“I Know of Nothing Else but Miracles”
This is my kitchen, and until a few minutes ago our landlord’s daughter was sitting at the table with me. Isn’t it refreshing to know that there are still teenaged girls in the world who are shy about having their photos posted on the internet? So you’ll have to imagine her—sixteen, smallish, with thick black hair and deep dark eyes. She’s preparing for a big set of exams at school next month, and she asked if I would help her with English review. I was delighted!
So we’ve been sitting at the table together for an hour or so each day, pouring over her books. We’ve reviewed modals and articles, similes and metaphors. We’ve read poems and short stories. Her English is very good, and she enjoys the review, especially the poetry! Yesterday we read Walt Whitman’s “Miracles.” It begins like this:
WHY! Who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love…
And the poet goes on to describe the many sights and sounds of everyday life that are beautiful to him, and in some way miraculous. We talked together, this North Indian teenager and I, about our favorite lines in the poem, and about the miracles we see around us.
In my own life I have experienced a few real miracles, the kind you don’t see every day and that have no “natural” explanation. I’ve had the privilege of witnessing a few in the lives of others. But I’ve also become more appreciative of the kind of miracle that Whitman writes about—the natural beauty around us, the diversity of human culture, the connections I make with people who seem so different from me. When Whitman concludes his poem with, “What stranger miracles are there?” could he have imagined me and my sweet Indian friend at the kitchen table, in the foothills of the Himalayas, with our minds meeting over the words of his poetry? I’m keeping my eyes open for more miracles to come…
Posted in Uncategorized and tagged miracles, poetry by Lisa