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Out Walking
I hear the heath alive to free
A heart from hearthside reverie,
_And with my rambling feet
__Start out in stealth,
Intent on sunnyside-up health
_And daybreak flurry fleet.
Let’s shake suburban dust from skirts,
Stride gently when a sore knee hurts,
_And circling our domain
__Of vine and grove,
Work up our courage as we rove,
_To cross a daring plain.
Streams alongside the desert flee
Through shoreless gullies of debris;
_As you and I appear,
__A tortoise grins.
Rewards this rugged walking wins
_Intensify our cheer.
To saunter holy heights at noon
Warms meditation opportune.
_One crowning promenade,
__Through vision brought
To knowledge and creative thought,
_Transforms the escapade.
We taste the thunder-honied air,
And then, rain cleansed, reclaim the lair
_Of calmer confidence.
__The stormy trek
And drizzly backwoods loam bedeck
_Each walker’s country sense.
How nearly perfect is the wild,
Cried my good genius as he smiled;
_Though I may tread a road,
__The right to roam
I ask, with vale and tor as home
__For rest when steps have slowed.
Wayfaring sunset strategies
Provide night refuge under trees,
_And lighten umbrage keen.
__A spiced infusion
Livens leisurely seclusion,
_By sentry stars unseen.
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Margaret Coats lives in California. She holds a Ph.D. in English and American Literature and Language from Harvard University. She has retired from a career of teaching literature, languages, and writing that included considerable work in homeschooling for her own family and others.
Your wonderful walk transported me back to my hikes on Mount Lemmon above Tucson, Big Bear above San Bernadino, and the Graham Mountains of Arizona, all with deserts around them. “My genius” is sufficiently ambiguous to make me think at various levels–a friend, a spouse, your own intellect, and even the divine. That mystery is enchanting and set my mind wandering. I love the rhyme scheme for this poem. I have encountered a surprise rainstorm or two on my treks though the woods when the trees obscured the forming clouds. This poem gave me a new insight into your poetic treasury in which multiple levels of people’s intellect can bask in the beauty of your words and thoughts. This should enjoy a vast audience.
Thank you so very much, Roy. In “my good genius” I am thinking of one particular friend who has probably done more walking than most of my walking companions. There are, though, several friends including my husband in the varied stanzas of this poem that touch upon mysteries encountered in walking. Glad the poem could take you back to various hikes of your own, whether alone or with others. As you suggest in your comment, we use different levels of intellect in our observations, and this is partly determined by who walks with us.
I can see why your footsteps eventually towards the end. Your walk painted a beautiful picture over the course of one (or more?) day while experiencing a wide range of weather conditions, flora and fauna. I only learned two new words with this one but I did learn a new rhyming scheme. I’ve never seen this one before but I really liked it.
Just one day here, Warren, but we’re still out sheltering under trees at the end, so there is more walking to come. The stanza form and rhyme scheme come from a poem called “Walking” by 17th century English poet Thomas Traherne. His is more abstract than mine, and I took up a contrasting approach by putting in a wide range of details that might come from different walks. Glad you liked it and felt its expansiveness.
Enjoyed your walk, Margaret. I too thought your ” good genius” could be the wild’s provider. Love “honied-thunder” and the
many gifts you’ve highlighted during a walk
on our earthly paradise.
God said this earthly paradise was good after each day of creation, and “very good” once He had created human observers. You remind me, jd, that God Himself walked in the garden at the cool of the day in Genesis 3. No wonder attentive walkers sometimes find Him with them.
dFavorite things:
The gorgeous, juicy vocabulary marbled throughout the poem– a very satisfying taste.
The allegorical level of the walk–hovering at the edge of consciousness always, never attacking, never retreating. Life: just passing through.
The way you’ve played the Burns stanzas to a gorgeous relaxion, showing their flexibility in skilled hands, neither mouse-problem focused, nor manic irony, but contemplative, like Beethoven on the edges of Heiligenstadt.
Thanks, Daniel! You outline three of the important qualities of the poem: contemplative tone, relaxed stanza form, and “gorgeous juicy, vocabulary.” The latter is particularly mine, and I would say the action is “observing,” which gives me a chance to quote the fourth of nine stanzas from my model, Thomas Traherne’s “Walking.”
To walk is by a thought to go,
To move in spirit to and fro,
To mind the good we see,
To taste the sweet,
Observing all the things we meet,
How choice and rich they be.
This may bear some relation to the 6-line Burns stanza, if the 17th century English poet Traherne knew of Burns’s model, 16th century Scottish piper and songwriter Habbie Simpson. In Scotland it’s sometimes known as the Habbie stanza, and then Robert Burns became known as Rabbie! I’m happy to be indebted to them all. With regard to Traherne, I do take the more modern imagistic route of picturesque detail rather than more abstract, though beautifully expressed, definition.
Margaret,
Once again a poem that activites the senses in most beautiful ways. Your line,
“We taste the thunder-honied air,
And then, rain cleansed, reclaim the lair
_Of calmer confidence,”
suggests to me that your Guerdian Angel has been prompting you along this holy walk from start to finish.
Thank you, Gary. As jd pointed out above, a walk is the best kind when the walker takes the opportunity to contemplate creation. She didn’t quite say it’s a response to actual grace, but your saying the walk “activates the senses in the most beautiful way” makes that link, and we naturally consider our guardian angels as the divinely provided prompters for such experience.
As lyrical a lyric poem as I have ever read. I’ve had woodland walks almost as good as the one depicted here, and sometimes began dropping poetic lines into my breadpan that ended up as the beginnings of finished poems. Throughout, Margaret, you never shy from the less-than-idyllic realities (e.g. “sore knee”) or spare syntactic complexities (the next-to-last stanza). Finally, “sentry stars” in the last stanza floored me. At first, I thought you were referring to the stars in the sky that can’t be seen by day, but then I sorted out the antecedants. If you were to change your name to Margaret Lightfoot, I wouldn’t bat an eyelash.
And I confess, I have a particular fondness for heterometric nonce stanza forms, which you have executed here to perfection.
C. B., thanks for your comment, and please see more addressed to you below Adam Sedia’s comment.
Dear Margaret,
I enjoy walks very much, and I was blessed to join you on one. I loved when the unexpected grinning tortoise arrived on scene. Yesterday my walk included an owl sitting on the side of the road. These surprises are gifts from God.
Gigi
Yes, Gigi, the creatures we notice on our excursions are gifts from God, as are the good companions willing to join us. Thank you for accompanying me!
I was reminded of walking up Mt. St. Catherine in Sanai, at night, back in 19__, guided only by the stars and faith that the barely visible trail was in fact the trail and not a beckoning ravine.
Thanks for the nostalgic reminder, Margaret.
Paul, that’s a walk I have dreamed of taking. The destination carries with it such mystic fascination, and the desert one must pass through is daunting in thought–more so now that I have your testimony about it. Thanks for a very special comment!
Margaret, I enjoyed this poem and wish I could transport myself to the path about which you write. I think it would help clear my mind.
New sights definitely clear the mind, especially when you walk out looking for them. Glad you liked the poem, Laura!
Margaret, you drew me in to your lovely poem and took me right along with you. Thanks for inviting me to shake the dust from my suburban skirts !
And, Sally, I hope we walked gently enough, so that you have no knee that hurts afterward! Glad you enjoyed the poem.
And the same to you as well, Margaret !
Margaret, as someone who often tramps the hills with rambling feet, only to wind up with sore knees hurting, I love this. Thank you for this wonderful evocation of the delights of the great outside.
Thank you for telling of your own, Jeff. I wrote this poem last month in England, where I learned how recently the “right to roam” was recognized. In my other ancestral countries of Scotland, Sweden, and Lithuania, access to the great outdoors on most land belonging to others is considered a natural right. In my native Florida, beaches up to the highwater mark belong to everyone, though there are conflicts in urban areas where hotels like to claim private beaches, but those can only be private if they are always dry!
Margaret, sorry to come to this poem so tardily. These are times which lend themselves to unhappy distraction. But your poem is tonic for the pervading sadness. I very much enjoy the enchanting imagery in your poem. The “thunder-honied air” really struck me as did a number of other images in the piece. I also enjoyed the form of the poem — a,a,b,c,c,b – which avoids a march but, rather, gives the sense of a pleasant stroll with the occasional stop and a looking back. Your poem gave me joy today.
A joyful tonic is just what a walk should be, and I’m extremely pleased that the poem could be that for you, Brian, on a day of unhappy distractions. About the form, I’ve said most to Daniel Kemper above, providing a taste of my less imagistic model. The images offer the mind-freshening sights from a number of my walks; thank you for finding an affective miscellany in them.
I am lucky enough to live 5 minutes walk from the ocean and your beautiful poem said so much of what I would like to say about walking, and more. Thank you Margaret.
Thank you, Norma! Living 5 minutes from the ocean must be magical. I’m happy the poem could express some thoughts you might have on enjoying the location.
This is a beautifully musical and engagingly descriptive and meditative piece. It is perfect for spring, when we escape from our hibernation and remember what it’s like to enjoy nature and it’s freeing influence on our spirit. I particularly like the phrase “thunder-honied,” and how you make your genius masculine, akin to Poe’s feminine Psyche accompanying him. This was a fantastic read.
Thanks so much, Adam. I imagine my “good genius” as a preferred companion very knowledgeable on the subject, and his stanza has the weightiest words. But I started off this day with a feminine fellow walker who could, like me, shake dust off her old-fashioned long skirts, always my preferred attire. The whole poem is a fantastic fantasy made up of real experience; glad you could see and appreciate so much.
Thanks, C. B. I too love nonce forms suited to a specific subject. I glad you found my treatment of this one perfect, though I did take it from Traherne rather than invent it myself (see above to Daniel Kemper). As for the sentry stars, I must admit I am not fond of camping out, and for that expression I thought back to overnight military field training. It was vital to choose a location where one’s position was as much concealed as possible from “enemy” observers. Under trees was good, because even the stars couldn’t see your tent.
Out Walking is a beautifully crafted poem that invites readers on a delightful journey through nature and self-discovery. The poem opens with a sense of liberation, encouraging us to shake off the everyday and embrace the vitality of the natural world.
With vivid imagery, lines like “sunnyside-up health” and “daybreak flurry fleet” evoke the joy of exploration, while the balance between the external landscape and inner reflection creates a harmonious experience. The journey through streams and “thunder-honied air” showcases the beauty and challenges of nature, enriching the theme of personal growth.
This poem reminds me of the works of one of my favorite authors, Robert Macfarlane, who is best known for his insightful exploration of landscape, nature, place, people, and language.
This poem is a joyous celebration of the simple yet profound act of walking, encouraging readers to embrace both the challenges and rewards of the journey. It’s a reminder that the paths we tread, whether in nature or life, can lead to moments of reflection, inspiration, and connection.
Nicole, thank you again for such a fine comment, letting me know more of your interests and of your selection for my best works! It is an honor to be compared to Robert Macfarlane. I should perhaps do more to follow him in “The Old Ways” to “The Wild Places.” He certainly gives readers a sense of personal growth in having learned from him, even if they are unable to imitate his excursions. You are right that every journey we set our minds and bodies to take has its challenges and rewards. Let’s go for that sense of liberation!
Margaret, you would enjoy a publication titled ‘The Philosophy of Walking’ by Frédéric Gros, in which the author explains the importance of walking to Rousseau, Rimbaud, Nietszche and others while communicating his own enthusiasm for it.
I also very much liked the form of your poem.