When William was young and I told him I loved him, he would ask "How much?" The replies began with "More than ..." and included phrases such as: all the tea in China, all the stars in the sky, and all the fish in ocean. After a while it became a game for us to see if we could come up with a new saying that represented something huge.
When I stumbled upon this poem by Carl Sandburg, I was reminded of this. William's almost 13 now, so he doesn't ask "How much?" very often anymore.
How Much?
By Carl Sandburg
How much do you love me, a million bushels?
Oh, a lot more than that, Oh, a lot more.
And tomorrow maybe only half a bushel?
Tomorrow maybe not even a half a bushel.
And is this your heart arithmetic?
This is the way the wind measures the weather.
You can listen to Sandubrg read this poem at The Poetry Foundation.
Check out other poetic things being shared and collected today by Donna at Mainely Write. Happy Poetry Friday all!
Lovely -- hadn't seen that one before. Can't believe William is 13!!
ReplyDeleteSandburg can be simple in the most complex way! Or should that be he can be complex in the most simple way? Whatever it is, I like it about him.
ReplyDeleteDiane says it all right here!
DeleteIsn't it so true that as our children get older they don't ask "how much" as often. I'm guessing they still wonder though.
I'm so glad you shared this, have never seen it, but love Sandburg's Arithmetic. I like that lovely idea of the 'heart arithmetic'! We used to say I love you to the moon & back, sometimes till the cows come home (have no idea why).
ReplyDeleteAs Diane said, the simplicity of this poem is deceiving. Thanks for sharing it and making me think!
ReplyDeleteI have to believe that all of the "how much"es of his "youth" are stored up inside until he's of an age to love his mother "a million bushels" again!
ReplyDeleteI didn't know about this Carl Sandburg poem. Beautiful!
ReplyDeleteYou know, I would like to like this Sandburg poem, but I don't get it. I've read it over and over, and I don't get the last line. Please - somebody help! I hate when this happens. I'm not very good at poems that are kind of riddles or double meaning. So really, help. I'm feeling stupid - maybe it's the stupor I'm in being sick this week...
ReplyDeleteOk It's morning and I feel a little better, clearer headed. Does this mean the love is fickle? It changes drastically every day, and is measured like a flighty wind would measure...which it can't do? That's all I can come up with... guess I'll have to go with that.
DeleteHi Donna,
DeleteThis is exactly how I read it. Wind is a terrible measure of weather, as it's constantly changing. I think love can be like that too, though I'd say that my love is strong everyday, it's just that some days I don't like my partner very much!
Does that make sense?
Oh, thank you! This makes sense. I don't like the idea of love changing. As you said, I think the love is there, maybe the "like" isn't the same. I just had this uneasiness about the changing state of "love" meaning, if that was what it was. And I guess it was! Again, thanks!
DeleteThanks for sharing the poem. My son is about to turn 17. He'll still say "I love you too," but I only get about half the hugs of old. Sigh.
ReplyDelete