Bluebird: Poems

By James Crews

Bluebird is a wide-ranging and open-hearted chronicle of the poet's life on an organic farm with his husband in rural Vermont. Written with clarity and attention to the moments that make life memorable, Crews urges us in his newest collection "To live unbound by time/and mind—to grow, speak, touch and taste/at a pace that feels more real."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Green Writers Press
• Release date: Apr 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781950584604

James Crews

James Crews is the editor of several bestselling books, including The Path to Kindness and How to Love the World, which has over 100,000 copies in print. He has been featured in The Washington Post, The Boston Globe, The New York Times Magazine, The New Republic, The Christian Science Monitor, and on NPR’s Morning Edition. The author of four prize-winning books of poetry and of the book Kindness Will Save the World, James also speaks and leads workshops on kindness, mindfulness, and writing for self-compassion. He lives with his husband on forty rocky acres in the woods of Southern Vermont. For more info, visit: JamesCrews.net 

Book preview

Acknowlegments

PART ONE

We are like someone in a very dark night over whom lightning flashes again and again.

—MAIMONIDES

Fireflies

Some insights come like lightning—

blinding and fierce—while others arrive

as firefly-flashes that brighten only

an inch or so of air around them.

Yet even these can gather power

over time, like the summer night

I woke and stood at the window

to watch all that pulsing outside—

like thousands of prayers flaring up

above the houses, saying here

and here and here, as I made my way

down the stairs using only the light

of those small bodies to guide me.

The Blessing

The shadow figure leaned over the bed

where I lay, halfway between sleep

and dream, and kissed me on the cheek.

I should have felt frightened, and recoiled

at the sight of that not-quite-man with fire

for eyes, but I recognized the tender glance

and knew it was my father who’d come back

to give his blessing for this life I’ve chosen—

of visible stars and the ticking woodstove

and moonlight on snow like a skin-tight

blue dress the fallow fields slip on at night

when no one’s looking. And for the man

sleeping next to me, his breath building

a rhythm that could calm any ghost or beast.

I woke with that kiss still on my cheek,

alive and burning so I’d remember.

Living Light

Any new life you claim

is like a handmade table

with nothing on it

but an empty cup and bowl

and the sun streaming in

like the gaze of a god

glad you took this leap of faith.

A place was set for you

long ago at this table

built of an old barn door

still bearing the pockmarks

of nail-holes, the scars

of years spent exposed to snow.

All you have to do

is pull out a chair, choose

to stay in this place

where hope fills the air like pollen.

Just sit here with coffee

and let the living light of day

wrap its warmth around you—

a thin but invincible skin.

Tablet

I thought nothing of ripping out a page

from the little blue spiral-bound notebook

my husband keeps on the coffee table—

until I saw the imprints of previous words

he’d written in his usual capital letters:

the note he slipped into my overnight bag,

tucking it into my jeans pocket so I’d find it

when I put them on the

Reviews for Bluebird

[donnamariemerritt · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I read this book as a song of praise for all the small things we pass unnoticed, for the people and times and blessings we often miss. It’s also a joyful shout-out to nature, to farmers and fields. Finally, it’s a love letter to the poet’s husband. Images like this will stay with me:“. . . needing only / the rush of water / over strawberries / I picked myself . . .”“ . . . and I’ll rest on the banks of the pond, / my mind at last like the head / of the snapping turtle breaking the surface / for air, and sending wave after wave / back to shore where my only question now / will be whether or not to leap in / and add my ripples to his.”“. . . the window I left open // an inch or so all day / so I could listen // to winter rain erasing / months of piled-up snow . . .”This is the first I’ve read of James Crews’s poems, but I’m already looking forward to his next book.