Antonio Machado
The wind, one brilliant day
The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
"In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I’d like all the odor of your roses."
"I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead."
"Well then, I’ll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain."
The wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
"What have you done with the garden that was entrusted
to you?"
I first ran across a reference to this haunting poem in The Sun Magazine (May 2004). The poet, Robert Bly quoted from the poem as a way of explaining why he writes. Subsequently, I sought out the poem so I could read it and keep it in my thoughts. Like Bly, I worry about my garden--are my flowers dying from lack of care?
The garden is the symbol of the self, as is the rose. Thus our creative life is of utmost importance to the cultivation of our garden. If we don't tend to our creative life, our garden will die.
How would I answer the wind, if it came to me asking for the odor of my roses?
*In the same interview, Bly quotes Wallace Stevens, the poet: "In excess continual, there is a cure for sorrow."
Nature, like our imagination, is prodigious!
The poet, Robert Bly
5 comments:
This can be applied to so many parts of our lives. The odor of jasmine is lust while the dried petals, water and leaves is our love.
I remember being similarly touched by the poem when I saw it in The Sun. It is a warning to us all, as we rush through our lives, focusing only on the pragmatic, the "if I don't get this done, something terrible will happen" priorities (not that anything terrible ever does happen). I am a victim of that attitude all too often, and forget that my garden is at the center of my soul and as such, needs tending more than any practical matter. For with a neglected soul, what are we? Who are we?
Great poem.. made me reflect upon myself.. thanks for sharing that . :)
Ah....welcome wind-the fragrance of my roses has been waiting for you! _rRose
Super Congrats on your recent Editor's pick!
My garden is sere and dry, Theresa. I keep returning to this poem for nourishment.
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