Three Poems for May
May with Georgia O’Keeffe, Erich Kästner & Mary Oliver
Dear Reader
Finally, May has arrived.
To mark this turning, here are three poems I keep returning to each year. One speaks in rhyme, one in prayer, and the third in colour. Together, they remind us that May will always come — restless to burst into bloom, with an achy stomach full of butterflies that gives you, for the first time in the year, that feeling that everything lies ahead — and somehow, without any naivety, everything feels possible.
Nobody sees a flower — really — it is so small it takes time — we haven’t time — and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.
— Georgia O’Keeffe
The First May
A folk poem by Emanuel Geibel
May has arrived, the trees burst into leaf.
Let anyone who wants to stay home with worries.
Just like the clouds drift across the heavenly tent,
so too does my mind drift out into the wide, wide world.
I have been absolutely terrified every moment of my life — and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do.
— Georgia O’Keeffe
May — Erich Kästner
translated from Die 13 Monate by Erich Kästner
In morning coat, that merry spender,
a blossom scepter in his hand,
now comes young May — the soft pretender,
the Mozart of the season’s band.With just a wave, the world’s in bloom.
He rides through orchards, bright and wide.
Blue tits flutter and finks make room,
while peacock eyes fan out with pride.The apple trees behind the gate
begin to blush, and birches bow.
The thrushes play a tune of fate
on flutes no louder than a vow.His carriage rolls through pastel air.
We tip our hats. He passes by.
Time melts into a lilac flare —
oh, if the whole year could be May!Joy and sorrow are close kin,
and petals fall like perfumed snow.
With every breath, we slip within
the shift from now to long ago.Even joy can ache, and May
too, brings longing in its light.
He nods, “I’ll come again one day,”
and golden dusk replaces white.He waves to hills, to lilac skies,
a smile still lingering as he goes —
the scent of hope, the blink of goodbyes.
The coach rolls on. The evening slows.
Mary Oliver – The Summer Day (excerpt)
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention,
how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed,
how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Thank you for reading.
May there always be a May.
With warmth
— Earth Poet
References / Bibliography
Kästner, Erich. Der Mai. In Die 13 Monate. Atrium Verlag, 1955.
English translation by Earth Poet (2025).Geibel, Emanuel (attributed). Der Mai ist gekommen. Traditional German folk poem, 19th century.
English adaptation by Earth Poet (2025).Oliver, Mary. The Summer Day. In House of Light. Beacon Press, 1990.
Shared with image via Reddit: Poem: The Summer Day by Mary Oliver
Image credit: Reddit user u/SleeplessFromSundown, posted March 27, 2022.Image 1: Georgia O’Keeffe, Hibiscus & Plumeria, 1939.
Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of Sam Rose and Julie Walters.
https://americanart.si.edu/artwork/hibiscus-plumeria-73942Image 2: Erich Kästner at his desk.
Still from Erich Kästner – Das andere Ich, SRF Kultur, 2023.
Source: SRF Kultur
(Used under fair use for educational and literary commentary.)Image 3: Mary Oliver poem art.
Shared by Reddit user u/SleeplessFromSundown, 2022.
Reddit Poetry Thread
(Used under fair use for literary appreciation.)
NOBODY SEES A FLOWER — REALLY — IT IS SO SMALL IT TAKES TIME — WE HAVEN’T TIME — AND TO SEE TAKES TIME, LIKE TO HAVE A FRIEND TAKES TIME.
— GEORGIA O’KEEFFE