My Name

camping 2013
One night when the lawn was a golden green
and the marbled moonlit trees rose like fresh memorials
in the scented air, and the whole countryside pulsed
with the chirr and murmur of insects, I lay in the grass
feeling the great distances open above me, and wondered
what I would become—and where I would find myself—
and though I barely existed, I felt for an instant
that the vast star-clustered sky was mine, and I heard
my name as if for the first time, heard it the way
one hears the wind or the rain, but faint and far off
as though it belonged not to me but to the silence
from which it had come and to which it would go.

Mark Strand, “My Name,” The New Yorker,  April 11, 2005

16 thoughts on “My Name

      • I request to have this hymn played at my dad’s funeral. He made beautiful things from all types of wood and would point out the bark on trees the shapes of leaves and name the types of trees when we hiked in the woods. When I here that song I always think of how much respect and love he taught me to have for nature and Gods world.

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