“To read a poem in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June.”
—Jean-Paul Sartre
A walk in January can be lovely too, if climate and terrain allow for it. My personal and creative motto, thanks to Diogenes, is solvitur ambulando—it is solved by walking. Poems often arise on my morning walk from something I see, hear, remember, or from an interaction with someone along the way. Perhaps the repetitive motion of footsteps shakes something loose. Some morning-walkers look at their phones, others wear headphones as well. I can’t imagine foregoing birdsong and landscape to get a jump on a day that will surely be filled with interruptions and claims for my attention. The outdoor time with the rising sun belongs to me. I am lucky to live in a place where the weather is seldom too foul for walking, but sometimes there is threat in the air.
Field Notes: Peninsula in January
A foretaste of spring on waterfowl wings
*
Heron builds nest in the lone coral tree others in palm after palm.
*
Three days of sun a tsunami warning a bit of rain.
*
The sky returns to mottled gray just one day
*
Then angled light dry and bright.
*
—Donna Hilbert, from Enormous Blue Umbrella Moon Tide Press, 2025
“Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.”
—Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens, the esteemed modernist poet, was known to write on scraps of paper as he walked to his work as an insurance company executive. I struggled to pick a favorite Stevens poem to include here. There are so many that I love and so many separate lines are constant companions, as is the first line of “Of Mere Being.”
Of Mere Being
The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises
In the bronze decor,
A gold-feathered bird
Sings in the palm, without human meaning,
Without human feeling, a foreign song.
You know then that it is not the reason
That makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine.
The palm stands on the edge of space.
The wind moves slowly in the branches.
The bird’s fire-fangled feathers dangle down.
—Wallace Stevens
On my Sunday Morning Walk, I am Reminded of Wallace Stevens
Palm tree frond and heron wing are one,
or so it seems to me from where I stand.
Palm tree temple, heron priest,
and I, a congregant, alone.
—Donna Hilbert, from Threnody, Moon Tide Press, 2022
There are palm trees on my walk around the bay, and birds aplenty, though their feathers are not fire-fangled. I do love to see them catch the morning sun, or rain or whatever gift the day offers.
Surprise Gift
Someone else’s hurricane
became our wind and rain.
It soaked the thirsty garden,
dumped leaves in heaps
from the roof. This morning,
tired clouds spread like scars
across the wounded sky.
The air is warm and close
but here, a ribbon of cool
glides across my ankles,
redolent of moist dirt,
damp leaves, sage.
I lace my shoes, join
dark streets wet with rain,
seek pleasure in the spoils
of someone else’s hurricane.
—Tamara Madison
Your Turn
If you are able, make a daily walk a part of your writing practice. Leave your headphones at home. Walk deliberately, inhabit your environment. What do you see? What do you hear? What do you smell?
Post and post photos by Donna Hilbert. Featured image by Garry Knight. Creative Commons license via Flickr. Poems used with permission.
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Bethany R. says
Thank you for sharing this and including your creative motto. I also love to go on walks. Your poem, “On my Sunday Morning Walk, I am Reminded of Wallace Stevens,” made me feel I was in that moment with the speaker. Lovely.
Tamara Madison’s poem struck me as well. Those juxtapositions of calamity and comfort.
“This morning,
tired clouds spread like scars
across the wounded sky.
The air is warm and close”
Donna Hilbert says
I am so glad it resonated for you!
Joan Leotta says
Donna,
What a gift! The motto..im saving it to remind d me of my need for walks…the poems…all wonderful..Wallace Stevens is not a poet I knew before, but now I’m a fan!and that last one..byTamaraMadison? Surprise gift…wow..having lived I. Hurricane country for twenty years, Im glad for this positive perspective on them
L.L. Barkat says
Loving this from Stevens: “fire-fangled feathers dangle down” and your complementary poem, Donna.
A walk is a gift. And poems, oh, they do arrive on the way!
Please give an extra-special thanks to the poets who are letting you feature their work here. It’s wonderful to have their additional voices.
Donna Hilbert says
Yes, they are lovely generous poets!
Sandra Fox Murphy says
Such a great feel to this, Donna. Washington is one of the few states I’ve not been to, and your words make me want to go … along with a visit to the bookish Hotel Sylvia on the coast of Oregon. I do love the Sartre quote and Wallace’s lines “The palm at the end of the mind, / Beyond the last thought, …” Truly enjoyed your poem “Field Notes,” and it encourages me to do more of those poems as it reminded me of Laura Brown’s workshop on place where we also worked from L.L. Barkat’s book “God in the Yard.” All these woven connections!
Doona hilbert says
Sandra, thanks so much for your kind words! Washington is a lovely state with many fine bookstores!
Betsy Mars says
I finally found time to read this post, and it provided me with a much-needed sense of peace. I love the way these poems complement each other, and I have been thinking more and more about walking and what it allows us to access. I have been desk-bound mostly but when I DO get up and go out, it is very therapeutic. I, like someone above, love that first line from Stevens – it’s so interesting – and how your poem is so observant and in conversation with his, I feel the “ribbon of cool” in Tamara’s poem and feel refreshed.
Katie Spivey Brewster says
Loblolly pine, massive girth
grassy hummocks
vines scaling fences
overgrown cart paths
sapling rimmed pond
live oaks adorned with Spanish Moss
I often walk the defunct/abandoned fairway behind our house. It was part of a golf course a few decades ago that a developer bought and built houses on either side of. Upon first venturing there I felt almost as if I were stepping into a wilderness, but have come to feel so at home walking along it. Parts of it are still mowed a few times a year. Occasionally I’ll see a few folks hitting balls onto a green that someone has put a flag in. Mostly though, other than the rare dog walker I’m alone in this rural/suburban/countryside space. We can’t see it from our back yard as there is a buffer of pines between us and the fairway. I have to walk down our street about a quarter of a mile to take a gravel road to access it. As long as I don’t look at the houses on the other side that are along parts of it, it can seem much like a sanctuary of sorts to me.
Donna Hilbert says
I love your poem, Katie. How wonderful that you have found a place to walk that provides a bit of solitude along with nature.
Katie Spivey Brewster says
🙂