James Wright's poem, "A Blessing"

This morning a friend who was leading our meditation group recited a poem that has long been a favorite of mine, but which I'd never heard read aloud. If one is truly listening, and the reader at least passably skillful at the demanding task of reading poetry aloud well (alas, less common among contemporary poets than one would wish), there is a distinctive pleasure to be had in the hearing. I put it this way for the moment: The poem, in effect, is lifted above the page, comes alive in a different way than when read in privacy — not to say better, but different. So I wish I could offer the poem read aloud, as well as here on the page of Reckonings: alas, not possible, at least to one of my technical skill.

The poem was James Wright's "A Blessing."

 

A Blessing

 

 

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,

Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.

And the eyes of those two Indian ponies

Darken with kindness.

They have come gladly out of the willows

To welcome my friend and me.

We step over the barbed wire into the pasture

Where they have been grazing all day, alone.

They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness   

That we have come.

They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.

There is no loneliness like theirs.   

At home once more,

They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.   

I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,

For she has walked over to me   

And nuzzled my left hand.   

She is black and white,

Her mane falls wild on her forehead,

And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear

That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.

Suddenly I realize

That if I stepped out of my body I would break

Into blossom.

 

                — James Wright

 

 

I am now so close to my re-experiencing of the poem that I have no desire to wade into discussion of its meaning, except to say what comes clear in its last lines: how lingering with the ponies inspires the poet's experience of transcendence. I say lingering, but it isn't a matter of time's quantity, rather of its quality. Wright's friend, the poet Robert Bly, wrote of his memory of the occasion for its composition: "One day James and I were driving back to Minneapolis from a visit with Christina and Bill Duffy at their farm in Pine Island, Minnesota. Christina loved horses, had been a rider in Sweden, and continued to keep horses here. So horses were very much on both our minds. Just south of Rochester [Minnesota], James saw two ponies off to the left and said, "Let’s stop." So we did, and climbed over the fence toward them. We stayed only a few minutes, but they glowed in the dusk, and we could see it. On the way to Minneapolis James wrote in his small spiral notebook the poem he later called "A Blessing."