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Re: Poem of the Day
DWill wrote:
That was a common Romantic idea, that as children we're closer to nature, more at one with it, and therefore can be said to have more poetic souls at that stage, before culture takes this sense away from us. It's just interesting to look at how outlooks change--from seeing children as little beasts that need taming, to seeing them as more spiritual beings than adults.
So I was reading somewhere (damn, I forget where) about which stage of the lifespan is the most violent. Is it adolescence or young adulthood? No, it's the toddler stage! We need to grow out of violence, we don't grow into it, according to this person.
Not sure about violent toddlers, but then I did have one that bit me. Children as poets; I was not thinking philosophy, but rather pragmatics. To a young child so much of what they experience everyday is novel; the world is all new. Children become enthralled with even the simplest and most mundane things. They have little experience to inform their experiences and a limited vocabulary with which to communicate. I think this combination results in very interesting observations and statements by children: thing A is just like thing B, but the comparison is one an adult would hardly make even thought the child's observation is astute. A child is limited in how they are able to covey an idea or information and so they use everything they've got indiscriminately.
_________________ In love we are made visible As in a magic bath are unpeeled to the sharp pit so long concealed --May Swenson
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Re: Poem of the Day
If I were to tell all of the why I am posting this today it would be TMI, but I will try to give some explanation. Poem first, explanation second --
The Broken Sandal
by Denise Levertov
Dreamed the thong of my sandal broke. Nothing to hold it to my foot. How shall I walk? Barefoot? The sharp stones, the dirt. I would hobble. And– Where was I going? Where was I going I can't go to now, unless hurting? Where am I standing, if I'm to stand still now?
I will start with what appeals to me about this poem and move into why post today. I like the simple and vivid image of trying to walk with a broken sandal. It is an experience we all have had in one way or another - broken lace, broken heal.... It is funny that something so simple can hang us up - at least temporarily. In the poem Levertov also takes note of our tender footedness or vulnerability; we need some protection to march out into the world without getting too roughed up. Now for why today. Let me just say my sandal is broken. I had issues with my feet both actual and metaphorically all day and I ended up walking in the pouring rain from my car to the house in bare feet trying to avoid the rocks.
_________________ In love we are made visible As in a magic bath are unpeeled to the sharp pit so long concealed --May Swenson
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Re: Poem of the Day
My wake up call came far too early, 5 something AM, little soft pawed nudges and gentle kitty kisses on the tip of my nose. Wait, I never asked for a wake up call, I never would on a Sunday. So, bleary, I am at the computer reading poetry. Along comes Margaret Atwood's poem February; is just the one for me today.
February By Margaret Atwood Winter. Time to eat fat and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat, a black fur sausage with yellow Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries to get onto my head. It’s his way of telling whether or not I’m dead. If I’m not, he wants to be scratched; if I am He’ll think of something. He settles on my chest, breathing his breath of burped-up meat and musty sofas, purring like a washboard. Some other tomcat, not yet a capon, has been spraying our front door, declaring war. It’s all about sex and territory, which are what will finish us off in the long run. Some cat owners around here should snip a few testicles. If we wise hominids were sensible, we’d do that too, or eat our young, like sharks. But it’s love that does us in. Over and over again, He shoots, he scores! and famine crouches in the bedsheets, ambushing the pulsing eiderdown, and the windchill factor hits thirty below, and pollution pours out of our chimneys to keep us warm. February, month of despair, with a skewered heart in the centre. I think dire thoughts, and lust for French fries with a splash of vinegar. Cat, enough of your greedy whining and your small pink bumhole. Off my face! You’re the life principle, more or less, so get going on a little optimism around here. Get rid of death. Celebrate increase. Make it be spring.
_________________ In love we are made visible As in a magic bath are unpeeled to the sharp pit so long concealed --May Swenson
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Re: Poem of the Day
Great, and how well tailored to your moment. Little fluffy feline has a paw in at least a billion and a half bird deaths each year, according to a new Smithsonian study. As far as why we keep around us these supremely egotistical creatures, and perhaps our own offspring, too, Atwood is right: "it's love that does us in."
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Re: Poem of the Day
Saffron wrote:
This is a favorite little song of mine by the band The Decemberists. I wish there was snow to clear away
January Hymn Colin Meloy
On a winter's Sunday I go To clear away the snow And green the ground below
April all an ocean away Is this a better way to spend the day? Keeping the winter at bay
What were the words I meant to say Before you left When I could see your breath lead Where you were going to
Maybe I should just let it be And maybe it will all come back to me Seeing, oh, January, oh
How I lived a childhood in the snow And all my teens in tow Stuffed in strata of clothes
Hail the winter days after dark Wandering the gray memorial park A fleeting beating of hearts
What were the words I meant to say Before she left When I could see her breath lead Where she was going to
Maybe I should just let it be And maybe it will all come back to me Seeing, oh, Janu... Oh, January, oh
This post prompted me to buy the album. I've always really liked the Decemberists, but I didn't yet own this particular album. Just listed to January Hymn right this moment. Damned good stuff! Thanks for posting.
_________________ -Geo Question everything
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Re: Poem of the Day
Saffron wrote:
My wake up call came far too early, 5 something AM, little soft pawed nudges and gentle kitty kisses on the tip of my nose. Wait, I never asked for a wake up call, I never would on a Sunday. So, bleary, I am at the computer reading poetry. Along comes Margaret Atwood's poem February; is just the one for me today.
February By Margaret Atwood
Thanks for the poem Saffron, brought some life to a quiet February day. I like it, quite deliciously graphic, but not in a gratuitous way, quite real ... many cat owners can testify to this experience:
He settles on my chest, breathing his breath of burped-up meat and musty sofas, purring like a washboard.
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Re: Poem of the Day
This is my poem for the whole week. Pain, memory, the emotions and the body are all wrapped up together - one dependent on the other.
There is a pain – so utter – It swallows substance up – Then covers the Abyss with Trance – So Memory can step Around – across – upon it – As one within a Swoon – Goes safely – where an open eye – Would drop Him – Bone by Bone.
—from “599” by Emily Dickinson
_________________ In love we are made visible As in a magic bath are unpeeled to the sharp pit so long concealed --May Swenson
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Re: Poem of the Day
Thanks Saffron, her poem does somehow capture the late season snow storm ... here's another snow storm poem. I think there is something about snowstorms that invokes fear even if there is no real threat:
Storm Fear
WHEN the wind works against us in the dark, And pelts with snow The lowest chamber window on the east, And whispers with a sort of stifled bark, The beast, ‘Come out! Come out!’-- It costs no inward struggle not to go, Ah, no! I count our strength, Two and a child, Those of us not asleep subdued to mark How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length,-- How drifts are piled, Dooryard and road ungraded, Till even the comforting barn grows far away And my heart owns a doubt Whether ’tis in us to arise with day And save ourselves unaided.
Robert Frost
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Re: Poem of the Day
Just a heads up everyone, National (USA)Poetry Month is just around the corner! I'm already thinking about what poem I will have in my pocket for Poem in Your Pocket Day. How about you? I live in a mid-Atlantic state and we are having one hell of a March. The first day of Spring is tomorrow and it feels much more like February with the way the wind is howling tonight. So, with that Emily D and my poem of the day.
Emily Dickinson (1830–86).
Part Two: Nature
LXXXVII
DEAR March, come in! How glad I am! I looked for you before. Put down your hat— You must have walked— 5 How out of breath you are! Dear March, how are you? And the rest? Did you leave Nature well? Oh, March, come right upstairs with me, 10 I have so much to tell!
I got your letter, and the bird’s; The maples never knew That you were coming,—I declare, How red their faces grew! 15 But, March, forgive me— And all those hills You left for me to hue; There was no purple suitable, You took it all with you. 20
Who knocks? That April! Lock the door! I will not be pursued! He stayed away a year, to call When I am occupied. 25 But trifles look so trivial As soon as you have come, That blame is just as dear as praise And praise as mere as blame.
Added note: While looking for this poem I came across a website with several March poems. I am not up to reading them all now, but the ones I did are very worth a look. For more March poems go to: http://hedgeguard.blogspot.com/2010/02/ ... poems.html
If you see one you like - post it and say why.
_________________ In love we are made visible As in a magic bath are unpeeled to the sharp pit so long concealed --May Swenson
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Re: Poem of the Day
Here in Virginia they are forecasting snow off and on over the next week. It most likely will not amount to much, but after the first day of Spring has arrived it is a bit demoralizing. I love this little poem that captures the feeling just so.
"March Snow"
There is something hopeful about March, something benevolent about the light,
and yet wherever I look snow has fallen or is about to fall, and the cold
is so unexpected, so harsh, that even the spider lily blooming
on the windowsill seems no more than another promise, soon to be broken.
It is like a lover who speaks the passionate language of fidelity, but
when you look for him, there he is in the arms of winter.
-- Linda Pastan
_________________ In love we are made visible As in a magic bath are unpeeled to the sharp pit so long concealed --May Swenson
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Re: Poem of the Day
This one sort of cheered me up this morning.
HEAVEN by: Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)
Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June, Dawdling away their wat’ry noon) Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear, Each secret fishy hope or fear. Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond; But is there anything Beyond? This life cannot be All, they swear, For how unpleasant, if it were! One may not doubt that, somehow, Good Shall come of Water and of Mud; And, sure, the reverent eye must see A Purpose in Liquidity. We darkly know, by Faith we cry, The future is not Wholly Dry. Mud unto mud! — Death eddies near – Not here the appointed End, not here! But somewhere, beyond Space and Time. Is wetter water, slimier slime! And there (they trust) there swimmeth One Who swam ere rivers were begun, Immense, of fishy form and mind, Squamous, omnipotent, and kind; And under that Almighty Fin, The littlest fish may enter in. Oh! never fly conceals a hook, Fish say, in the Eternal Brook, But more than mundane weeds are there, And mud, celestially fair; Fat caterpillars drift around, And Paradisal grubs are found; Unfading moths, immortal flies, And the worm that never dies. And in that Heaven of all their wish, There shall be no more land, say fish.
_________________ -Geo Question everything
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Re: Poem of the Day
Suburban by John Ciardi
Yesterday Mrs. Friar phoned. "Mr. Ciardi, how do you do?" she said. "I am sorry to say this isn't exactly a social call. The fact is your dog has just deposited-forgive me- a large repulsive object in my petunias."
I thought to ask, "Have you checked the rectal grooving for a positive I.D.?" My dog, as it happened, was in Vermont with my son, who had gone fishing- if that's what one does with a girl, two cases of beer, and a borrowed camper. I guessed I'd get no trout.
But why lose out on organic gold for a wise crack? "Yes, Mrs. Friar," I said, "I understand." "Most kind of you," she said. "Not at all," I said. I went with a spade. She pointed, looking away. "I always have loved dogs," she said, "but really!"
I scooped it up and bowed. "The animal of it. I hope this hasn't upset you, Mrs. Friar." "Not really," she said, "but really!" I bore the turd across the line to my own petunias and buried it till the glorious resurrection
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Re: Poem of the Day
THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US; LATE AND SOON
THE world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
William Wordsworth, 1802
_________________ -Geo Question everything
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