amani poetry book 2013 cover · !16 juana de ibarborou, lahiguera*thefigtree...
TRANSCRIPT
Amani Poetry 2013
Introduction On January 6 this year, when we didn’t yet have any students, and very li5le to prove that Amani Ins;tute was even going to exist, let alone have a successful year, I wrote the following email to my colleagues and a couple of close advisors: !
GeBng 15 students for our first class is our aspira;on. Because it’s an aspira;on, it also means it will be a long year, full of challenges and moments of doubt and fear, but also full of the joy of ar;s;c crea;on. Because -‐ don't ever forget -‐ what we are doing here is Art. We're building something deep, at a depth that doesn't yet exist in our field (that's the biggest reason its worth doing). And we're crea;ng a business model for it, maybe the biggest challenge of all but also one that ar;sts everywhere have faced for millennia. !To remind us of this art we are crea;ng above our daily work of marke;ng, databases, work permits, mee;ngs, Nairobi traffic and poor internet speeds, fundraising, and logis;cs -‐ I'm going to send around a weekly poetry medita;on to keep us inspired, grounded, balanced, and gazing at the horizon as well as the ground in front of us. !
The idea of organiza;on building as ar;stry came from the wri;ngs of Seth Godin. And using poetry to call this out from a wonderful book called Leading from Within: Poetry that Sustains the Courage to Lead. My belief in the importance of embracing and slowly uncovering the ar;stry inherent in our enterprise strengthened aVer one of our guest speakers, Jaap Warmenhoven, began his session with the ques;on “Do all leaders need to be ar;sts?” What Jaap was geBng at is that oVen;mes the insight that leads to solu;ons to our problems comes from paying a5en;on to the ‘undercurrents’ in society and in our working environments – and that ar;sts are more adept at harnessing these undercurrents in crea;ve and useful ways. !Predictably, the ‘weekly’ poem quickly dissolved into coming every two or three weeks. But we also found ourselves including poetry in our classes from ;me to ;me, and also some;mes as a ‘giV’ to people who came to our public events. LeVover printed poems went up in the bathrooms at the Amani Ins;tute. It wasn’t the only way we tried to embed art in the fabric of our work this year, but it was a fun experiment to conduct. !The 24 poems (many are simply excerpts of longer poems) that follow include both those we read as a team and those we used in class (the la5er are indicated as such). We hope you enjoy them as much as we did – and that they are a source of inspira;on or contempla;on for you as you head into 2014. !Thank you for your contribu;on to our work this year. Whether sharing ;me or exper;se or cash, or enrolling in our programs, or simply cheerleading, it meant an enormous amount to a young and fledgling team trying, perhaps quixo;cally, to make art in the world.
Amani Poetry 2013
Roshan Paul Co-‐Founder, Amani Ins;tute
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Reinhold Niebuhr, from The Irony of American History
The Kiss by Klimt
Nothing worth doing is completed in our life4me; therefore, we are saved by hope. Nothing true or beau4ful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore, we are saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore, we are saved by love.
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Wendell Berry, from Sabbaths
Girl asleep at a table by Picasso
The hand must ache, the face must sweat.And yet no leaf or grain is filledBy work of ours; the field is 4lledAnd leB to grace. That we may reap, Great work is done while we’re asleep.
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Charles Bukowski, from The Laughing Heart
Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh
your life is your lifedon’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.be on the watch.there are ways out.there is a light somewhere.it may not be much light butit beats the darkness.be on the watch.the gods will offer you chances.know them.take them.you can’t beat death butyou can beat death in life, some4mes.and the more oBen you learn to do it, the more light there will be.your life is your life.know it while you have it.you are marvelousthe gods wait to delightin you.!
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William Stafford, from The Way It Is
The Persistence of Memory by Salvador Dalí
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among things that change. But it doesn’t change.People wonder about what you are pursuing.You have to explain about the thread.But it is hard for others to see.While you hold it you can’t get lost.Tragedies happen; people get hurtor die; and you suffer and get old.Nothing you do can stop 4me’s unfolding.You don’t ever let go of the thread. !!
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from Becalmed
The Tenth Wave by Ivan Konstantinovich
Becalmed upon the sea of Thought, S4ll unaKained the land it sought, My mind, with loosely-‐hanging sails, Lies wai4ng auspicious gales.…Blow, breath of song! un4l I feelThe straining sail, the liBing keel, The life of the awakening sea, Its mo4on and its mystery! !!
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Judy Brown, from Fire
Burning of Lords & Commons by Joseph Mallord Wiliam Turner
What makes a fire burnis space between the logs, a breathing space.…So building firesrequires aKen4onto the spaces in between, as much as to the wood.…A firegrowssimply because the space is there, with openingsin which the flame that knows just how it wants to burncan find its way. !!
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Lord Byron, from Stanzas
Freedom for the people by Eugene Delacroix
To do good to mankind is the chivalrous planAnd is always as nobly requited
Then baKle for freedom wherever you canAnd if not shot or hanged, you’ll be
knighted.!!
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Colson Whitehead, from How to Write*
Painting Poem by Joan Miró
Don’t go searching for a subject, let your subject find you. You can’t rush inspira4on.Once your subject finds you, it’s like falling in love. It will be your constant companion. Shadowing you, peeping in your windows, calling you at all hours to leave messages like “Only you understand me.” Your ideal subject should be like A stalker with limitless resources.Don’t be afraid: You have a best seller on your hands.!!!* Originally not a poem as such, but an op-‐ed in the New York Times !
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John O’Donohue, from For Presence
Before celebration by Leonid Afremov
Awaken to the mystery of being here and enter the quiet immensity of your own presence.Have joy and peace in the temple of your senses.Receive encouragement when new fron4ers beckon.Respond to the call of your giB and the courage tofollow its path.Let the flame of anger free you of all falsity.May warmth of heart keep your presence aflame.May anxiety never linger about you.May your outer dignity mirror an inner dignity of soul.Take 4me to celebrate the quiet miracles that seek no aKen4on.
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Marge Piercy, from The Seven of Pentacles
Irises by Claude Monet
Connec4ons are made slowly, some4mes they grow underground.You cannot tell always by looking what is happening. More than half the tree is spread out in the soil under your feet. Penetrate quietly as the earthworm that blows no trumpet. Fight persistently as the creeper that brings down the tree. Spread like the squash plant that overruns the garden. Gnaw in the dark and use the sun to make sugar. …Live as if you liked yourself, and it may happen: reach out, keep reaching out, keep bringing in. This is how we are going to live for a long 4me: not always, for every gardener knows that aBer the digging, aBer the plan4ng,
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Oriah Mountain Dreamer, from The Invitation
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of mee4ng your heart's longing. !It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream for the adventure of being alive. !It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. !I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it
or fix it. !I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the 4ps of your fingers and toes without cau4oning us to be careful be realis4c to remember the limita4ons of being human. … I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine and s4ll stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon 'Yes.' !It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up aBer the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children. !
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back. !It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. !I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments. !!!
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Sonia Sanchez, from Catch the Fire
I say— Where is your fire? !You got to find it and pass it on. You got to find it and pass it on from you to me from me to her from her to him from the son to the father from the brother to the sister from the daughter to the mother from the mother to the child. !Where is your fire? I say where is your fire? … The fire of pyramids; The fire that burned through the holes of slaveships and made us breathe; !The fire that made guts into chiKerlings; The fire that took rhythms and made jazz; !The fire of sit-‐ins and marches that made us jump boundaries and barriers;
… Catch the fire and burn with eyes that see our souls: WALKING. SINGING. BUILDING. LAUGHING. LEARNING. LOVING. TEACHING. BEING. … Catch the fire…and live. livelivelive. livelivelive. live. live. !!
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Billy Joel, from The River of Dreams
Daily painting dreaming by Carolee Clark
We all end in the oceans, We all start in the streams, And we’re all carried along, By the River of Dreams !!
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Mary Oliver, from The Summer Day*
Man and Woman by Fernando Botero
!* Distributed as a gi. during the opening of the Amani Ins7tute, June 7 !
Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean-‐
the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is ea7ng sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-‐
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she li.s her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay aLen7on, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
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William Ayot, from The Contract* A word from the led
And in the end we follow them -‐not because we are paid, not because we might see some advantage,not because of the things they have accomplished, not even because of the dreams they dream but simply because of who they are: the man, the woman, the leader, the boss, standing up there when the wave hits the rock, passing out faith and confidence like life jackets, knowing the currents, holding the doubts, imagining the delights and terrors of every landfall; captain, pirate, and parent by turns, the bearer of our countless hopes and expecta7ons.We give them our trust. We give them our effort.What we ask in return is that they stay true. !* Distributed in course on Storytelling as a Leadership Skill, July 27-‐28
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Juana de Ibarborou, La Higuera* The Fig Tree Porque es áspera y fea, porque todas sus ramas son grises yo le tengo piedad a la higuera. En mi quinta hay cien árboles bellos: ciruelos redondos, limoneros rectos y naranjos de brotes lustrosos. En las primaveras todos ellos se cubren de flores en torno a la higuera. Y la pobre parece tan triste con sus gajos torcidos, que nunca de apretados capullos se viste. !!!!!!
Por eso, cada vez que yo paso a su lado digo, procurando hacer dulce y alegre mi acento: «Es la higuera el más bello de los árboles todos del huerto.» Si ella escucha, si comprende el idioma en que hablo, ¡qué dulzura tan honda hará nido en su alma sensible de árbol! Y tal vez, a la noche, cuando el viento abanique su copa, embriagada de gozo le cuente: -‐¡Hoy a mí me dijeron hermosa!
Amani Poetry 2013
Why is it harsh and ugly, why are all the branches grey, I feel sorry for the fig tree. On my manor there are hundred beau;ful trees: round plum trees, straight lemon trees, orange trees with shiny blossoms. In spring ;me they all are covered with flowers around the fig tree. Only the poor one seems forlorn with its twisted branches that are never dressed in buds. Therefore every ;me I pass it I say, trying !!!
to give a soA tone to my voice: !"It is the most beau;ful fig tree among all the trees in the garden". If it listens If it understands the tongue I am speaking, what a sweet grace will nestle in its sensi;ve soul of the tree! And, may be at night, when the wind is fanning its crown, drunk with joy it may tell: Today they told me I am beau;ful!
* Recited by Amani graduate Mily Dallacamina during a class exercise on learning from nature, June 4
John Fox, from When Someone Deeply Listens To You*
Communication Collage by Michèle Meister
!* Distributed as input to Student Mentors and Peer-‐Coaches, June 14
When someone deeply listens to youit is like holding out a dented cup
you've had since childhoodand watching it fill up with
cold, fresh water.When it balances on top of the brim,
you are understood.When it overflows and touches your skin,
you are loved. !When someone deeply listens to you
the room where you staystarts a new life
and the place where you wrote your first poem
begins to glow in your mind's eye. It is as if gold has been discovered! !
When someone deeply listens to youyour bare feet are on the earth
and a beloved land that seemed distant is now at home within you. !
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William Ernest Henley, from Invictus*
* Distributed in class on Vision – a case-‐study on Nelson Mandela, June 28
Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud.Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.Beyond this place of wrath and tearsLooms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the yearsFinds, and shall find, me unafraid.It maders not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll.I am the master of my fate:I am the captain of my soul. !
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Sri Aurobindo, from Savitri
Egyptian Goddess Maat Balance Painting
In a contrary balance to earth's truth of things The gross weighs less, the subtle counts for more;
On inner values hangs the outer plan !!!
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Johann Wolfgang von Goethe*
Ungl one is commided, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back.Concerning all acts of inigagve and creagon, there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meegngs and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now. !!!* Originally not a poem !!
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Rumi, from Out Beyond Ideas
Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte by Georges-Pierre Seurat
Out beyond ideas of wrong-‐doing and right-‐doing,
there is a field.I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.Ideas, language, even the phrase
each otherdoesn't make any sense.
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David Whyte, from What to Remember When Waking*
In that first hardly nogced moment in which you wake,coming back to this life from the other more secret, moveable and frighteningly honest worldwhere everything began, there is a small opening into the new day which closes the moment you begin your plans. What you can plan is too small for you to live.What you can live wholeheartedly will make plans enoughfor the vitality hidden in your sleep. To be human is to become visible while carrying what is hidden as a gii to others.To remember the other world in this worldis to live in your true inheritance.You are not a troubled guest on this earth, you are not an accident amidst other accidentsyou were invited from another and greater night
than the one from which you have just emerged.Now, looking through the slangng light of the morning windowtoward the mountain presence of everything that can bewhat urgency calls you to your one love?What shape waits in the seed of youto grow and spread its branchesagainst a future sky?Is it waigng in the fergle sea?In the trees beyond the house?In the life you can imagine for yourself?In the open and lovely white page on the wrigng desk? !!* Recited by Guest Speaker Mar;n Cadee during a class on The Hero’s Journey, October 20 !
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Herman Hesse, from Steps*
Sunrise by Claude Monet
As every blossom fadesand all youth sinks into old age, so every life’s design, each flower of wisdom, adains its prime and cannot last forever.The heart must submit itself courageously to life’s call without a hint of grief, A magic dwells in each beginning, protecgng us, telling us how to live. High purposed we shall traverse realm on realm, cleaving to none as to a home, the world of spirit wishes not to feder usbut raise us higher, step by step.Scarce in some safe accustomed sphere of life have we establish a house, then we grow lax; only he who is ready to journey forthcan throw old habits off. Maybe death’s hour too will send us out new-‐borntowards undreamed-‐lands, maybe life’s call to us will never find an endCourage my heart, take leave and fare thee well. !* Distributed as a Final GiA to the First Gradua;ng Class, October 28
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Kofi Awonoor, Rediscovery*
When our tears are dry on the shoreand the fishermen carry their nets home and the seagulls return to bird island
and the laughter of the children recedes at night there shall sgll linger the communion we forgedthe feast of oneness whose ritual we partook of
There shall sgll be the eternal gatemanwho will close the cemetery doorsand send the late mourners away
It cannot be the music we heard that night that sgll lingers in the chambers of memory
It is the new chorus of our forgoden comradesand the hallelujahs of our second selves
!!!* Our final staff poem of the year was chosen in honor of Ghanian poet Kofi Awonoor who was, tragically, a casualty in the Westgate
Mall terrorist aWack that shook Nairobi and the world in September 2013.
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