"The Orange," by Wendy Cope

Let's gather and explore the ordinary moments.

Last Friday, I went on an excursion with my friend Jenny to the Grolier Poetry Book Shop in Cambridge, MA. It’s tucked into the corner of Plympton Street, next to the Harvard Book Store; it’s usually open on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays from 11am - 7pm. The room is cozy and staffed by (I presume) Harvard students who sit by the register and talk about books, and poets, and plans for the weekend. When Jenny and I went in, they smiled at us, and the small room was warm, shelves on all sides filled with poetry books.

While Jenny and I looked through poets I’ve never heard before, books I’ve never seen (though I hope to get acquainted soon), one of the staff members, a woman whose name I wish I had asked for, recited a poem she and her friends were discussing. She read “The Orange” by Wendy Cope. The words filled this dark room in the middle of winter with citrus light. I had forgotten how much I loved this poem—all of its brightness and love—until she reminded me. I wanted to try and read it out loud to you, reader, too.

The Orange
by Wendy Cope

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange—
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.

This poem is short—three quatrains, or three stanzas of four lines each. In such a small space, Cope spans an entire day starting with the simple purchase of a lunchtime orange that is shared between friends. She creates intimacy at the beginning of the poem, talking about Robert and Dave who we, the readers, will never know, but we can marvel at their platonic love. Cope writes about the enjoyment of her ordinary life—the peace and contentment, the shopping and checking off a to-do list, walking in the park. “It’s new,” she writes. There is mystery in this poem, too. Did the joy of the day start because of the huge orange, an extraordinary ordinary thing? Or did she start the day with the intent of enjoying it?

I’ve recently spent time reading Albert Camus’ Myth of Sisyphus, a collection of essays where Camus examines the absurdity of life. He compares much of our existence to the ancient Greek myth of Sisyphus, who the gods punished, and every day he rolls a boulder up a mountain to wake up the next with the boulder back at the bottom and his task to roll it back up. Camus compares the ordinary existences we have are like Sisyphus in which we wake everyday with a task, just to start the next day from square one. But instead of despair, there is fulfillment in this task, in moving these atoms and flakes of rock up a mountain, experiencing this existence. Camus concludes: “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

I think that Cope captures this same sentiment with “The Orange.” We interact with the world every day and the earth provides so much—in this case, an abnormally large orange. We could eat it and move on with the day, shoulders drooping with the weight of the mundane. Or, in the case of Cope, we can look at the orange and laugh. We can peel it and share it with friends. We can let that joy carry us through the day.

“I love you,” writes Cope in the end. “I’m glad I exist.” At the end of the poem, I think that Cope is talking to herself, or a version of herself—the part of herself that needs some love. And what simple sentiments to end on—love and gratitude. It is in the meditation of the ordinary, in the day to day, that Cope is able to indulge herself in what the world has to offer, and remind herself she is happy to be here. To exist. All because of an orange.

If you want to read more from Wendy Cope… you can learn more about her and read more of her poetry here (and you can listen to Emma Watson read this poem here).

If you want to learn more about The Myth of Sisyphus… you can read the entire collection here or read a synopsis of it here (because man oh man it is dense).

If you want to try writing poetry… write about a day in your life—just something ordinary, something with a normal routine. Be present in your day and see what you typically don’t notice. Then write about it!