What should we have taken
with us? We never could decide
on that; or what to wear,
or at what time of
year we should make the journey
So here we are in thin
raincoats and rubber boots
On the disastrous ice, the wind rising
Nothing in our pockets
But a pencil stub, two oranges
Four Toronto streetcar tickets
and an elastic band holding a bundle
of small white filing cards
printed with important facts.
~ Margaret Atwood
I wish in the city of your heart
you would let me be the street
where you walk when you are most
yourself. I imagine the houses:
It has been raining, but the rain
is done and children kept home
have begun opening their doors.
~ Robley Wilson
Welcome to the Friday bonus! Check out this article on Bill Murray, I may actually have to pick up the magazine to read the rest!
https://www.thereadingroom.
Enjoy listening to one of Bill Murray’s favorites here:
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/oatmeal-audio-only
And for those of you in the Syracuse area there is a Poetry Bash, Saturday April 9th (yup, tomorrow!) at 2:30 at Petit Branch Library, 105 Victoria Place, Syracuse NY 13210 (315) 435-3636. An open mic poetry event that invites everyone to enjoy, I believe they have goodies and enthusiasm galore. Celebrate poetry like never before! Confetti, silly string and noise makers provided!
The periodic pleasure
of small happenings
is upon us –
at the farmer’s market
snow glinting in heaps,
a cardinal its chest
puffed out, bloodshod
above the piles of awnings,
passion’s proclivities;
you picking up a sweet potato
turning to me ‘This too?’ –
query of tenderness
under the blown red wing.
Remember the brazen world?
Let’s find a room
with a window onto elms
strung with sunlight,
a cafe with polished cups,
darling coffee they call it,
may our bed be stoked
with fresh cut rosemary
and glinting thyme,
all herbs in due season
tucked under wild sheets:
fit for the conjugation of joy.
~ Meena Alexander
You see, I want a lot.
Perhaps I want everything:
the darkness that comes with every infinite fall
and the shivering blaze of every step up.
So many live on and want nothing,
and are raised to the rank of prince
by the slippery ease of their light judgments.
But what you love to see are faces
that do work and feel thirst.
You love most of all those who need you
as they need a crowbar or a hoe.
You have not grown old, and it is not too late
to dive into your increasing depths
where life calmly gives out its own secret.
~ Rainer Maria Rilke
(translated by Robert Bly)
Let's Go Home
Late and starting to rain, it’s time to go home.
We’ve wandered long enough in empty buildings.
I know it’s tempting to stay and meet those new people.
I know it’s even more sensible
to spend the night here with them,
but I want to go home.
We’ve seen enough beautiful places with signs on them
saying This is God’s house.
That’s seeing the grain like the ants do,
without the work of harvesting.
Let’s leave grazing to cows and go
where we know what everyone really intends,
where we can walk around without clothes on.
~ Rumi
Red Brocade
The Arabs used to say,
When a stranger appears at your door,
feed him for three days
before asking who he is,
where he’s come from,
where he’s headed.
That way, he’ll have strength
enough to answer.
Or, by then you’ll be
such good friends
you don’t care.
Let’s go back to that.
Rice? Pine nuts?
Here, take the red brocade pillow.
My child will serve water
to your horse.
No, I was not busy when you came!
I was not preparing to be busy.
That’s the armor everyone put on
to pretend they had a purpose
in the world.
I refuse to be claimed.
Your plate is waiting.
We will snip fresh mint
into your tea.
~Naomi Shihab Nye
Some Like Poetry
Some –
thus not all. Not even the majority of all but the minority.
Not counting schools, where one has to,
and the poets themselves,
there might be two people per thousand.
Like –
but one also likes chicken soup with noodles,
one likes compliments and the color blue,
one likes an old scarf,
one likes having the upper hand,
one likes stroking a dog.
Poetry –
but what is poetry.
Many shaky answers
have been given to this question.
But I don’t know and don’t know and hold on to it
like to a sustaining railing.
~ Wislawa Szymborska
(translated by Regina Grol)
So, does April sneak up on everyone like this, or is it just me? How can I be this caught off guard every year?! 🙂 In any case, here we are! Welcome back to the celebration! Hopefully it will not be as chaotic throughout as it feels to me now. Not to worry – I’ll hit my stride soon enough (I hope!).
Wonderful to have most everyone back. I’ve gotten a few bounce backs on the emails and I’m still trying to sort those out. Great to have a few new comers to the mix as well.
I hope you all have an amazing first week of April!
This April is pretty special, it marks the 20th Anniversary of National Poetry Month. National Poetry Month was started by the Academy of American Poets in 1996 and has become the largest literary celebration in the world ~ I am grateful that we can share this small part of it together. If anyone celebrates this month in other ways, I would really love to hear about it.
Wishing you the best April yet….
Making a Friend
I made a friend out of what was there:
The legs of a table, the arms of a chair,
A big head of lettuce with two ears of corn,
The seat of a sofa all tattered and worn,
The mouth of a pitcher, the tongue of a shoe,
The teeth of a comb just to help him to chew,
The face of a clock and the spine of a book,
The heart of an artichoke too tough to cook,
The eyes of a tater through which he could see,
The hands of a clock just for wavin' at me.
And the fun that we'll have
And the games that we'll play
And the secrets we'll share
And the prayers that we'll pray
As here close together we sit in the shade -
Me and this brand-new old friend I just made.
~ Shel Silverstein
