Presenting the poetry, books, and photographs of Nancy Wood, 1936-2013
From Many Winters, 1974, by Nancy Wood
I remember you when
The tame rose sleeps
Between the jaws of winter.
I remember you when
The humming insects mother
The newborn leaves of spring.
I remember you when
The argument of frogs becomes
The laughing song of summer.
I remember you when
I hear my corn begin to grow
And beauty crowds my life.
From War Cry on a Prayer Feather, 1979, by Nancy Wood
Who speaks for animals who cannot talk?
Who sees for flowers which are blind?
Who guards the river which has but one course?
Who represents the mountain in time?
Who comes here to argue for the life of beavers?
Who will tell of the importance of snails?
Who has seen the mantis shed his skin?
Who believes in butterfly wings?
I am nature’s advocate
Ten million birds
Ten million trees
Ten million animals
Ten million fish
Are mine.
I will fight you in this room
And out of it.
I will dare you to define
Progress
On the face of a dime.
From Dancing Moons, 1995, by Nancy Wood
Mountains that are looked at have a particular grace,
some are rounded and gentle, others have a wildness
of spirit, the sharp rock face of invincibility.
Still others beckon with deceptive calm, luring the unwary
with their raw beauty, heads buried in clouds, sunlight
dancing on meadows like sky fingers. The great rock god
Of the mountains sleeps with one eye open to catch eagles
and elk, wind and rainbows, the strong of limb who climb
those peaks because a mountain lives inside them.
Mountains that are looked at look back with the pleasure
of old women locked in the gaze of new admirers,
so glad for attention, so wary of strangers. Mountains
That are looked at increase in beauty from so much looking
and live on in memory long after we are gone from them,
remembering the hint of immortality there and the way
We were possessed by rock. Mountains that are looked at
look back with authority and the promise of tomorrow,
which is why some people die for them.
From Sacred Fire, 1998, by Nancy Wood
Seekers of unearned wisdom,
inhabitants of the original emptiness,
what are you doing among our people,
trying to discover our secrets of tranquility?
You who want everything fast,
you don’t have time to wait for
eggs to hatch. Sunsets take a long time
to appreciate; so do migrating geese, or
the way a leaf unfolds. Sit quietly
on a rock and feel the pulse
of Creation. Take the temperature of Earth
By placing your fingers inside her sacred body.
Let us bless you with the Circle of Life
and teach you how to sit still while moving.
You won’t last long unless you forget
how unimportant
is the importance of your time.
From Many Winters, 1974, by Nancy Wood
What can I do when I feel the world’s harsh breath and know
That if I stay too long in its path
My path shall be burned up also.
I must go back to the land again
And find the eagle at home with the rock.
I must climb to the mountaintop
And find the spot where the river begins.
I must lie quietly beside the earth
And find the warmth of its heart.
I must turn my vision to the sky
And find the purpose of clouds.
Then trouble seems far away
And the breath which consumes all beauty
Has passed right over me.