So, I just realized that apparently Marge Piercy speaks to me….Another of her poems is one of my Facebook profile quotes.  I’ll put it here in it’s entirety.  Again, I have a work colleague to thank for this one, and it continues to speak to me.

To Be Of Use

The people I love the best

jump into work head first

without dallying in the shallows

and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.

They seem to become natives of that element,

the black sleek heads of seals

bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,

who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,

who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,

who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge

in the task, who go into the fields to harvest

and work in a row and pass the bags along,

who are not parlor generals and field deserters

but move in a common rhythm

when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.

Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.

But the thing worth doing well done

has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.

Greek amphoras for wine or oil,

Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums

but you know they were made to be used.

The pitcher cries for water to carry

and a person for work that is real.

–Marge Piercy

Despite knowing several poets personally, and even writing some (terrible) poetry myself, I’ve never been a big poetry reader.  Sometimes it speaks to me, though, and this poem is one of those that did.  And still does.   I first heard part of it from a colleague on Twitter.  I asked for the whole poem, and she obliged.  I could talk about what it means to me, and why I keep rereading it, but I won’t.  I’ll let it stand on its own.

Here it is:

The Low Road

What can they do

to you? Whatever they want.

They can set you up, they can

bust you, they can break

your fingers, they can

burn your brain with electricity,

blur you with drugs till you

can’t walk, can’t remember, they can

take your child, wall up

your lover.  They can do anything

you can’t stop them

from doing.  How can you stop

them? Alone, you can fight,

you can refuse, you can

take what revenge you can

but they roll over you.

But two people fighting

back to back can cut through

a mob, a snake-dancing file

can break a cordon, an army

can meet an army.

Two people can keep each other

sane, can give support, conviction,

love, massage, hope, sex.

Three people are a delegation,

a committee, a wedge.  With four

you can play bridge and start

an organization. With six

you can rent a whole house,

eat pie for dinner with no

seconds, and hold a fund raising party.

A dozen make a demonstration.

A hundred fill a hall.

A thousand have solidarity and your own newsletter;

ten thousand, power and your own paper;

a hundred thousand, your own media;

ten million, your own country.

It goes on one at a time,

it starts when you care

to act; it starts when you do

it again after they said no,

it starts when you say We

and know who you mean, and each

day you mean one more.

–Marge Piercy

Copyright 2006, Middlemarsh, Inc