Sunrise by Budd Powell Mahan

Sunrise

by Budd Powell Mahan

It amazes that this cosmic burst,

the very fan of orange that lighted dinosaurs,

ignites this morning--crawls up the furrows

pursuing the dark.

I wish that this ground could deliver all its pasts,

wish there were within its grains

the neurons to camera its history,

but only that which lives can hold this eye.

This land of all the things that summon passion

is unliving and without sense or tongue.

But I imagine the black and hard horizon,

life emerging to crack the crust--to turn it to

this brownness in which my fingers celebrate.

I see my finite time in such moments,

my heartbeat life too short to mark the continuum,

my plow too weak to change a planet's face.

Yet, the known can never stop the leap and gasp,

the homage I must pay to the sun,

and every dawn to which I raise witness

draws me nearer the brown mouth of earth--

its moist lip against my neck.

Still, I find only lifting in this start,

believing in the testament of life,

knowing the brevity

can never make me small.

I chose today's poem by randomly choosing a book from one of my poetry bookcases and then opening the book randomly--this is what I landed on. (And if you are thinking that must be how is always is--random book, random page--no. In the past, when I have pulled a random book, I have never gone with the poem I first look at. Recently, I pulled a book by a poet whose work I studied throughout school, a fairly big name in the 20th century, and spent at least half an hour--it was a collected works--looking for a poem I loved. It did not happen. And, no, I will not name that poet, even though he is dead. Let your imaginations run wild!)

Anyway, what I love about Budd's poem is the hope and positivity. (It is also very sensual!) Those feelings are enmeshed in a swirl of descriptive images and wonderfuk references; I especially like the second line, "the very fan of orange that lighted dinosaurs." Why? Image, reference, and what a small truth there! Yes! The sunrise I saw this morning is the same colorful delight that dinosaurs saw; this is both humbling and empowering.

There is some regret in this poem, a bit of nostalgia for the past. But those emotions are fleeting. We are soon back to the sunrise and the earth, and we get a bit introspective. There is an acknowledgement by the speaker that his time/our time here on earth is limited--remember those dinosaurs?--and that each sunrise is a day closer to death. The speaker even admits to his "plow too weak to change a planet's face."

Sounds gloomy, but for this speaker, it is a push towards the positive. He admits "I only find lifting in this start." That would have been enough for an ending, but I am glad the poem continues. There is a little surprise here in the last two lines. They are keeping with the focus of the poem and the declaration immediately preceding them:

knowing that brevity

can never make me small.

The speaker may not be able to make huge changes to this planet during his time here, short as it is, but he knows he is still capable of accomplishments, things to be proud of, small changes to the planet's face.

The acceptance throughout this poem is very powerful and inspiring to me. This is definitely a poem to copy and then tape that copy to your mirror or refrigerator or wherever you will see it and read it every day. Then you can go forth, watch the sun rise in the horizon, "crack the crust," and make small changes--they do add up! None of us is small!

This poem is from Harvest, (2006, NFSPS Press) by Budd Powell Mahan. It was chosen by Lawson Fusao Inada as the winning manuscript for the Stevens Competition, an annual competition sponsored and run by the National Federation of State Poetry Societies.