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Astley Neil - Soul Food

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Astley Neil Soul Food

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i SOUL FOOD Nourishing poems for starved minds Edited by Neil Astley Pamela - photo 1

i
SOUL FOOD
Nourishing poems for starved minds
Edited by Neil Astley & Pamela Robertson-Pearce Soul Food is a feast of thoughtful poems to stir the mind and feed the spirit. Drawn from many traditions, ranging from Rumi, Kabir and Blake, to Rilke, Emily Dickinson and Paul Celan, this wide-ranging selection includes enormously varied work by celebrated contemporary poets such as Jane Hirshfield, Denise Levertov, Thomas Merton and Mary Oliver, as well as by many lesser-known writers from all periods and places. The anthology opens with a series of poems on human life and spiritual sustenance, starting with Rumi: This being human is a guest house. / Each morning a new arrival The poems which follow explore many ways of keeping body and soul together, offering food for thought on knowing yourself, living with nature, who or what is God All are universal illuminations of the meaning of life, speaking to readers of all faiths as well as to searchers and non-believers. Soul Food shows how poetry can help feed our hunger for meaning in times of spiritual starvation. Soul Food includes Anna Akhmatova, Maya Angelou, Coleman Barks, William Blake, John Burnside, Paul Celan, Chuang-Tzu, Emily Dickinson, Thich Nhat Hanh, Jane Hirshfield, George Herbert, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Kabir, Jane Kenyon, Lal Ded (Lalla), DH Lawrence, Denise Levertov, Thomas Merton, Czesaw Miosz, Naomi Shihab Nye, Mary Oliver, Amrita Pritam, Rainer Maria Rilke, Rumi, St John of the Cross, Edith Sdergran, Anna Swir, Wisawa Szymborska, Shinkichi Takahashi, RS Thomas, and many others cover detail from
Still Life with Lemons, Orange and a Rose (1633)
by Francisco de Zurbarn (1598-1664) the norton simon foundation ii
v
Contents
  1. vi
  2. vii
  3. viii
  4. ix
To be great, be whole: dont exaggerate Or leave out any part of you.

Be complete in each thing. Put all you are Into the least of your acts. So too in each lake, with its lofty life, The whole moon shines. [14 February 1933] FERNANDO PESSOA
translated from the Portuguese
by
richard zenith

FROM
Auguries of Innocence
To see a world in a grain of sand And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour. WILLIAM BLAKE
This being human is a guesthouse. Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all! Even if theyre a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. RUMI
translated from the Persian
by coleman barks with john moyne

Chui the draftsman Could draw more perfect circles freehand Than with a compass.

His fingers brought forth Spontaneous forms from nowhere. His mind Was meanwhile free and without concern With what he was doing. No application was needed His mind was perfectly simple And knew no obstacle. So, when the shoe fits The foot is forgotten, When the belt fits The belly is forgotten, When the heart is right For and against are forgotten. No drives no compulsions, No needs, no attractions: Then your affairs Are under control. You are a free man.

Easy is right. Begin right And you are easy. Continue easy and you are right. The right way to go easy Is to forget the right way And forget that the going is easy. CHUANG-TZU
translated from the Chinese
by
thomas merton

In a corner of blue sky The mill of night whistles, A white thick smoke Pours from the moon-chimney. In dreams many furnaces Labourer love Is stoking all the fires I earn our meeting Holding you for a while, My days wages.

I buy my souls food Cook and eat it And set the empty pot in the corner. I warm my hands at the dying fire And lying down to rest Give God thanks. The mill of night whistles And from the moon-chimney Smoke rises, sign of hope. I eat what I earn Not yesterdays leftovers, And leave no grain for tomorrow. AMRITA PRITAM
translated from the Punjabi
by
charles brasch with amrita pritam

The Guest is inside you, and also inside me; you know the sprout is hidden inside the seed. We are all struggling; none of us has gone far.

Let your arrogance go, and look around inside. The blue sky opens out farther and farther, the daily sense of failure goes away, the damage I have done to myself fades, a million suns come forward with light, when I sit firmly in that world. I hear bells ringing that no one has shaken; inside love there is more joy than we know of; rain pours down, although the sky is clear of clouds; there are whole rivers of light. The universe is shot through in all parts by a single sort of love. How hard it is to feel that joy in all our four bodies! Those who hope to be reasonable about it fail. The arrogance of reason has separated us from that love.

With the word reason you already feel miles away. How lucky Kabir is, that surrounded by all this joy he sings inside his own little boat. His poems amount to one soul meeting another. These songs are about forgetting dying and loss. They rise above both coming in and going out. KABIR
translated from the Hindi
by
robert bly

Center of all centers, core of cores, almond self-enclosed and growing sweet all this universe, to the furthest stars and beyond them, is your flesh, your fruit.

Now you feel how nothing clings to you; your vast shell reaches into endless space, and there the rich, thick fluids rise and flow. Illuminated in your infinite peace, a billion stars go spinning through the night, blazing high above your head. But in you is the presence that will be, when all the stars are dead. RAINER MARIA RILKE
translated from the German
by
stephen mitchell

The hearts reasons seen clearly, even the hardest will carry its whip-marks and sadness and must be forgiven. As the drought-starved eland forgives the drought-starved lion who finally takes her, enters willingly then the life she cannot refuse, and is lion, is fed, and does not remember the other. So few grains of happiness measured against all the dark and still the scales balance.

The world asks of us only the strength we have and we give it. Then it asks more, and we give it. JANE HIRSHFIELD

I am the blossom pressed in a book, found again after two hundred years. I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper. When the young girl who starves sits down to a table she will sit beside me. I am food on the prisoners plate.

I am water rushing to the wellhead, filling the pitcher until it spills. I am the patient gardener of the dry and weedy garden. I am the stone step, the latch, and the working hinge. I am the heart contracted by joy the longest hair, white before the rest. I am there in the basket of fruit presented to the widow. I am the musk rose opening unattended, the fern on the boggy summit.

I am the one whose love overcomes you, already with you when you think to call my name.

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