I can't quit thinking about these two poems -- two poems that I read from my phone in Seattle, Washington, which is odd considering poetry being read form a telephone at all, and even more odd given the circumstances of the reading, which, alas, is a more adventurous and maybe daunting story itself. Or, plainly, not fit for here. But I will say Olympia remains a pull in my life, and maybe it is the rain rain, maybe, or the dark soil and lightening high trees, or the faces, white minnows of eyes all the way against the coast. Like frogs climbing out of a tub, but enjoying it. Whale-hunters, clam-shuckers, banshee-stirrers, bank-men, brake-men and the like. Someone decided to move to the edge of the earth, and folks on the east coast decided not to. Beyond that, there is a feeling in the Northwest that the ship is ever-keeling, abrupt and always uneasy. With a stir and tumble, tides find Pioneer Square, and everything weighs of salt but tastes a bit more free. This is not the West, gentlemen, this is the North West. And the last time I visit will be the last time I make it through another long winter without some new plan of heading out. There is always the howl of a good high hill getting lonely, and there is always the restless edge of somewhere just up the road.   

Poems from a few days near Olympia:

Tracks

by Ted Kooser

Using a cobbler's shoe last

I found one summer at a yard sale,

and the heavy leather uppers

from cast-off boots, a jigsaw,

some wood, an awl and thread,

and a few evenings sitting alone

thinking of you, I have fashioned

a pair of red valentine shoes

with heart-shaped wooden heels.

Look for my tracks on your doorstep

where I stood with sore feet

through the evening, too timid do knock.

"Tracks" by Ted Kooser, from Valentines. © University of Nebraska Press, 2008.

--

Who is Silvia? what is she,

 by William Shakespeare

 

Who is Silvia? what is she,

   That all our swains commend her?

Holy, fair, and wise is she:

   The heaven such grace did lend her,

That she might admired be.

 

Is she kind as she is fair?

   For beauty lives with kindness:

Love doth to her eyes repair,

   To help him of his blindness;

And, being help'd, inhabits there.

 

Then to Silvia let us sing,

   That Silvia is excelling;

She excels each mortal thing

   Upon the dull earth dwelling;

To her let us garlands bring.

And "Who is Silvia? What is she,..." by William Shakespeare. Public Domain