All Poetry, Continued

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Yesterday, my post was interrupted by the need to attend to family. As I drove the 3 hours to be with my daughter as she gave birth, I prayed. 

 As I prayed, I thought about the tile from Ireland, sent by my friend, Jeanne.  I thought of the tile that sits beside my desk, where I can see it, daily. I thought of the tile that had me chewing on words and meanings.

 All poetry is prayer, Beckett wrote. Were my prayers poetry? As I drove through the rain to Maine, were the prayers I said poetry?

 Creator,
be with my daughter
until I can stand by her side.
Momma, be with her -
let her feel your presence -
Calm any fears she may have.
Dear Jesus,
guide me to the hospital safely.
Thank you, God for all my blessings.
Poetry, by definition, is a "rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative, or elevated thoughts; verse."  My thoughts were definitely elevated!  Given that, they were a form of poetry.

 But, what of the meaning of prayer? Do prayer and poetry have a connection?

Yesterday, I said I would research the meanings of prayer, which I did. What I found was that there are multiple meanings (no surprise for English words, very seldom do you find one simple meaning for a word!) The first six definitions in Dictionary.com are related to the religious/spiritual use of the word. However, the last three definitions are a wee bit more inclusive: 7. a petition; entreaty. 8. the section of a bill in equity, or of a petition, that sets forth the complaint or the action desired. 9. a negligible hope or chance.

This is where I begin to see Beckett's point. Poetry is most often a form of petition or entreaty - a call to someone or something for help, recognition, love, etc.  Poetry often aspires to bring us the possibility of something to hope for, some minute chance of better days, of happiness of dreams coming true.

 As I drove to Maine, yesterday, my prayers were most definitely petitions. I have never been able to get to the hospital in time to see my grandchildren born. I always head to the hospital, simply praying for the health and safety of my daughter and her child, never thinking that I will make it before the baby is born. 

This time, however, I made it! Dashiell Lawrence was born about an hour and a half after I arrived. In a room of eight, suddenly there were nine. Talk about miracles!


I give thanks for this blessing. I give thanks that both my daughter and her son are healthy. I give thanks for yet another little being to love and cherish.

All poetry is prayer and all prayer is poetry.  Thank you, Samuel Beckett for this lovely lesson! 

 Blessings to all!

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