to be of use

Let me begin by acknowledging then inherent dangers when a blog entry comments upon a poem. But that is what I am about to do. This is a love poem that I would hope to share with my industrious friends. It reminds me that love and delight can (or should) be part-and-parcel of work. However, this isn't the old-fashioned Protestant work ethic. It's something perhaps less spiritual and more aesthetically pleasing.

Below I excerpt the beginning, and later the end, of Marge Piercy's poem "To Be of Use"…

The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half submerged balls.

One thing about the preceding passage is the sense that I could rapidly be left behind. Others have made the leap and are moving forward. It seems what they are doing is natural and purposeful. If I hesitate, the moment will be lost.

But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

This took a few readings to appreciate. I recall seeing a vessel in a museum that was shielded by glass from my curious fingers. It seemed odd that this very practical container had no purpose except as something on display. I wondered if the object was embarrassed by the attention it received and ashamed that it was prohibited from the purpose for which it was designed. And I imagined the exhiliration it might feel if was allowed to once again be put to use.