Poems on Goldenrod
One very yellow plant, three poems of notice & praise
There are instances where art seems to appear already fully formed in the world. There are majestic sunsets and empty beaches in the morning, mountain ranges, pristine lakes, rolling hills. The grandeur of the natural world impresses itself upon us, or at least most of us, without much active participation on our end. These sights send a shiver through us that carries a message along the lines of, “I have just witnessed something that makes me understand my own smallness and appreciate the gift of my life,” “I know God and am awed,” or simply “this is amazing.”
If you are willing to become an active participant, willing to pay attention, you start noticing already fully formed art everywhere. Satisfying smallness, gifts, God, awe, amazing things. A favorite of mine is the sliver of moon that hangs in the morning sky (look up!). But what else? The large weeds that grow in the empty lot on 7th street where the church used to be, an older man holding his bouquet of bodega flowers down so that his square-headed chocolate lab can give them a sniff, the orange seats of an old subway car.
The sight of goldenrod in a field or on the side of the road probably falls somewhere in the middle. It’s electric enough to draw the notice of even the uninterested, and commonplace enough to hold a secret reward for those who spend an extra moment considering its electricity. Wherever it falls on the spectrum of attention-level-required, goldenrod is art fully formed. This is evidenced by the fact that there are so many poems that take it as their subject.
Since goldenrod begins to bloom this time of year, and carries on through the fall, I thought I’d share three poems I love that love goldenrod in turn. The last one is my favorite!
