As a poet, I have simply grown all my life in my love of words.
In honor of that love, I offer this poem by Gregory Orr:
GREGORY ORR
ODE TO WORDS
They cluster at tongue-tip,
The points of pens.
Our dream is to shape them
Into word-ships.
Riding
The wild river of this world.
1. How It All Went Wrong
The Bible says
Adam brought
Trouble
Into the world
With his small
Pink slab of muscle.
But if God didn’t
Want it to happen,
Why did He
Give him a tongue?
2.
“God so loved the word
He gave his only
Begotten world
That it might be
Redeemed.”
I think the preacher
Used to say that
In my church
When I was a kid.
Then again, I could
Have gotten it wrong—
Back then
I wasn’t really listening.
3. Gospel Talk
“And the word
Was made
Fresh”–
Each one
Baked daily.
It’s the bread
By which we live.
4. Minor Miracles
Taking the empty air
Deep in our lungs,
Warming it there,
Extracting from it
What our blood needs,
Then breathing it back
Out as sound
We’ve added meaning to.
5.
Sometimes the world seems
So far away, so
Distant from me,
That I find myself
Using words as a lens
To observe it–
To bring it into focus
And pull it close.
Nor does accuracy
Always matter most:
“Doggie, doggie!”
The child cries with glee,
Pointing at the cat
That has just entered the room.
6.
“Watch out for the undertoad,”
Was what she heard her father
Shout above the waves—
That a word misheard could create
Such a creature
And feed her childhood fears.
Or how I mistyped “undertow”
As “undertown”
And found myself inhabiting
A city beneath the sea
Where everything moved slowly
And breathed chains of bubbles
That rose toward the upper world,
A tethering of pearls.
Something in words that’s perverse,
That wants to be beyond
What we understand and control—
Something above or below.
7.
The word “also”–
How it seems to know
We want more,
Need more,
That our greed
Is, in some
Sense, inexhaustible.
How it senses we’ll
Never get enough
Of poems and songs,
Or the body
Of the beloved.
Not to mention
The world–
How much we crave it.
The world, also.
8.
The word is exempt from
The world’s flaws–
“Leaf” is complete,
Unscarred by insect
Or wind-tossed twig,
Yet it is an essence
That implicates the world
As a wound implies a body.
9.
Sometimes, when we’re
In the right mood,
Words are the least
Of it–
We don’t need
To speak,
Or even listen.
We can let our mouth
Explore
The mango’s song,
Or stroll across
The bridge
Of the nose
To the poem of the rose.
10.
Long “a” lounging, naked
In the leafy shade;
Then the low,
Lubricious moan of “o.”
The high “e” of grief.
And “u”– who
Could ever forget you?
“I” could never.
“Y” would I even try?
Vowels that rise
From our open throats…
Not to mention consonants,
Thick as sinew,
That our teeth bite into.
11.
Outside our bodies, things
Wait to be named,
To be saved.
And don’t they deserve it?
So much hidden inside
Each one,
Such a longing
To become the beloved.
Meanwhile, the sounds
Crowd our mouths,
Press up against
Our lips
Which
Are such
A narrow exit
For a joy so desperate.
12.
When I was young
I was always eager
To learn new words.
How many there were!
Now, I’m old.
I still learn new ones,
But I forget
More and more
Of those I once knew.
When I was young
I couldn’t have imagined
The time would come
When I’d need so few.
13.
The word “mockingbird”–
It’s poised in your mouth
Same as the bird itself
Pauses on the dogwood branch.
When the bird flies away,
The word remains.
Look, now it’s right there–
Singing on the page.
14.
Words, how I loved you
Then– when I
Was young
And you led me
Out of the dark!
How I love you now
Even more,
As the dark approaches.
15.
I always assumed
It was words
I was after–
Those shining
Fish
The poem’s net gets.
But what if it was
The sea
Itself
I was trying
To haul on deck?
Scattered Showers in a Clear Sky 