Lent, Day Eleven - and Another Poem

Again, from Poets.org:

To W.C.W. M.D.
by Alfred Kreymborg
There has been Another death. This time I bring it to you. You are kind, Brutal, You know How to lower Bodies. I ask only That the rope Isn't silk, (Silk doesn't break) Nor thread, (Thread does.) If it lifts And lowers Common things, It will do.

Yesterday's poem~ Lent, Day Ten

Poets.org

Art Class
by James Galvin
Let us begin with a simple line, Drawn as a child would draw it, To indicate the horizon, More real than the real horizon, Which is less than line, Which is visible abstraction, a ratio. The line ravishes the page with implications Of white earth, white sky! The horizon moves as we move, Making us feel central. But the horizon is an empty shell— Strange radius whose center is peripheral. As the horizon draws us on, withdrawing, The line draws us in, Requiring further lines, Engendering curves, verticals, diagonals, Urging shades, shapes, figures… What should we place, in all good faith, On the horizon? A stone? An empty chair? A submarine? Take your time. Take it easy. The horizon will not stop abstracting us.

Oops, Missed a Day!

But not really.  I remember that I hadn't yet shared a poem for yesterday, and was already in bed.  I weighed getting out of bed (I'd already gotten up once to have my son check his blood sugar and was going to do that again in a couple of hours, and I'd already turned off the computer) with staying in it.  Then I realised I had my iPod nearby, so I pulled it under the covers and looked for a poem to share before it was too late.

The one I selected was again from Poetry Daily, and I shared it on Facebook.  A wonderful poem written by Tina Chang, entitled "Patriotism," the language is confident and truthful, and isn't worried about getting down into the dirt, looking for new life. 

Here, in keeping with my Lenten promise to myself (to share a poem a day with one person or more) and with links to Poetry Daily and Four Way Books, is the poem:

Patriotism

The village was in tatters, smoking before it spoke,
shrapnel in a lung, a toothache in a guilty mouth.

There's something in the back of my mind I'd like
to remember, rubble there and a shovel for digging.

We stood in the deep muck for years. I wrote
love notes to nurse him back to health. If he dreamed

origami cranes I kept folding this paper inward
and inward until it bloomed and found velocity.

To get inside the earth's black center, I must have tools.
I must be alert and willful. I sat on the ground

to get down deeper, below kneeling, below bowing
and scramble, and boulder. And when you get that low,

you can mount the cry, the zero. What happened
in the marriage between the heart and its territory?

The tools were man-made, the tools worked slowly with labor.
The work was not without toil. When I found him there

face up, I put my mouth to his mouth, exhaled
for many years, my tongue waving like a flag.
Tina Chang


Of Gods & Strangers
Four Way Books
 

Lent, the 4th day and another poem shared

The poem I found today is by Rachel Elizabeth Griffiths, and is on Poetry Daily.  I was a little last minute with this one, and shared it on Facebook as it felt weird to send it to someone. It's about death, a son lost.  It's a beautiful poem.

Here is the first part:

Perdre

Leave me here
amidst the underworld
of pickaxes. Anvils. Work
horses and sawdust.

The afternoon light
was the texture of language—

dust before a death.

   ...

  Oh, and I did get the Fellowship application done, and sent off today. Phew!

Spring, a poem by Mary Oliver

Here's a link to the Mary Oliver poem, Spring, that I shared in the last post~

Spring

  
Somewhere
a black bear
has just risen from sleep
and is staring

 

down the mountain.
All night
in the brisk and shallow restlessness
of early spring

 

I think of her ...

 

*

 

For the poem in it's entirety, here's a link: 

http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:3f0Y97Bh4R4J:www.panhala.net/Archive/Spring.html+&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us&client=firefox-a

(House of Light)

 

 

Day Two of Lent, and a poem a day

Well, I won't even say how long it's been since I posted here.  My blogs and a few other things got away from me since, well, ...

So, time to put that aside.  Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, and time for me to make some decisions.  What to give up?  Or rather, what to take on?  Of course, I would write daily in my journal for the days of Lent.  I try to do that every year, some years more successful than others, but a good practice to put into action.  But, what else could I do that might have farther reaching effects?

Certainly I get a few poems from journal entries, and those go on to enter the rounds of the submission game, and eventually a few are published.  But - what could I do, during Lent, that would reach someone every day?

It came to me in the shower this morning.  Day Two of Lent.  Why not read a poem to my Silver Sneakers Yoga Stretch class? That sounded good to me.  But I teach the class only on Tuesdays, so I needed to do something else.  Perhaps my Pilates class would like to hear a short poem each time we meet.  I was becoming more energized as I continued to plan my project. Why stop there?  Maybe my weight-training (Ultimate Strength) class would like to hear a haiku ...

So, today I read Mary Oliver's "Spring" to my Pilates group today.  And, they liked it.  I teach again tonight, this time Ultimate Strength (which is like BodyPump or Group Power).  And I'll read one to them, too.  Tomorrow morning I am subbing the 6 am Ultimate Strength.  Wonder what they would think?

Which brings me to another point I've been thinking about.  Drawing attention to myself as a poet.  Or, just drawing attention to myself, period.  I mull that over from time to time, and have done over the years.  But then I got to thinking, after my shower, as I made the bed that, in order to bring something good to others, you first have to do something good for yourself.  Pretty standard stuff.  But, shouldn't it be the other way around?

The way I see it:  I like poetry.  Maybe others do, or they don't.  Often people just don't understand it.  I like to write poetry, and yes, I like it when it gets published.  I won't lie.  So, why not take a poem, one that has a good chance of "reaching" others, and share it with them?  Maybe we will both (or all) benefit.  I'll get something out of reading the poem, tasting the words, and I'll be giving it away to someone else.  I'll find the poems that speak to many, written by others mostly, and set them down different paths, one each day.  Might be in a fitness class.  Might be on Face Book.  Or via email.  Or tacked onto the bulletin board at a grocery store.  Or ...

What will you do?

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Poems for sale

Poems for sale
Originally uploaded by Glynnis Ritchie

I love this!!! I wish I could write a poem on demand, but alas, it doesn't work that way for me~

Here is the note that goes with the photo:

"Poems for sale

This guy was sitting on a street corner. We passed by him and he asked, "Can I write you guys a poem?" We politely refused, but as we kept walking each of us began to consider it, and we turned around to walk back to him. He asked what we'd like a poem about, and we explained that we were on a weekend trip. He tore off a little piece of paper from something in his bag, and began typing. We asked him to read it to us, which he did, after commenting that no one ever asked him to read his poems after composing them. He was in New Orleans for a few weeks, but had previously been a street corner poet in San Francisco while in school there.

We still have the poem, of course, but I'll have to wait until after spring break to scan and upload it here. We paid him five dollars."