| Summer Morning |
| I love to stretch Like this naked On my bed in the morning; Quiet, listening: Outside they are opening Their primers In the little school Of the cornfield. There is a smell of damp hay, Of horses, of summer sky, Of laziness, of eternal life. I know all the dark places Where the sun hasn't reached yet, Where the singing has just ceased In the hidden aviaries of the crickets- Anthills where it goes on raining- Slumbering spiders dreaming of wedding dresser. I pass over the farmhouses Where the little mouthes open to suck, Barnyards where a man, naked to waist, Washes his face witha hose, Where the dishes begin to rattle in the kitchen. The good tree with its voices Of a mountain brook Knows my steps It hushes. I stop and listen: Somewhere close by A stone cracks a Knuckle, Another truns over in its steep. I hear a butterfly stirring In the tiny soul of the caterpiller. I hear the dust dreaming Of eyes and great winds. further ahead, someone Even more silent Passes over the grass without beading it. -And all of a sudden In the midst of that silence It seems possible To live simply On the earth. -Charles Simic- b.1938 |
| The poet's intention of writing this poem is that people tend to go through life without noticing or enjoyng the good and wonderful things surrounding them: "And all of a sudden/ In the midest of that silence/ It seems possible/ To live simply/ On the earth" (ll.39-43). The poet wakes up in the morning and simply lies there enjoying the summer morning: "I love to stretch/ Like this naked/ On my bed in the morning;/ Quiet, listening" (ll.1-4). By slowing down and enjoying the day, he notices the little details of life: "Barnyards where a man, naked to waist/ Washes his face with a hose,/ Where the dishes bein to rattle in the kitchen" (ll.10-12). The poet does things people seems not to ahve anymore time for because of new technologies and fast pace lives. The poet stops and simply listens to mother nature and carefreely dreams about their time together: "I hear a butterfly stiring/ In the timy soul of hte caterpiller/ I hear the dust dreaming of eyes and great winds" (ll.31-34). The poet personifies some things in this poem to make it more interesting. "The good tree with its voices/ of a mountain brook/ knows my steps/ It hushes" (ll.23-26): The wind brushes throught the trees to make it sound like voices and once it hears the poet, it hushes and all is silent. "I stop and listens:/ Somewhere close by/ A stone cracks a knuckle,/Another turns over in its sleep" (ll.27-30): The poet stops and hears the wind blowing over the small stones and making them move whick causes them to make sound. This poem reminds me of times when i was living back in Taiwan. I used to live in hte country sides and I would notice all the little details fo mother nature: "I hear a butterfly stirring/ In the tiny soul of the caterpiller" (ll.31-32). When I woke up in the morning, I used to be able to hear the sounds of mother nature instead of traffic and people talking: "On my bed in the morning;/ Quiet, listening" (ll.3-4). I used to be able to walk anywhere I wanted to and be able to listen to the silence surrounding me: "The good tree with its voices/ Of a mountain brook/ knows my steps/ It hushes" (ll.23-26). |