Bright Star

Hey poetry lovers, I think you'll enjoy this beautiful new film, detailing the love story of the poet John Keats and his "bright star," Fanny Brawne.

What a breathtaking story of poetic romance.
Watch. Weep. Love.

Wing by Wing

We have recently begun to study William Carlos Williams in Modern Poetry. I think he is a poet I shall quite enjoy. Rather than offering a deep interpretation of his work, tonight I simply offer a bit of Williams for you to enjoy.

Aux Imagistes

William Carlos Williams

I think I have never been so exalted
As I am now by you,
O frost bitten blossoms,
That are unfolding your wings
From out the envious black branches.

Bloom quickly and make much of the sunshine
The twigs conspire against you
Hear them!
They hold you from behind

You shall not take wing
Except wing by wing, brokenly,
And yet—
Even they
Shall not endure for ever.

Photo by: Valerie Owens

Poetry 180

Last year, Santa Claus, or maybe my mother gave me the terrific gift of a book entitled, Poetry 180. This book is actually a printing of a fabulous project also called Poetry 180 which offers a poem a day for American high school students. The project is the work of Billy Collins, former Poet Laureate of the United States. Collins started the project in hopes of creating a turning back, a 180, if you will, to poetry, an art so often forgotten in these days. For more about the project, click here.

Today, I'd like to post just one of the poems of Poetry 180. The poem is by Ted Kooser, whose project American Life in Poetry, I highlighted in my last post. Hopefully, by highlighting a few of the phenomenal poetry projects out there, I can perhaps encourage a few more people into incorporating poetry into their daily lives. Also, its a good example of just what the Poet Laureate of the United States actually does. We live at an age where poetry is perhaps more accessible that it has ever been. Why not take advantage of it?

Selecting a Reader

Ted Kooser

First, I would have her be beautiful,
and walking carefully up on my poetry
at the loneliest moment of an afternoon,
her hair still damp at the neck
from washing it. She should be wearing
a raincoat, an old one, dirty
from not having money enough for the cleaners.
She will take out her glasses, and there
in the bookstore, she will thumb
over my poems, then put the book back
up on its shelf. She will say to herself,
"For that kind of money, I can get
my raincoat cleaned." And she will.

from Sure Signs, 1980
University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, Pa.

American Life in Poetry Project

I recently stumbled upon a fabulous project, American Life in Poetry. The project, a pet child of Ted Kooser, is aimed at promoting poetry. Each week, a new poem is posted. I have three main reasons to love the project:

1. It's free!
2. The poems are brief!
3. It's contemporary poetry from all ranges and talents of poets; anywhere from a 12 year old beginner to a budding college student to a middle aged old pro.

Below, I have posted the link as well as the column of one week. Feel free to check out the project for yourself. And forgive me if I post a few more of these poems. I, for one, am a fan!

Self-Portrait by Zozan Hawez : American Life in Poetry

American Life in Poetry: Column 198

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE

This column has had the privilege of publishing a number of poems by young people, but this is the first we’ve published by a young person who is also a political refugee. The poet, Zozan Hawez, is from Iraq, and goes to Foster High School in Tukwila, Washington. Seattle Arts & Lectures sponsors a Writers in the Schools program, and Zozan’s poem was encouraged by that initiative.


Self-Portrait

Born in a safe family

But a dangerous area, Iraq,

I heard guns at a young age, so young

They made a decision to raise us safe

So packed our things

And went far away.

Now, in the city of rain,

I try to forget my past,

But memories never fade.

This is my life,

It happened for a reason,

I happened for a reason.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2007 by Seattle Arts & Lectures. Reprinted from “We Will Carry Ourselves As Long As We Gaze Into The Sun,” Seattle Arts & Lectures, 2007, by permission of Zozan Hawez and the publisher. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Shared via AddThis

Collections

10 Things I Have Collected In my Past (And some in the present)

1. Quotes: I have pages and pages of quotes on every topic imaginable. I don't know what it is I love so much about quotes. Perhaps it is the view of a quote as the best possible use of a sentence.
   
2. Book lines: You know those lines that you hit when reading a novel that just wow you? Those lines that linger on your mind after you've put the book down? I write those down in a small book. I'm selective in my book lines. It's got to really be something to make it into my book.
   
3. Books: There are few things I love more than books. I am not a particular fan of buying new books, and not just because of the cost. There is a certain thrill in finding the well-loved book you've been searching for amidst cluttered shelves of used books. It is nice to know someone else loved the book once too (or at least I'd like to believe). I am picky about my books. I want my shelves to be filled with books I have not only read, but loved. It's a beautiful lifetime project.
   
4. Rocks: What child didn't collect rocks? And with my father being a geologist, it was my fate. I was always pretty choosy when it came to my rocks. Nothing boring or ordinary in my collection. I think I've still got my rocks on a shelf somewhere. Thinking back now, I realize the best ones were probably actually discovered by my dad, who was kind enough to let me claim them. Parents are great.
   
5. Sea shells: I still collect sea shells. Since I've been to the beach so little, the few shells I have are memories of good times. In my collection I also have a few collected by good friends, and those mean even more.
   
6. Stickers: As a child I loved, loved, loved stickers. The odd thing is I never actually did anything with my stickers. I found stickers to be messy and difficult to remove when off of their original sheet. So, I just had pages and pages of unused stickers. Long after my collecting days were over, I eventually used my stickers in craft projects with kids. I gave some away to kids I babysit, and some to a friend's little sister who collects stickers. What was the appeal of those things?
   
7. Erasers: Another really odd childhood obsession of mine. I actually did use the erasers. I wonder what happened to all of those... I think I donated them to a thrift shop or gave them away to some little kids. The stupidest one I owned was an enormous pink eraser that read, "My Dad Never Makes Mistakes. This Is only A Paperweight." I didn't know what a paperweight was. I'm finicky about erasers. So many are too rubbery or leave unattractive streaks across the page. For years I have preferred the soft pink erasers found atop a good Ticonderoga #2. They don't call them The World's Best Pencil for nothing.
8. Butterfly hair clips and assorted hair accessories: I was a victim of the nineties. I plead silence.
9. Stuffed animals: I had the whole dang animal kingdom. There are still teddy bears on my bed (great to cuddle with). My favorite stuffed animals are in a drawer in my closet. Someday, they'll go to my kids. ]
10. Barbies: Raise of hands please, who hates the Bratz dolls?
    

What is it about human nature that compels us to collect?

Poetic Snippets

Snippets, because who says you have to like the whole poem?

From "Song of Myself"
Walt Whitman

Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

From "Why Regret?"
Galway Kinnell

Doesn't it outdo the pleasures of the brilliant concert
to wake in the night and find ourselves
holding hands in our sleep?

Yeah. That's all for tonight.

Something in me...

Millay tonight, because I'm in the mood. This is a particular favorite of mine--primarily the first two stanzas. I have often felt that urge to get out, to go, anywhere, just go. I always return. Unlike Millay, I have no romantic notions of a lonely death. I never desire not to return home. I only need an hour or so alone. My preferred method of transportation is the car, as it is the fastest way to escape the city. But this fall I am without a car. The roads are calling to me and I am itching to drive, to explore, and to go. For now, I retreat on foot to the groves and gardens nearby, grateful for trees, river, and the solitude.

Photo by: Valerie Owens

Departure

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

It's little I care what path I take,

And where it leads it's little I care;

But out of this house, lest my heart break,

I must go, and off somewhere.

It's little I know what's in my heart,

What's in my mind it's little I know,

But there's that in me must up and start,

And it's little I care where my feet go.

I wish I could walk for a day and a night,

And find me at dawn in a desolate place

With never the rut of a road in sight,

Nor the roof of a house, nor the eyes of a face.

I wish I could walk till my blood should spout,

And drop me, never to stir again,

On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out,

And the weedy rocks are bare to the rain.

But dump or dock, where the path I take

Brings up, it's little enough I care;

And it's little I'd mind the fuss they'll make,

Huddled dead in a ditch somewhere.

"Is something the matter, dear," she said,

"That you sit at your work so silently?"

"No, mother, no, 'twas a knot in my thread.

There goes the kettle, I'll make the tea."

Purple. Lovely. Inconceivable.

Tonight's mood: Odd. Restless. Anxious. Melancholy. Stubborn. Contemplative.

Today I checked out a few books of Richard Brautigan's. I'd briefly explored his poetry last year, gave up on him, and once again I have returned. It's not that I think his work is particularly good. In fact, I think most of it's pretty pathetic, cheap, and of no literary merit whatsoever. And yet, I like it. So there.

I Live in the Twentieth Century
Richard Brautigan

I live in the Twentieth Century
and you lie here beside me. You
were unhappy when you fell asleep.
There was nothing I could do about
it. I felt hopeless. Your face
is so beautiful that I cannot stop
to describe it, and there's nothing
I can do to make you happy while
you sleep.

15%
Richard Brautigan

She tries to get things out of men
that she can't get because she's not
15% prettier.

April 7, 1969
Richard Brautigan

I feel so bad today
that I want to write a poem.
I don't care: any poem, this
poem.

And this last one, he wrote for me. Hey thanks Brautigan! Forgive my editing.

All Girls Should Have a Poem
For Valerie
Richard Brautigan

All girls should have a poem
written for them even if
we have to turn this ***** world
upside down to do it.

New Mexico
March 16, 1969

I Praised What Gave Me Joy

Tonight, I praise that which gives me joy. This poem was introduced to me in a modern poetry class I recently enrolled in. (You, dear reader, will likely be hearing much of this class these next few months!) The poem of this evening is Tony Hoagland's "Personal." It is refreshingly new-sprung, published originally in the July/August 2009 issue of Poetry. How beautiful to see good poetry alive and flourishing! Three cheers for Hoagland!

All week long Hoagland's line, "Oh Life! Can you blame me / for making a scene?" has been running through my mind. It is my recent call out to the world; my mental mantra for the week. So now, dear reader, I give you the fabulous Tony Hoagland.

Personal

by Tony Hoagland

Don’t take it personal, they said;

but I did, I took it all quite personal—

the breeze and the river and the color of the fields;

the price of grapefruit and stamps,

the wet hair of women in the rain—

And I cursed what hurt me

and I praised what gave me joy,

the most simple-minded of possible responses.

The government reminded me of my father,

with its deafness and its laws,

and the weather reminded me of my mom,

with her tropical squalls.

Enjoy it while you can, they said of Happiness

Think first, they said of Talk

Get over it, they said

at the School of Broken Hearts

but I couldn’t and I didn’t and I don’t

believe in the clean break;

I believe in the compound fracture

served with a sauce of dirty regret,

I believe in saying it all

and taking it all back

and saying it again for good measure

while the air fills up with I’m-Sorries

like wheeling birds

and the trees look seasick in the wind.

Oh life! Can you blame me

for making a scene?

You were that yellow caboose, the moon

disappearing over a ridge of cloud.

I was the dog, chained in some fool’s backyard;

barking and barking:

trying to convince everything else

to take it personal too.

Source: Poetry (July/August 2009).

The World; A Little Closer Up

I am currently taking a pause from reading Walt Whitman's incredibly long "Song of Myself." I have never read "Song of Myself" in its entirety, so when the assignment was given for a class to read the 1855 version, I welcomed the challenge. But oh Whitman! It is a challenge indeed! For now I rest my weary mind and direct my attention to another love of mine: the world behind the lense of camera. Recently, I have discovered the joys of the closeup function of my camera. Enjoy these pictures. Or not, I suppose. These photos are all the work of Valerie Owens. Please do not copy without permission.

And to give this the guise of being poetry related, I will intermingle quotes with pictures.

"Seeing hearing and feeling are miracles." ~ Walt Whitman, 1855 version of "Song of Myself"

"I am waylaid by Beauty [...] Oh, savage Beauty, suffer me to pass." ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Assault"

"Oh World! I cannot hold thee close enough!" ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay, "God's World"

"Life is a series of thousands of tiny miracles." ~ Mike Greenberg