Why poetry?

Poetry (I'm learning now I've graduated) isn't something you run across often outside of the classroom. But poetry is meant for more than just Monday, Wednesday, Friday from 3:00-4:00 so here is a place to always find poems and suggestions of more places to seek them out. You can agree or disagree with my choices, but my hope is that you'll be inspired to let poetry (the poems I find or ones you find on your own) be a part of your every day.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

"Ode to a Dressmaker's Dummy" by Donald Justice

February’s not over and so in keeping with the love theme, we move into odes. If you are a detail person (like many poetry readers are), visit http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5784 for a short history and definition of the ode. You’ll probably want to argue with me that an ode is not the same as a love poem and want the facts to back it up. I’ll agree that technically it’s not. But then I'll ask you how you define a love poem. Odes, for me anyway, fit right in. And might be even more interesting because you can write an ode to just about anything. Think about it and you might agree that taking the time to admire and poetically define an object, to write it an ode, feels a little bit like love.

Ode to a Dressmaker's Dummy
by Donald Justice

Papier-mache body; blue-and-black cotton jersey cover.
Metal stand. Instructions included. --Sears, Roebuck Catalogue

O my coy darling, still
You wear for me the scent
Of those long afternoons we spent,
The two of us together,
Safe in the attic from the jealous eyes
Of household spies
And the remote buffooneries of the weather;
So high,
Our sole remaining neighbor was the sky,
Which, often enough, at dusk,
Leaning its cloudy shoulders on the sill,
Used to regard us with a bored and cynical eye.

How like the terrified,
Shy figure of a bride
You stood there then, without your clothes,
Drawn up into
So classic and so strict a pose
Almost, it seemed, our little attic grew
Dark with the first charmed night of the honeymoon.
Or was it only some obscure
Shape of my mother's youth I saw in you,
There where the rude shadows of the afternoon
Crept up your ankles and you stood
Hiding your sex as best you could?--
Prim ghost the evening light shone through.

Found at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15353

Friday, February 18, 2011

"Hate Poem" by Julie Sheehan

Because the the oppisite of the love poem is...

Hate Poem
by Julie Sheehan

I hate you truly. Truly I do.
Everything about me hates everything about you.
The flick of my wrist hates you.
The way I hold my pencil hates you.
The sound made by my tiniest bones were they trapped
in the jaws of a moray eel hates you.
Each corpuscle singing in its capillary hates you.

Look out! Fore! I hate you.

The blue-green jewel of sock lint I’m digging
from under my third toenail, left foot, hates you.
The history of this keychain hates you.
My sigh in the background as you explain relational databases
hates you.
The goldfish of my genius hates you.
My aorta hates you. Also my ancestors.

A closed window is both a closed window and an obvious
symbol of how I hate you.

My voice curt as a hairshirt: hate.
My hesitation when you invite me for a drive: hate.
My pleasant “good morning”: hate.

You know how when I’m sleepy I nuzzle my head
under your arm? Hate.
The whites of my target-eyes articulate hate. My wit
practices it.
My breasts relaxing in their holster from morning
to night hate you.
Layers of hate, a parfait.
Hours after our latest row, brandishing the sharp glee of hate,
I dissect you cell by cell, so that I might hate each one
individually and at leisure.
My lungs, duplicitous twins, expand with the utter validity
of my hate, which can never have enough of you,
Breathlessly, like two idealists in a broken submarine.

Found at: http://poemsoutloud.net/audio/archive/julie_sheehan_reads_hate_poem/

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

"i carry your heart with me" by E.E. Cummings

A belated happy Valentine's to everyone. I meant to post this yesterday but lost track of the day. Too many chocolates to eat and cards to send. Anyway, it's a very popular poem so you've probably heard it before but it's still one of my favorites and worth posting. Happy Valentine's!

i carry your heart with me by E. E. Cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Found at: http://www.famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/e__e__cummings/poems/14130

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Thursday, February 10, 2011

"Unanswered Plea" by Ales Debeljak

Breaking from the love poem entirely, I had to share this poet. I had the privilege of hearing him read on MU's campus this week and it was a moving experience. A Slovenian who writes of war and human existence, his poems are haunting and poignant. In Debeljak's words, "These poems are meant to be read in quiet contemplation." So please, take a moment to meditate on this poem...

"Unanswered Plea" by Ales Debeljak

I learn things by myself, which is why
it takes so long. I'm asking you
to be patient. That's not asking much.
I learn by myself, learn to cross the village,
it's not every day I recognize you
in the timberwork of the roof,
the builders' sweat alight in the air even now.
The river is sluggish here, the lake is asleep,
one's step less heavy, but I'm no longer
convinced I've read it right: instructions
for painting a woodpecker's wings in red
and black and red, and how to cast a spell upon
the ankles of a pregnant girl. I don't know
nor want to know her name, and maybe that's
the reason I can't breathe, but I won't forget
the way she makes me feel. Did I really
read it right? Okay, I accept these signposts
in the humid moss, in the backbone curving
throughout every season, in scarlet shells
cracked apart at the feast to which I'm called.
Yes, this I accept. But where in the language
should I look for you, when the language
is unworthy of what you are? It might be
that you assume a common form, such as love,
or maybe you're something awful down the road
that will, after all, come to pass.

Found at: http://wordswithoutborders.org/article/unanswered-plea/

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

"How Do I Love Thee?" (Sonnet 43) by Elizabeth Barret Browning

So I'm breaking my own rule (which I do a lot) and throwing in some more traditional love poems because I do appreciate them and they're worth taking a look at, too. My new theme for the month is looking at the spectrum of love poems. Sorry for being so indecisive and changing direction, but I am a writer...

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Found at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15384

Monday, February 7, 2011

"How to Write Love Poems" by Jeremy Richards : The Poetry Foundation [article]

What does a "good love poem" mean to you? It can mean many, many things (hence this month's theme of the non traditional poem), but this article asks several poets what it means to them and might get you thinking. And just maybe you'll find some helpful tips if you're feeling compelled to write a poem of your own...

How to Write Love Poems by Jeremy Richards : The Poetry Foundation [article]

Friday, February 4, 2011

"I'm a Fool to Love You" by Cornelius Eady

I'm in love with this poem (sound and rhythm here are worth noting), but I won't distract you with my commentary. I'll just remind you we're looking at non-traditional love poems (good love, broken love, and otherwise) and beg you to please read this poem out loud. It's meant to be read/ heard/ experienced (hence it being found at http://www.poetryoutloud.org/). Enjoy!

I'm a Fool to Love You
by Cornelius Eady

Some folks will tell you the blues is a woman,
Some type of supernatural creature.
My mother would tell you, if she could,
About her life with my father,
A strange and sometimes cruel gentleman.
She would tell you about the choices
A young black woman faces.
Is falling in love with some man
A deal with the devil
In blue terms, the tongue we use
When we don't want nuance
To get in the way,
When we need to talk straight.
My mother chooses my father
After choosing a man
Who was, as we sing it,
Of no account.
This man made my father look good,
That's how bad it was.
He made my father seem like an island
In the middle of a stormy sea,
He made my father look like a rock.
And is the blues the moment you realize
You exist in a stacked deck,
You look in a mirror at your young face,
The face my sister carries,
And you know it's the only leverage
You've got.
Does this create a hurt that whispers
How you going to do?
Is the blues the moment
You shrug your shoulders
And agree, a girl without money
Is nothing, dust
To be pushed around by any old breeze.
Compared to this,
My father seems, briefly,
To be a fire escape.
This is the way the blues works
Its sorry wonders,
Makes trouble look like
A feather bed,
Makes the wrong man's kisses
A healing.

Found at: http://www.poetryoutloud.org/poems/poem.html?id=179454

Thursday, February 3, 2011

"Why I Love You" by Shanelle Gabriel

Now that the chaos of the storm is passing, I'll get back to my original plan for February which was to post non-traditional love poems. And by "non-traditional" I just mean anything that isn't a Shakespearean sonnet or a lilting confession of desire directed towards "beloved" or “my dear.” Love poems, like real love, come in all shapes and sizes and to remember that opens a whole new category of poetry. To get us started we have a humorous poem from the world of spoken word. Enjoy!

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

"Fire and Ice" by Robert Frost

Since I posted "Snow Day" by Billy Collins on Jan. 11 (see blog archives if you're interested) and since word on the street is that the we are in the middle of "Snowpocalypse" or other equally ominous labels for the snow storm hitting the Mid-west today, this well known Frost poem seemed appropriate.

Fire and Ice
by Robert Frost

SOME say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Found at: http://www.bartleby.com/155/2.html