too long…To the abandoned fields/the trees returned and grew./They stand and grow. Time comes/To them, time goes, the trees/Stand; the only place/They go is where they are./Those wholly patient ones…/They do no wrong, and they/Are beautiful. What more/Could we have thought to ask?.../I stand and wait for light/to open the dark night./I stand and wait for prayer/to come and find me here.” Sabbaths 2000 IX
“…joy teaches him/ to rise, to stand and move out through/the opening the light has made./ He stands on the green hilltop amid/the cedars, the skewed stones, the earth all/opened doors…” Sabbaths 2001 I
“…My mind became/ beautiful by the sight of him. He had the beauty only/ of himself alive in the only moment of his life./ He had upon him like a light the whole/beauty of the living world that never dies.” Sabbaths 2003 VI
I stumbled across this little book of poems while looking for Elizabeth Bishop’s poems, and forgot all about her. I think he helped me learn to love poetry. Just lovely... Images I loved most:
“The soil under the grass is dreaming of a young forest, and under the pavement the soil is dreaming of grass” In A Country Once Forested
“Our friend looks as he did/when we first knew him,/and until I wake I believe/ I will die of grief, for I know/ that this boy grew into a man/who was a faithful friend/who died” The Inlet
How to be a Poet (to remind myself)
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill-more of each
than you have-inspiration
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity…
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensional life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are so unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.
“…we can sit still /keep silent, let the phoebe, the sycamore,/the river, the stone call themselves/by whatever they call themselves, their own/sounds, their own silence, and thus/may know for a moment the nearness/ of the world, its vastness,/its vast variousness, far and near,/which only silence knows. And then/we must call all things by name/out of the silence again to be with us,/or die of namelessness.” Words
“…but the swelling buds and little blossoms make/a new softness to the light/ that is visible all the way here./The trees, the hills that were stark/in the old cold become now/tender, and the light changes.” Sabbaths 1999 I
“I dream of a quiet man/who explains nothing and defends/nothing, but only knows/where the rarest wildflowers/are blooming, and who goes,/and finds that he is smiling/not by his own will.” Sabbaths 1999 II
“…it charms/mere eyesight to believe/The nearest thing not trees/Is the sky, into which/The trees reach, opening/their luminous new leaves…/and thought finds rest/beneath a brightened tree/In which, unseen, a warbler/ feeds and sings. His song’s/Small shapely melody/Comes down irregularly,/as all light’s givings come.” Sabbaths 1999 III
“A tree forms itself in answer/to its place and the light./Explain it how you will, the only/thing explainable will be/your explanation.” Sabbaths 1999 IV
“We travelers, walking to the sun, can’t see/Ahead, but looking back the very light/That blinded us shows us the way we came,/Along which blessings now appear, risen/As if from sightlessness to sight, and we,/By blessing brightly lit, keep going toward/That blessed light that yet to us is dark.” Sabbaths 1999 VI
“When we convene again/to understand the world,/the first speaker will again/point silently out the window/at the hillside in its season…/and we will nod silently,/and silently stand and go.” Sabbaths 2000 II
“I know for a while again/the health of self-forgetfulness.” Sabbaths 2000 V
“Some had derided him/as unadventurous,/for he would not give up/What he had vowed to keep./But what he vowed to keep/Even his keeping changed/ And, changing, led him far/Beyond what they or he/Foresaw, and made him strange./What he vowed to keep/He lost, of course, and yet,/kept in his heart. The things/He vowed to keep, the things/He had in keeping changed,/ The things lost in his keeping/ That he kept in his heart,/These were his pilgrimage,/Were his adventure, near/And far, at home and in/The world beyond this world.” Sabbaths 2000 VII
“I’ve come down from the sky/like some damned ghost, delayed/too long…To the abandoned fields/the trees returned and grew./They stand and grow. Time comes/To them, time goes, the trees/Stand; the only place/They go is where they are./Those wholly patient ones…/They do no wrong, and they/Are beautiful. What more/Could we have thought to ask?.../I stand and wait for light/to open the dark night./I stand and wait for prayer/to come and find me here.” Sabbaths 2000 IX
“…joy teaches him/ to rise, to stand and move out through/the opening the light has made./ He stands on the green hilltop amid/the cedars, the skewed stones, the earth all/opened doors…” Sabbaths 2001 I
“…My mind became/ beautiful by the sight of him. He had the beauty only/ of himself alive in the only moment of his life./ He had upon him like a light the whole/beauty of the living world that never dies.” Sabbaths 2003 VI
September 12, 2020
While there are quite a few notable poems and the play regarding compelling ideas about the relationship and symbolic conversation between humanity and nature, some of the writing falls flat for lack of natural flow and Berry’s lapse into stuffy prose. For these seem more fit for an essay-type format.
March 26, 2014
I know for a while again the health of self forgetfullness, looking out at the sky through a notch in the valley side, the black woods wintry on the hills, small clouds at sunset passing across. And I know that this is one of the thresholds between earth and heaven, from which even I may step forth from my self and be free. Wendell Berry
February 26, 2016
I feel more whole when I read Wendell Berry.
More real. More alive. More aware of the world. More ashamed of my aloofness & technophility. More desiring of seeing, experiencing and being. I am thankful for him and this book of poetry - 'Given' - like a breath of life to places once dead.
More real. More alive. More aware of the world. More ashamed of my aloofness & technophility. More desiring of seeing, experiencing and being. I am thankful for him and this book of poetry - 'Given' - like a breath of life to places once dead.
March 31, 2013
Very good! Mr. Berry captures nature, life, and contemplation in his words and hands them out in little gifts.
October 14, 2023
My pastor mentioned this author/poet/pastor and I was curious.
August 19, 2019
5 (Random) Thoughts
-This is my first Wendell Berry read. This collection of poetry, "Given," is centered around his belief in the beauty of a simple life with a thematic connective tissue of gratitude for the natural and spiritual gifts of a life well-lived. I am a total poetry rube, so I will mostly share a few quotes that I loved. This was an excellent introduction to his work, and I will continue to read Berry.
-Perhaps the greatest poem in a strong collection is the piece "How to be a Poet."
"Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no sacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places."
-There are a fair amount of discussion of poetry in early parts of the book. In the poem "Words" he starts out,
"What is one to make of a life given
to putting things into words,"
then at the end
"their own
sounds, their own silence, and thus
may know for a moment the nearness
of the world, its vastness,
its vast variousness, far and near,
which only silence knows. And then
we must call all things by name
out of the silence again to be with us,
or die of namelessness."
-For all his self referential and reflective writings he doesn't make a work that is too personal to relate to, and he uses humor to avoid the self-seriousness that I have often thought of poets. In a two line poem "Seventy Years" he writes;
"Well, anyhow, I am
not going to die young"
-As a Christian I am inspired by Berry's view on religion, which he refuses to box-in his faith, as we are often wont to do. He writes poems of religious power, but also sees praise in nature, and in small good deeds, like picking up garbage on the side of the road. And as a man driven by words, he is less interested in labels. In "Some Further Words" he writes,
"I think the issues of 'identity' mostly
are poppycock. We are what we have done,
which includes our promises, includes
our hopes, but promises first."
I could share more portions that I loved, and highlighted, but I would soon commit copyright. My book is highlighted in large part, and if I get to read it a few more times I'll probably have highlighted the whole thing.
-This is my first Wendell Berry read. This collection of poetry, "Given," is centered around his belief in the beauty of a simple life with a thematic connective tissue of gratitude for the natural and spiritual gifts of a life well-lived. I am a total poetry rube, so I will mostly share a few quotes that I loved. This was an excellent introduction to his work, and I will continue to read Berry.
-Perhaps the greatest poem in a strong collection is the piece "How to be a Poet."
"Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no sacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places."
-There are a fair amount of discussion of poetry in early parts of the book. In the poem "Words" he starts out,
"What is one to make of a life given
to putting things into words,"
then at the end
"their own
sounds, their own silence, and thus
may know for a moment the nearness
of the world, its vastness,
its vast variousness, far and near,
which only silence knows. And then
we must call all things by name
out of the silence again to be with us,
or die of namelessness."
-For all his self referential and reflective writings he doesn't make a work that is too personal to relate to, and he uses humor to avoid the self-seriousness that I have often thought of poets. In a two line poem "Seventy Years" he writes;
"Well, anyhow, I am
not going to die young"
-As a Christian I am inspired by Berry's view on religion, which he refuses to box-in his faith, as we are often wont to do. He writes poems of religious power, but also sees praise in nature, and in small good deeds, like picking up garbage on the side of the road. And as a man driven by words, he is less interested in labels. In "Some Further Words" he writes,
"I think the issues of 'identity' mostly
are poppycock. We are what we have done,
which includes our promises, includes
our hopes, but promises first."
I could share more portions that I loved, and highlighted, but I would soon commit copyright. My book is highlighted in large part, and if I get to read it a few more times I'll probably have highlighted the whole thing.
Read
October 29, 2023HOW TO BE A POET (pp. 18-19)
(to remind myself)
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill--more of each
than you have--inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your work,
doubt their judgment.
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensional life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.
---
(from Sabbaths, 2004, III)
This then may be the prayer without ceasing,
this beauty and gratitude, this moment.
---
Sabbaths, 2004, VIII
It takes all time to show eternity,
The longest shine of every perishing spark,
And every word and cry of every tongue
Must form the Word that calls the darkest dark
Of this world to its lasting dawn. Toward
That rising hour we bear our single hearts
Estranged as islands parted in the sea,
Our broken knowledge and our scattered arts.
As separate as fireflies or night windows,
We piece a foredream of the gathered light
Infinitely small and great to shelter all,
Silenced into song, blinded into sight.
(to remind myself)
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill--more of each
than you have--inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your work,
doubt their judgment.
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensional life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.
---
(from Sabbaths, 2004, III)
This then may be the prayer without ceasing,
this beauty and gratitude, this moment.
---
Sabbaths, 2004, VIII
It takes all time to show eternity,
The longest shine of every perishing spark,
And every word and cry of every tongue
Must form the Word that calls the darkest dark
Of this world to its lasting dawn. Toward
That rising hour we bear our single hearts
Estranged as islands parted in the sea,
Our broken knowledge and our scattered arts.
As separate as fireflies or night windows,
We piece a foredream of the gathered light
Infinitely small and great to shelter all,
Silenced into song, blinded into sight.
June 30, 2024
What a balm to the soul this book of poetry was! I found it at a local used bookshop. Wendell Berry's love for Nature, a simple life, and musings on goodness, beauty, and truth, made for a very spiritually nourishing read. My favorite poem from this book is "How To Be A Poet" which is posted below. I first became aware of this poem after watching a video of Malcolm Guite talking about his daily writing ritual.
"Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your poems,
doubt their judgment.
ii
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.
iii
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came."- Wendell Berry
"Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your poems,
doubt their judgment.
ii
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.
iii
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came."- Wendell Berry
July 25, 2020
Mostly I feel like these didn't do a whole lot for me. On a surface level, I like the fantasy of living in the woods away from humanity, or whatever, but when it comes down to it I think this sort of retreat or surrender just isn't satisfying and seems to represent a kind of misanthropy that isn't particularly compelling for me. I thought sections of this were also pretty boring and I scrolled through a lot of the Sabbath poems. I did like this one at the very beginning, though:
The young woodland remembers
the old, a dreamer dreaming
of an old holy book
an old set of instructions,
and the soil under the grass
is dreaming of a young forest,
and under the pavement the soil
is dreaming of grass.
The young woodland remembers
the old, a dreamer dreaming
of an old holy book
an old set of instructions,
and the soil under the grass
is dreaming of a young forest,
and under the pavement the soil
is dreaming of grass.
August 16, 2018
This is the first collection of Berry's poems I've ever read. To be honest, it's one of the first collections of poems I've read in general. Poetry can be tough. Obscure, opaque, difficult to understand.
But I love that a good poem forces you to slow down, to dig, to savor. It seems to me that Berry's poems (and poetry in general) are an antidote uniquely suited for the insanely-busy, instant-gratification world we live in now.
To quote that famous poem by William Blake, Berry is a master at seeing "a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wildflower." I commend these poems to you. #CasperReads2018 📚📚📚
But I love that a good poem forces you to slow down, to dig, to savor. It seems to me that Berry's poems (and poetry in general) are an antidote uniquely suited for the insanely-busy, instant-gratification world we live in now.
To quote that famous poem by William Blake, Berry is a master at seeing "a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wildflower." I commend these poems to you. #CasperReads2018 📚📚📚
January 3, 2018
Beautiful, reverent, honoring of nature and humanity and the God who created them. His simple style and careful, loving (but not sentimental) eye upon the world bring me to a sense of peace and rest, a sense of seeing more truthfully and carefully. As I read, my breathing slows and my appreciation for life grows. In particular, his Sabbath poems, and his writing about writing, moved and challenged me. I borrowed this volume from the local library, but will have to purchase it soon because these are poems to read and reread again.
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