Hello and welcome to the Daily Poem. I'm David Kern. Another quality of this episode doesn't

sound quite as good as the other ones. That is because I am unfortunately not able to get into the

studio right now for various reasons, but I still wanted to make sure to get you an episode, to get you a poem.

So this is when the old iPhone comes in handy. So thanks to Logan for making this episode

sound as good as possible, given the limitations and the circumstances.

Today's poem is by the most contemporary poet I've read yet on this show. It's by Mary Oliver

from her Pulitzer Prize winning collection American Primitive. Mary Oliver is still living and this

collection was from the late 70s or early 80s sometime in that range. And this is one of my

favorite poems from this collection. I'll go ahead and read

it, say a few comments, and then read it again per usual. This is called tasting the wild

grapes. The red beast who lives in the side of these hills won't come out for anything you have,

money or music. Still, there are moments heavy with light and good luck. Walk quietly

under these tangled vines and pay attention. And one morning, something will explode underfoot

like a branch of fire. One afternoon, something will flow down the hill in plain view, a muscled

sleeve, the color of all October.

And forgetting everything, you will leap to name it as though for the first time.

You are lit blood, rushing not to a word but a sound.

Small-boned, thin-faced, in a hurry, lively as the dark thorns of the wild grapes on the unsuspecting tongue.

The fox, the fox.

One of the things I love about this poem is the way it builds.

There's a dramatic, there's a narrative to this, there's a dramatic arc, a narrative arc, there's a dramatic arc a narrative arc if you will

to this poem and it builds through the images through the language there's a lovely craftsmanship to

...