Maxine Hong Birdsong Essay

“The Poet’s day will be moment upon moment of gladsomeness,” writes Maxine Hong Kingston in her book To Be the Poet. “Poets do whatever they like.”
I take a walk in Wissahickon Park after dropping my twins at their school. The trails are muddy from heavy rains and temporary streams have formed along my path. (I have an hour before I need to open my laptop and get to work on my day job; not all poets do whatever they like.) The fuscia flowers of the redbud tree are brilliant against the green of early leafing shrubs. Birdsong is all around me. I note some of the birds--if they are bright enough and close enough to the trail or I recognize their song. A few chipmunks scurry among the leaves on the forest floor. A cardinal lights on a branch nearby, a red flash. A robin lands on the trail ahead, scraping his yellow beak against a rock.
Poetry is about paying attention.
Paying attention is what poet Mary Oliver calls “our endless and proper work.”
The practice of poetry, like yoga, meditation, exercise or any other practice prepares us for paying attention. Attentiveness is the goal itself. “My definition of magic in the human personality, in fiction and in poetry, is the ultimate level of attentiveness,” the late poet and novelist Jim Harrison said in an interview with the Paris Review.
As with Alison Deming’s note-taking, whether we get anything “done” or accomplished in terms of a draft or a finished poem is beside the point. The act of practice alone will make it easier to get work done and make us more receptive, more available.
According to author and Zen practitioner, Jack Ricchiuto, we need to listen more. “It’s like the story of the student who goes to the Zen master and is told to listen for a long time. ‘What do I do after I’ve listened for a long time?’ the student asks. ‘Listen more,’ says the