The Toads of Poetry

by Guest Contributor Melanie Weldon-Soiset

What, exactly, is poetry? There's no one answer to that question, but I am partial to Marianne Moore's provocative definition: poetry as "imaginary gardens with real toads in them." Reflecting on this description, I notice what emotions arise in response to the idea of "toads." I wonder what may be the source of those emotions.

I also find myself trying to visualize toads.  I imagine what colors they might be. What does their skin feel like? Will they even let me hold them, or do they demand distance? 

As I turn my mind's eye towards these amphibians, I'm now entering the realm of ecopoetry. I ask myself: is there somewhere nearby that I can go to notice toads? What would it mean to observe them in their natural habitat, in a safe and responsible manner? What might I learn from them?

A few years ago, I found myself asking similar questions about hens. Specifically, I wanted to know why Jesus describes himself as a hen in the Gospel of Matthew. A friend in the area was raising a few chickens, and I asked her if I could visit her (real!) garden one afternoon to practice proximity with her birds. Perhaps I’d find inspiration for some imaginary gardens?

As I entered my friend's yard, I braced my nose for farm animal fug. I braced my ears for the harsh language of squawk, squawk! I expected to be greeted with pullets flapping their wings, chasing each other around the yard.

Yet when I plonked my lawn chair in front of the coop, silently watching the placid birds, I was captivated. Turns out, chickens can be very calming creatures. I learned that they mainly squawk when provoked. When they feel safe, their silent presence is a gift. 

My body relaxed as I heeded their slow and deliberate steps. "Watching you is prayer…" begins my poem "Contemplating a Common Hen," which I wrote in response to that formative June afternoon. Like prophets, those unassuming hens had called me to a broader perspective, grounded in incarnational encounters.

Which brings us back to toads. I wonder what poetic toads are currently capturing your imagination? What species, ecosystem, place, and/or natural phenomenon is drawing your attention? Perhaps that aspect of nature inviting your gaze may be your muse to write a ghazal. 

The ghazal (pronounced "guzzle") is an ancient Arabic and Persian form of poetry. One of the ghazal's many superpowers is its ability to carry chaos, without trying to resolve anything into a shoehorned narrative. Given all of the conflict our world is experiencing with intersecting social, political, and ecological crises, the ghazal is thankfully expansive enough to resist platitude and cheap answers. With loose but cohesive beauty, through subtle rhyming and repetition, the ghazal can hold all of our messy emotions, fears, confusions, and dreams. This poetic form can somehow surprise, and build larger meaning, without depending on a linear storyline.

What would it look like to start a draft of a ghazal about the toads of poetry? Here is my first attempt of such a ghazal's beginning lines: 

I want to know more of your names as toads.

Are you also frogs? The same as toads? 

If I'm honest, I don't know what to say

about something as mundane as toads. 

Yet when was the last time I saw

any creatures who could feign as toads? 

I have so many questions, amphibian friends:

when you feel joy, what do you exclaim as toads?

Even in four verses, I've already found myself contending with complex emotions and images. There's so much more I could say! In fact, I definitely should say more, since this is still an incomplete ghazal…  

Perhaps there is a ghazal of your own emerging as you reflect on muses in the natural world. I invite you to explore that!  Practice proximity with your muse. Take notes of that encounter, especially observing what strikes your senses. What questions, emotions, and learnings arise as you peacefully observe? The Divine can meet us through Poetry on any and all timelines. Especially unhurried ones.

I hope you’ll seek out inspiration from the natural world, practice awe, and put pen to paper exploring nature’s gifts! 

If you want to go a bit deeper, on Saturday, August 3rd, I'll be leading a virtual workshop on "Ecopoetry of Love and Loss." During our time together, we'll read example ghazal ecopoems in order to learn the form, have an opportunity to mindfully engage with the natural world, and draft our own poems. There will also be time for optional sharing in community. All poetry levels and experience are welcome, including beginner. 

I hope to see you there!

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Main photo by Pascal van de Vendel on Unsplash

Hen photo by Nina Zambardino on Unsplash