Poetry Love: Fistful of Friday Distractions
Happy Friday!
And lo! How she rambles about NaNo...
Once again I am forcibly reminded that large, insane projects with firm deadlines are my lifeblood; I am happiest racing the clock and myself. The trick I've discovered is simple: do not over-think [a motto that it might be wise to post above my PC or by the bathroom mirror, to avert future waffling]. Having faith in the creative process helps too. This NaNo thing also reminds me of the mindset of marathon runners: it's a particular brand of die-hard, determined crazy. The race itself leaves you wrung-out, but the sense of personal completion is worth it. [It's quite possible that last bit only makes sense to me...]
Enough NaNo natter! I bring treats! Yay poetry!
Poetry boyfriends always get the microphone first. Accordingly, here's a little something from Seamus Heaney. This is from his first collection, Death of a Naturalist, and is for my flist at large.
Scaffolding
Masons, when they start upon a building,
Are careful to test out the scaffolding;
Make sure that the planks won't slip at busy points,
Secure all ladders, tighten bolted joints.
And yet all this comes down when the job's done,
Showing off walls of sure and solid stone.
So if, my dear, there sometimes seem to be
Old bridges breaking between you and me,
Never fear. We may let the scaffolds fall,
Confident that we have built our wall.
~~~~~~~~
[You did note that that's from his first book, right? He's not normally so rhyme-y. ]
~~~~~~~~
I've posted some of Amy Gerstler's work before, from her book Ghost Girl. [The icon I'm using is of collection's cover image, actually]. She remains one of my favorite contemporary poets, as she has both deft turns of phrase and a sly sense of humor I simply adore. This is from her book Medicine and is also for my flist at large, with a side dedication to
arabella_hope , because of potatoes. :D
~~~~~~~~
"The Landscape Sends Us our Beloved."
-Walter Benjamin, The Metaphysics of Youth
Then let the land send a handpicked
man, a thick-stemmed lily. Will he
arrive drenched, having stepped
from the riverbed, gravel and rust
rumbling under his tongue? As noble
open as he is closed, as gorgeous
erect as he is wilted, sprung up
among flowering onions, scraped
aside by spades and rakes,
he has sown himself across acres
of forests and scared lakeshores
in riotous drifts. His desires
whiten like milk thistle, like bones
picked clean by crows. During
the third week of his search for me,
he sits and rests against the trunks
of a hottentot fig and its sibling.
"Hey, two-legged being," they cry out,
"ignore the jewel weed's stupid crooning.
Quit chipping words into rocks.
Do something useful. Make it rain."
~~~~~~~~
Maj Ragain is the poet that changed my life. He taught the Introduction to Poetry Writing class, back in the mid-90's that was the catalyst for the first drastic wind change in my own work. His ability to inspire students and encourage poets towards excellence, regardless of their experience, woke my own desire to teach. He is also an amazing storyteller. This is from his collection Fresh Oil Loose Gravel, and is for
bodhifox.
Stars, Darkness, A Lamp
I want to be in a house
where children sleep near,
in blankets on the floor, near.
I want to breathe their small, sweet breath.
Tonight, the rain is cold, straight down.
In the backroom the children sleep.
The flat roof leaks.
The water drips off the light fixture.
A bucket sits between the shildren,
catching the rain.
One child sleeps on her side.
Her brother digs under the rib of her dreams.
They are safe.
One morning a pole will fix each of them
to the ground.
They will be given new names
and left to spin,
a buzz of color, a whorl,
finally a high, blurred whistle.
Don't ever let anyone
tell you the earth is crowded.
This poem is for the children,
their small, sweet breath.
~~~~~~~~
Hmm...it's possible another poem will show up later today, but right now I have to discover lunch and go write. Let me know if you dig a particular poem, or feel free to drop a poem *you* love in the comments or my inbox. Poetry love should be shared! :D
And lo! How she rambles about NaNo...
Once again I am forcibly reminded that large, insane projects with firm deadlines are my lifeblood; I am happiest racing the clock and myself. The trick I've discovered is simple: do not over-think [a motto that it might be wise to post above my PC or by the bathroom mirror, to avert future waffling]. Having faith in the creative process helps too. This NaNo thing also reminds me of the mindset of marathon runners: it's a particular brand of die-hard, determined crazy. The race itself leaves you wrung-out, but the sense of personal completion is worth it. [It's quite possible that last bit only makes sense to me...]
Enough NaNo natter! I bring treats! Yay poetry!
Poetry boyfriends always get the microphone first. Accordingly, here's a little something from Seamus Heaney. This is from his first collection, Death of a Naturalist, and is for my flist at large.
Scaffolding
Masons, when they start upon a building,
Are careful to test out the scaffolding;
Make sure that the planks won't slip at busy points,
Secure all ladders, tighten bolted joints.
And yet all this comes down when the job's done,
Showing off walls of sure and solid stone.
So if, my dear, there sometimes seem to be
Old bridges breaking between you and me,
Never fear. We may let the scaffolds fall,
Confident that we have built our wall.
~~~~~~~~
[You did note that that's from his first book, right? He's not normally so rhyme-y. ]
~~~~~~~~
I've posted some of Amy Gerstler's work before, from her book Ghost Girl. [The icon I'm using is of collection's cover image, actually]. She remains one of my favorite contemporary poets, as she has both deft turns of phrase and a sly sense of humor I simply adore. This is from her book Medicine and is also for my flist at large, with a side dedication to
arabella_hope , because of potatoes. :D
~~~~~~~~
"The Landscape Sends Us our Beloved."
-Walter Benjamin, The Metaphysics of Youth
Then let the land send a handpicked
man, a thick-stemmed lily. Will he
arrive drenched, having stepped
from the riverbed, gravel and rust
rumbling under his tongue? As noble
open as he is closed, as gorgeous
erect as he is wilted, sprung up
among flowering onions, scraped
aside by spades and rakes,
he has sown himself across acres
of forests and scared lakeshores
in riotous drifts. His desires
whiten like milk thistle, like bones
picked clean by crows. During
the third week of his search for me,
he sits and rests against the trunks
of a hottentot fig and its sibling.
"Hey, two-legged being," they cry out,
"ignore the jewel weed's stupid crooning.
Quit chipping words into rocks.
Do something useful. Make it rain."
~~~~~~~~
Maj Ragain is the poet that changed my life. He taught the Introduction to Poetry Writing class, back in the mid-90's that was the catalyst for the first drastic wind change in my own work. His ability to inspire students and encourage poets towards excellence, regardless of their experience, woke my own desire to teach. He is also an amazing storyteller. This is from his collection Fresh Oil Loose Gravel, and is for
bodhifox.
Stars, Darkness, A Lamp
I want to be in a house
where children sleep near,
in blankets on the floor, near.
I want to breathe their small, sweet breath.
Tonight, the rain is cold, straight down.
In the backroom the children sleep.
The flat roof leaks.
The water drips off the light fixture.
A bucket sits between the shildren,
catching the rain.
One child sleeps on her side.
Her brother digs under the rib of her dreams.
They are safe.
One morning a pole will fix each of them
to the ground.
They will be given new names
and left to spin,
a buzz of color, a whorl,
finally a high, blurred whistle.
Don't ever let anyone
tell you the earth is crowded.
This poem is for the children,
their small, sweet breath.
~~~~~~~~
Hmm...it's possible another poem will show up later today, but right now I have to discover lunch and go write. Let me know if you dig a particular poem, or feel free to drop a poem *you* love in the comments or my inbox. Poetry love should be shared! :D