Notes from the Field: Poetry

The following poem, by Marge Piercy, is dedicated to the incredible farmers, year-round and seasonal, field and weed crews, who make it all possible.


To Be of Use


The people I love the best

jump into work head first 

without dallying in the shallows

and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals bouncing like half-submerged balls. 



I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.



I want to be with people who submerge

in the task, who go into the fields to harvest 

and work in a row and pass the bags along,

who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out. 



The work of the world is common as mud.

Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done

has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.

Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.

The pitcher cries for water to carry and a person for work that is real.


- Marge Piercy

Enjoy the harvest,

Amanda, for the farm crew

Image by Rebekah Carter (2012).