Poet Jane Hirshfield said "... the feeling I have about poem-writing (is) that it is always an exploration, of discovering something I didn't already know.  Who I am shifts from moment to moment, year to year.  What I can perceive does as well.  A new poem peers into mystery, into whatever lies just beyond the edge of knowable ground."

I bring a different poem to the writing classes each week, not only to inspire but to introduce new poets to the group members.

Under a Certain Little Star by Wislawa Szymborska

I apologize to coincidence for calling it necessity.
I apologize to necessity just in case I'm mistaken.
Let happiness be not angry that I take it as my own.
Let the dead not remember they scarcely smolder in my memory. 
I apologize to time for the muchness of the world overlooked 
per second. I apologize to old love for regarding the new as the first. Forgive me, far-off wars, for bringing flowers home. Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger. I apologize to those who cry out of the depths for the minuet-record. I apologize to people at railway stations for sleeping at five in
the morning. Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing now and again. Pardon me, deserts, for not rushing up with a spoonful of water. And you, O falcon, the same these many years, in that same cage, forever staring motionless at that self-same spot, absolve me, even though you are but a stuffed bird. I apologize to the cut-down tree for the table's four legs. I apologize to big questions for small answers. O Truth, do not pay me too much heed. O Solemnity, be magnanimous unto me. Endure, mystery of existence, that I pluck out the threads of your
train. Accuse me not, O soul, of possessing you but seldom. I apologize to everything that I cannot be everywhere. I apologize to everyone that I cannot be every man and woman. I know that as long as I live nothing can justify me, because I myself am an obstacle to myself. Take it not amiss, O speech, that I borrow weighty words, and later try hard to make them seem light. ~Translated from the Polish by Magnus J. Krynski and Robert
A. Maguire, from The Vintage Book of Contemporary World Poetry

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