Poem - Hirsh - Wild Gratitude

              Wild Gratitude

 

Tonight when I knelt down next to our cat, Zooey,

And put my fingers into her clean cat’s mouth,

And rubbed her swollen belly that will never know kittens,

And watched her wriggle onto her side, pawing the air,

And listened to her solemn little squeals of delight,

I was thinking about the poet, Christopher Smart,

Who wanted to kneel down and pray without ceasing

In every one of the splintered London streets,

 

And was locked away in the madhouse at St. Luke’s

With his sad religious mania, and his wild gratitude,

And his grave prayers for the other lunatics,

And his great love for his speckled cat, Jeoffry.

All day today—August 13, 1983—I remembered how

Christopher Smart blessed this same day in August, 1759,

For its calm bravery and ordinary good conscience.

 

This was the day that he blessed the Postmaster General

“And all conveyancers of letters” for their warm humanity,

And the gardeners for their private benevolence

And intricate knowledge of the language of flowers,

And the milkmen for their universal human kindness.

This morning I understood that he loved to hear—

As I have heard—the soft clink of milk bottles

On the rickety stairs in the early morning,

 

And how terrible it must have seemed

When even this small pleasure was denied him.

But it wasn’t until tonight when I knelt down

And slipped my hand into Zooey’s waggling mouth

That I remembered how he’d called Jeoffry “the servant

Of the Living God duly and daily serving Him,"

And for the first time understood what it meant.

Because it wasn’t until I saw my own cat

 

Whine and roll over on her fluffy back

That I realized how gratefully he had watched

Jeoffry fetch and carry his wooden cork

Across the grass in the wet garden, patiently

Jumping over a high stick, calmly sharpening

His claws on the woodpile, rubbing his nose

Against the nose of another cat, stretching, or

Slowly stalking his traditional enemy, the mouse,

A rodent, “a creature of great personal valour,"

And then dallying so much that his enemy escaped.

 

And only then did I understand

It is Jeoffry—and every creature like him—

Who can teach us how to praise—purring

In their own language,

Wreathing themselves in the living fire.

 

by Edward Hirsh, 1950

From Wild Gratitude by Edward Hirsch Copyright © 1986 by Edward Hirsch. Excerpted by permission of Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

As heard on Texas Poets Podcast, November, 2015