Ode to Pablo Neruda’s Odes
The socks,
the book,
the storm,
the fallen chestnut,
the watch,
the tomato,
laziness,
Pablo’s odes are
tropical fish in a tank,
darting back and forth,
reaching for sky,
coming up for air,
going down deep
for sunken treasure, the
nourishment of the mundane.
When the ordinary gets
the special treatment
and seems to deserve
every bit of it,
there is nothing
unworthy of praise;
no stone, pebble,
clod, or mote
is undeserving.
O, Pablo’s odes,
teach me how to do that.
I want the tank of my poetry,
the record of the day to day,
to be that lively, that swimming,
that vivid, coming up for air
and digging deep,
turning what is often overlooked
or ignored into something
reverential, monumental,
as vast as the ocean is wide,
commensurate to prayer, song, or
the dance of a thousand enchanted drummers.
michael jarmer 