Awed Contentment:  A Poem and Reflection

                                             Here, There Are Blueberries 

                                                       by: Mary Szybist 

When I see the bright clouds, a sky empty of moon and stars, 

I wonder what I am, that anyone should note me. 

Here there are blueberries, what should I fear? 

Here there is bread in thick slices, of whom should I be afraid? 

Under the swelling clouds, we spread our blankets 

Here in this meadow, we open our baskets 

to unpack blueberries, whole bowls of them, 

berries not by the work of our hands, berries not by the work of our fingers. 

What taste the bright world has, whole fields 

without wires, the blackened moss, the clouds 

swelling at the edges of the meadow, and for this, 

I did nothing, not even wonder. 

You must live for something, they say. 

People don’t live just to keep on living 

But here in the quince tree, a sky bright and empty. 

Here there are blueberries, 

                   

Mary Szybist is an American poet and author of a fabulous book of religious poetry entitled Incarndine. The poem posted above “Here, there are blueberries” perfectly captures the awed contentment we humans ought to feel. It’s emphasis of Here in the poem’s title (and elsewhere) specifically captures the poet’s recollection of sharing blueberries whist enjoying the outdoors with a friend. The reason I like this particular poem so greatly is because it reads much like a modern-day psalm of praise and celebration. This poem focuses on a rather simple topic: food, blueberries specifically.  

I also love this poem for its fitting linkage with the Psalms of praise and celebration. By using the particular Psalms’ language, this poem beautifully echoes a myriad of different Psalms. The Psalms which I have taken notice of in this particular poem are: Psalm 8, Psalm 27 and Psalm 90. 
Psalm 8, for example, joyfully exclaims: "when I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and stars, which you have set in place, what is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them?” Likewise, in Mary Szybist’s poem “Here, there are blueberries,” the poet exclaims: “When I see the bright clouds, a sky empty of moon and stars/I wonder what I am, that anyone should note me.” The poet is filled with complete awe that in addition to an exquisite world (“bright clouds”), the Creator has created her, even noting her enough to bequeath to her an  experience of sharing fresh blueberries with a friend! Just as it links exquisitely with Psalm 8, it also contains echoes of Psalm 27. Psalm 27 begins with the words, “The Lord is my light and my salvation- whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life-of whom shall I be afraid?” So too, the poet says "Here there are blueberries, what should I fear? Here, there is bread in thick slices, of whom should I be afraid?" In this line, the poet is saying: "When I see all the bright clouds and sky. I am amazed that someone has made me. What am I? Whom shall I fear?" The poet, in these lines, reflects on the fact that someone has made her and allowed her to see and enjoy this reverencing world. Because the poet feels so well provided for physically, she feels that she ought to fear no one. Finally, the poet uses language similar to the language of Psalm 90. Psalm 90 ends with a blessing: "May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us—yes, establish the work of our hands." In a similar way, this poem repeats the utter astonishment of enjoying blueberries but yet not creating them: "berries not by the work of our fingers."

     Now that we understand the central psalmist links in this poem, let’s move on to picturing the events of the poem. Imagine: the poet is out on a picnic with a friend. As they spread out their blanket and unpack their picnic baskets, they reflect on the wealth of their blueberries. The poet and her friend are filled with gratitude, recognizing the abundance of their blueberries. The poet and her friend unpack “whole bowls of (blueberries).”  Finally, the two picnickers marvel at the fact that they had no part in making the blueberries: The two picnickers  “unpack blueberries, whole bowls of them, berries not by the work of our hands, berries not by the work of our fingers.” Reflecting on the beautiful surroundings, the poet thinks, “I wonder what I am, that anyone should note me.” The poet is utterly humbled:  “what taste the bright world has, whole fields without wires, the blackened moss, the clouds swelling at the edges of the meadow...” With profound wonder, the poet reflects on her lack of involvement, saying “And for this, I did nothing, not even wonder.”  The poet reflects on the fact she has done nothing to even deserve the astounding and lovely world that she is experiencing. The poet then moves into ruminating on the meaning behind this experience. Because she has done nothing to deserve this experience, she can do nothing else but conclude that there must be a purpose to the world, saying, “You must live for something, they say. People don’t live just to keep on living...” By including this little phrase, the poet implies that there certainly is a Creator. She then ends with awe saying, ”But here in the quince tree, a sky bright and empty.” Her last line voices the utter humility with which we humans ought to respond to our Creator: “...there is no need to note me.” 

          To me, this is a poem all about awe and contentment. This poem expresses the utter contentment and awe I feel most of the time. I lead, as I often say, "a wildly and beautifully blessed life." Despite having had a traumatic accident (March 16, 2014), despite being busy going to various therapy appointments (i.e. physiotherapy, voice therapy, rehab therapy, cognitive therapy, psychotherapy, occupational hand therapy) or despite having the odd down day, I often feel very contented. I have an abundance of fabulous people in my life such as family (extended and immediate), friends, former professors, and acquaintances. Moreover, I feel blessed to even be alive. In the hospital (Parkwood Institute), I would (occasionally) have trouble sleeping because I would be filled with gratitude that I was still alive after receiving the kind of injuries I had received (and, not only alive but in such a fantastic hospital like Parkwood)! Now, 1 and a 1/2 years later, I feel Mary Syzbist poem, "Here, there are blueberries" captures my feelings beautifully. In short, I find these words to be tremendously apt for my current situation.