How to be a Contemplative: Poems and Brief Reflections
by Judith Valente
30 Poems ~ 30 Reflections ~ 89 pages
Price: $20.00
Publisher: Kelsay Books
ISBN; 978-1-63980-725-3
To Order: Kelsay Books
Reviewed by Michael Escoubas
It has been said that one cannot tell a book by its cover. However, this overused cliché does not work for Judith Valente’s new book, How to Be A Contemplative. The image of two figures in a meditative posture is a perfect fit. Valente captures the essence of her collection through two quotations which appear in her epigraph:
From Mary Oliver: “Sometimes I need only stand where I am to be blessed.” Evidence
From Thomas Merton: “Here is an unspeakable secret: Paradise is all around us and we do not understand.” Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander
In a world too often defined by violence, confusion, identity crises, and lack of trustworthy truth sources, How to Be A Contemplative takes centerstage in the spirit of Mary Oliver’s insightful dictum. With understanding and grace, Judith Valente shows how one may “learn” how to “stand where I am and be blessed.”
Design
In a simple but effective layout, the book features thirty poems in all. Each poem is complemented by a reflection. The reflections don’t explain the poems but add “soil” for additional thought. Arranged in three parts, each part contains ten poems that bear a likeness to one another. There is no strict relation between the poems; Valente has nuanced each part into neat units that offer an artistic montage.
Prologue
I found the prologue immensely helpful. Valente connected with me as two companions walking down a path talking about life. We talked about poetry and art and being alone. We talked about the power of words to help us make sense of an “inscrutable” world. I came away from reading the prologue realizing that How to Be A Contemplative is a gift offered by one soul to another. My appreciation for the life I’ve been given increased like the sensation one feels when hit by a spray of sea salt air.
Selections that Spoke to My Heart
Valente’s lead poem relates childhood experiences that led to her becoming a poet:
Becoming a Writer
Picture a wooden seat the size of a suitcase in a backyard in
northern New Jersey.
Above it, the fan-like leaves of a fig tree, their fine hairs.
Picture the tree’s small fruits dangling like teardrops poised at any
moment to drop.
Then place a ten-year-old child in that spot overlooking the cross-
stitches of the Jersey Central Railroad flowing on their way to
anywhere and nowhere.
Let the child look up at the neighbor’s clothesline strung like
electric wire, at the empty-bodied clothes:
the work shirts, baby pajamas, stained white socks, woman’s
nightgown thinned from too much washing.
Let her listen for the train’s whistle, the rumbling of cars over a
distant bridge, a life beyond.
Let her fill each piece of clothing with a story.
This is how it begins. This is how it happens on a summer
afternoon.
She notes the tar scent in the air, the shape of grass beneath the
rubber soles of her shoes, and how the children playing in a
nearby alley screech like cats in the night.
She is soaring above the fig tree, writing words with air, tethered to
dry ground but walking in space.
Judith’s commentary resonates as I recall similar experiences:
There comes a moment in every life when we receive an intimation of what we are meant to be and do. As Mary Oliver writes in her poem, “The Journey”: One day you finally knew / what you had to do, and began. For some of us, if we are lucky that moment comes at an early age, perhaps as a small child seated on a block of wood beneath a fig tree. Perhaps what sparks it is something as simple as looking up at the neighbors’ clothesline. For others the moment might come later in life. What matters is that when the message comes, we listen.
I found “Super Wolf Moon,” inspired by 8th century Chinese poet Li Po, especially helpful for contemplation on the vastness of the world we live in. The poem and reflection recommends gazing at the firmament at night. I’ve done this and felt blessed by the immensity of it all. I think of Thomas Merton’s insight: To gain a sense of this earthly paradise. It is as if there is a distinctive human element to the natural world. As if the world speaks to hearts which pause, slow down, and hear its voice.
Not only does Valente challenge my intellect, but practical application is also on her mind. I find that I can use these poems to grow into childlike wonder. We poets desire to touch the hearts of our readers. How can we do that without the skills of listening, observing, and translating those skills from pen to page?
Since this is a self-help collection, I would be remiss if I didn’t offer the title poem as a major exhibit:
How to Be a Contemplative
Find a window. Sit by it.
Stare at the flower box of cosmos,
the bees that kiss the blooms and move on.
Sit, not for just two minutes,
but linger there. Waste time.
Forget the laundry, the grocery list,
the buzzing phone, the writing that waits.
Imagine sitting on a shoreline
listening to the endless rumor of the sea.
Imagine rising and falling like the tide.
Our mistakes are doors, our successes
melt quickly on the tongue.
The face you soon will see in the mirror
is the face of every person you’ve ever met.
It opens like a book of singular stories
unfolding, encompassing everything:
the bee stings, birdsong, night sweats,
sunrises, sunsets, discoveries, losses.
All of it good, all of it a placeholder for meaning.
Then listen for the one word you yearn to hear,
the voice that calls you by name, that calls you Beloved.
Throughout my review experience, I felt as if Valente wanted me to appreciate, ever more deeply, Thomas Merton’s unspeakable secret: Paradise is all around us.
This spiritual gem, which belongs in every poet’s toolbox, is underpriced at a mere $20.00.
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