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Let's talk about the pleasures and puzzles of the smaller mystery--mystery novels and other fiction--and the bigger one--life.
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. . .here is a smoke signal, unmistakable but unobtrusive--we are following what comes, going through the world, knowing each other, building our little fires.
William Stafford
William Stafford
11 comments:
I agree, Mary, you should think of Dylan Thomas more often. I've loved his poetry for around 40 years. And hearing him read his own poems was when I first really understood the power of poetry as as an aural medium.
And bless the youtube, here he is reading In my craft and sullen art [LINK].
And for today's contribution, here's a youtube of him reading Fern Hill, the poem that brought on my love at first read.
[LINK] (with rather creepy animation).
Morning all.
Found this today which would have been perfect for Andi's yesterday picture.
Springing
by Marie Ponsot
In a skiff on a sunrisen lake we are watchers.
Swimming aimlessly is luxury just as walking
loudly up a shallow stream is.
As we lean over the deep well, we whisper.
Friends at hearths are drawn to the one warm air;
strangers meet on beaches drawn to the one wet sea.
What wd it be to be water, one body of water
(what water is is another mystery) (We are
water divided.) It wd be a self without walls,
with surface tension, specific gravity a local
exchange between bedrock and cloud of falling and rising,
rising to fall, falling to rise.
Andi--It was fascinating to listen and not be able to hear the words. I am so visual that I can't always make as much sense of the words when I can't follow along as it's read to me.
That second reading was creepy. Couldn't it at least have had clothes or hair.
Thanks to all you guys/gals for yesterdays poems. It was the best group yet for me. Look for more today.
Morning, peeps! Loved yesterday's poems.
Here's a snippet of one in honor of where I am:
A Boston Ballad by Walt Whitman
A Boston Ballad, 1854
TO get betimes in Boston town, I rose this morning early;
Here's a good place at the corner--I must stand and see the show.
Read the rest here
Morning, all! Hope the weekend holds fun, rest, and joy for everyone. We might see the end of these storms that have wandered through all week...
This is great - makes me search for new poets and poems. Found this one:
The Layers
by Stanley Kunitz
I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not on the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.
Way to show some backbone!
Poetry after caffeine.
I had completely forgotten till five minutes ago that I had a poem dedicated to me by brilliant poet and fellow Transita Ltd novelist, Christine Coleman. She was amused that my then internet username had the word 'seal' in it and came up with this inspired piece.
Becoming a Seal
Becoming a seal takes dedication.
I’ve time for little else now
what with days in snack bars
accumulating layer on layer of flab
and evenings stretched out in the bath
holding my breath under water.
Night swells with dreams of blubber
light as airships, supple and strong
as branches of willow. Sometimes I lurk
by plastic ponds in garden centres.
After a little practice, Koi carp
slip down smoothly as noodles.
My place of pilgrimage is Blakeney Point.
Those massive bolster shapes basking
on sandbanks barely glance towards me
as I wriggle inch by inch a little closer.
Now that I’ve tuned in to their grunts and barks
I understand their conversations.
Lately I’ve noticed changes in my skin -
it’s thicker now and turning mottled grey.
Each plunging struggle against
North Sea tides creates a tingling glow
though I still have to coat myself with grease
before I slide into the waves.
When my legs have fused together
they’ll propel me faster. I’ll have no need
for arms – the sinuous seals caress
from head to tail. Soon I will smell
as they do. They’ll nuzzle me gently
gliding around me along the sea-bed.
(Christine Coleman)
How very cool that you're an inspiration, Nicky! Not to mention, a seal! :-) What a lovely poem - thanks for sharing it with us.
Andi, I think I blocked out Dylan Thomas after seeing some movie (I can't remember the name) about a teacher who had a Dylan-Dylan contest that linked Dylan Thomas and Bob Dylan. They became linked in my mind and the negative linkage to Bob outweighed the positive linkage of Dylan.
Whew…
Looking for coffee
After a presentation
To reboot my brain.
At least it's Friday, right?
Wow, great stuff here again today. I guess I didn't read carefully enough to realize this was an ongoing thing this week. Me likee.
Jimf, I love Love That Dog. Hate that Cat was good, but Love That Dog was better! I love how the student becomes a poet in the book, thanks to the dedication of a great teacher.
Here's a part of Nikki Giovanni's Deal or No Deal from her book "Bicycles."
I know you cannot go
Through life
Unless you are willing
For love or money
To make a fool
Of yourself
Where else does the ecstasy
lie
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