Today I received this poem from The Writer’s Almanac. Tonight I will be going to a dinner for the university where my mother teachers called the “Primavera Gala,” at the Toledo Museum of Art. So, today this poem is triply fitting with it’s descriptions of Spring, it’s discussion of the role of an artist, and the title “Primavera.”
by Louise Gluck
Spring comes quickly: overnight
the plum tree blossoms,
the warm air fills with bird calls.
In the plowed dirt, someone has drawn a picture of the sun
with rays coming out all around
but because the background is dirt, the sun is black.
There is no signature.
Alas, very soon everything will disappear:
the bird calls, the delicate blossoms. In the end,
even the earth itself will follow the artist’s name into oblivion.
Nevertheless, the artist intends
a mood of celebration.
How beautiful the blossoms are—emblems of the resilience of life.
The birds approach eagerly.
“Primavera” by Louise Glück, from Poems: 1962-2012. © Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2012