poetry reflection

The Traveller ~ A Poem by John Berryman

by


Wander far enough, and you don’t just find new places—you confront the parts of yourself you thought you’d left behind. Berryman’s traveler isn’t just crossing land—he’s crossing into meaning.

The Traveller

John Berryman

They pointed me out on the highway, and they said
‘That man has a curious way of holding his head.’

They pointed me out on the beach; they said ‘That man
Will never become as we are, try as he can.’

They pointed me out at the station, and the guard
Looked at me twice, thrice, thoughtfully & hard.

I took the same train that the others took,
To the same place. Were it not for that look
And those words, we were all of us the same.
I studied merely maps. I tried to name
The effects of motion on the travellers,
I watched the couple I could see, the curse
And blessings of that couple, their destination,
The deception practised on them at the station,
Their courage. When the train stopped and they knew
The end of their journey, I descended too.

Source

❓

Reflective Questions:

  1. What does the act of “traveling” represent in your own life—movement or escape?
  2. Have you ever returned from a journey feeling like a different person? Why?
  3. In what ways does this poem invite you to revisit the parts of yourself you’ve forgotten or hidden?

💬 

Poignant Reflection:

In “The Traveller,” Berryman strips the idea of movement down to its bare, raw essence. The traveler is not a hero but a soul in search of footing, memory, and belonging. There’s no map—just the ache of experience, and the quiet hope that even wandering can lead us home. For all who have loved, lost, or simply lived—this poem reminds us: we are all travelers, and the journey within is often the most profound.

The Enduring ~ A Poem by John Gould Fletcher

by

The Enduring

John Gould Fletcher

If the autumn ended
  Ere the birds flew southward,
  If in the cold with weary throats
  They vainly strove to sing,
  Winter would be eternal;
  Leaf and bush and blossom
  Would never once more riot
  In the spring.

  If remembrance ended
  When life and love are gathered,
  If the world were not living
  Long after one is gone,
  Song would not ring, nor sorrow
  Stand at the door in evening;
  Life would vanish and slacken,
  Men would be changed to stone.

  But there will be autumn’s bounty
  Dropping upon our weariness,
  There will be hopes unspoken
  And joys to haunt us still;
  There will be dawn and sunset
  Though we have cast the world away,
  And the leaves dancing
  Over the hill.

Source


The Strength That Whispers: A Reflection on John Gould Fletcher’s The Enduring


The Enduring reminds us that true strength isn’t loud or flashy—it’s the quiet presence that survives wind, fire, time, and grief. Fletcher paints a portrait of something deeper than survival: endurance as grace. His words echo the experience of those who’ve walked through hardship without applause and kept going, not because it was easy, but because stopping wasn’t an option. In a world obsessed with speed and noise, this poem is a whispered invitation to honor what holds us up when everything else falls away.

New Podcast: You Can’t Return Grief at the Self-Checkout

by

What do a mistaken tea purchase and a 100-degree South Texas day have to do with grief? Everything. In this reflective episode, Ray unpacks how life, unlike a supermarket, doesn’t offer exchanges or refunds—and how we must keep moving forward through the world grief leaves us in. Guided by the poems of Theodore Roethke and Jane Hirshfield, we discover that taking our waking slow, learning as we go, and finding deep resilience is how we begin to heal. Pour yourself something cold (check the label), and join us on a poetic, personal journey of strength, sorrow, and survival.

5 Salient Points from the Episode:

  • Life isn’t like a supermarket: You can’t return the parts you didn’t want—grief stays with you.
  • Theodore Roethke’s poem “The Waking” offers a gentle mantra: “We learn by going where we have to go.”
  • The importance of movement: Both literal and emotional—“mobility is movement” applies to healing, too.
  • Jane Hirshfield’s poem “Optimism” reminds us of the inherent resilience in all living things, including ourselves.
  • Even in grief, growth is possible: Slowly, painfully, and beautifully—we unpeel layers, step by step, toward life.

Verified by MonsterInsights