Raymond Carver

Photograph of American author/poet Raymond Carver

Taking time to savor the moment sets the mood for the rest of your day.

Here’s a poem by Raymond Carver (May 25, 1938 – August 2, 1988), American short story writer and poet who contributed to the revitalization of the American short story during the 1980s.

This Morning

This morning was something. A little snow 
lay on the ground. The sun floated in a clear 
blue sky. The sea was blue, and blue-green, 
as far as the eye could see. 
Scarcely a ripple. Calm. I dressed and went 
for a walk — determined not to return 
until I took in what Nature had to offer. 
I passed close to some old, bent-over trees. 
Crossed a field strewn with rocks 
where snow had drifted. Kept going 
until I reached the bluff. 
Where I gazed at the sea, and the sky, and 
the gulls wheeling over the white beach 
far below. All lovely. All bathed in a pure 
cold light. But, as usual, my thoughts 
began to wander. I had to will 
myself to see what I was seeing 
and nothing else. I had to tell myself this is what 
mattered, not the other. (And I did see it, 
for a minute or two!) For a minute or two 
it crowded out the usual musings on 
what was right, and what was wrong — duty, 
tender memories, thoughts of death, how I should treat 
with my former wife. All the things 
I hoped would go away this morning. 
The stuff I live with every day. What 
I've trampled on in order to stay alive. 
But for a minute or two I did forget 
myself and everything else. I know I did. 
For when I turned back i didn't know 
where I was. Until some birds rose up 
from the gnarled trees. And flew 
in the direction I needed to be going. 

--Raymond Carver

[from “All Of Us: The Collected Poems” [Alfred K. Knopf, 1998)

 

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