Wednesday, 1. April 2009, 13:50:08
Poetry, E. E. Cummings, National Poetry Month
E. E. Cummings.
The third and fourth and last in the series of poems for National Poetry
Month.
NOW I LAY (WITH EVERYWHERE AROUND)
by
e. e. cummings
Now i lay (with everywhere around)
me (the great dim deep sound
of rain; and of always and of nowhere) and
what a gently welcoming darkestness --
now i lay me down (in a most steep
more than music) feeling that sunlight is
(life and day are) only loaned: whereas
night is given (night and death and the rain
are given; and given is how beautifully snow)
now i lay me down to dream of (nothing
i or any somebody or you
can begin to begin to imagine)
something which nobody may keep.
now i lay me down to dream of Spring
I THANK YOU GOD FOR MOST THIS AMAZING
i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any -- lifted from the no
of allnothing -- human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
Wednesday, 1. April 2009, 13:43:52
John Berryman, Poetry, National Poetry Month
John Berryman.
The second in a series of poems for National Poetry Month.
SONNETS TO LISE, 113
by
John Berryman
'I didn't see anyone else, I just saw lies.'
Anne Frank remorseful from the grave: ah well,
it was a vision of her mother in Hell,
a payment beforehand for rebellion's seize,
whereby she grew up: springing from her knees
she saw her parents level. I ward your spell
away, and I try hard to look at you level
but that is quite unaccustomed to me, Lise.
Months I lookt up, entranced by you up there
like a Goya ceiling which will not come down,
in swirling clouds, until the end is here.
Tetelestai. We steamed in a freighter from Spain
& I will never see those frescoes again,
nor need to, having memorized your cloudy gown.
Wednesday, 1. April 2009, 13:38:28
Poetry, Theodore Roethke, National Poetry Month
Theodore Roethke.
Once again it is April, and it is National Poetry Month here in the U.S.
In previous years I have put up three poems, one of my own and two from
actual good poets. But not having done any poetry this year to speak of,
I am instead putting up poems by three great poets. I am also modifying
my usual practice by doing two poems by Cummings. So this will be four
poems by three poets. This is the first one.
IN A DARK TIME
by
Theodore Roethke
In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood --
A lord of nature weeping to a tree,
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.
What's madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance? The day's on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall,
That place among the rocks -- is it a cave,
Or winding path? The edge is what I have.
A steady storm of correspondences!
A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
And in broad day the midnight come again!
A man goes far to find out what he is --
Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.
Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
And one is One, free in the tearing wind.
Wednesday, 2. April 2008, 19:31:09
Emily Dickinson, National Poetry Month, Poetry
Emily Dickinson.
The third and last installment for this year's National Poetry Month.
IT TROUBLED ME AS ONCE I WAS
by
Emily Dickinson
It troubled me as once I was --
For I was once a Child --
Concluding how an Atom -- fell --
And yet the Heavens -- held --
The Heavens weighed the most -- by far --
Yet Blue -- and solid -- stood --
Without a Bolt -- that I could prove --
Would Giants -- understand?
Life set me larger -- problems --
Some I shall keep -- to solve --
Till Algebra is easier --
Or simpler proved -- above --
Then -- too -- be comprehended --
What sorer -- puzzled me --
Why Heaven did not break away --
And tumble -- Blue -- on me --
[Johnson: 600]
Tuesday, 1. April 2008, 20:44:14
National Poetry Month, Poetry
The second in the series of three for National Poetry Month, this one my
own.
JESUS OF NAZARETH RETURNS TO EARTH
FOR FORTY DAYS AND FORTY NIGHTS
by
Edward Piercy
the world is a much different, smaller place
after you have traveled the stars;
and thus it is that the
Shining One, Khephera,
the Original Thought
puts our souls into the shells
of our small selves;
to be born and to learn;
I walk down the road, regardless;
I am well-shod, but my feet ache
with the memory of too many of these roads;
compared to them I cannot feel my wounds;
I stop and drink tepid water
in spite of cosmic fountains
that blaze forth birth and death;
it is cold here in the mountains;
Mary has loaned me a new cloak;
we stand and our bodies shiver
as meteors fall like tiny snowflakes
and crash without a sound;
there is a reason people die;
and it is not so much the cancer
or the fall from the ledge or the
spear through the heart;
we die because we are out of days and our
days merely follow each other like the marbles
that we return to the little bag when
we are ready to go home;
everything unto its time;
so how strange it is to be reborn
and to eat once more this fish and to
talk again with these friends;
yes it is good to see you Simon
and you too John; and friend Thomas,
what can I say, always such the empiricist,
thanks for making me laugh;
but when dawn comes the hills are strangely pale;
ah, the things I saw on my journey;
the light that ran through everything
and the darkness hugging it like a mother
and the constellations spinning (these) burn in my dreams;
the wine tastes more sour now;
the Eye of the Lord obsesses me;
I think I have had enough of this little visit;
I think that tomorrow I will leave again;
forty days and nights is quite enough;
Tuesday, 1. April 2008, 20:04:39
National Poetry Month, Poetry, Anne Sexton
Anne Sexton.
Once again it is April, the cruelest month reputedly, but in fact one of
the fairest also, the beginning of Spring (in the northern hemisphere at
least). It is also National Poetry Month here in the U.S. So as I did last
year I'm going to put up three poems, one of my own and two from actual
good poets. This is the first.
RIDING THE ELEVATOR INTO THE SKY
by
Anne Sexton
As the fireman said:
Don't book a room over the fifth floor
in any hotel in New York.
They have ladders that will reach further
but no one will climb them.
As the New York Times said:
The elevator always seeks out
the floor of the fire
and automatically opens
and won't shut.
These are the warnings
that you must forget
if you're climbing out of yourself.
If you're going to smash into the sky.
Many times I've gone past
the fifth floor,
cranking upward,
but only once
have I gone all the way up.
Sixtieth floor:
small plants and swans bending
into their grave.
Floor two hundred:
mountains with the patience of a cat,
silence wearing its sneakers.
Floor five hundred:
messages and letters centuries old,
birds to drink,
a kitchen of clouds.
Floor six thousand:
the stars,
skeletons on fire,
their arms singing.
And a key,
a very large key,
that opens something --
some useful door --
somewhere --
up there.
WIDGETIZE