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A Poem for a Thursday #320
Mary Karr is an American poet, essayist, and memoirist. She is particularly known for her best-selling memoir, The Liar’s Club, which was named one of the year’s best books. It explores her difficult childhood in East Texas. Karr has also published five volumes of poetry and has won many awards including the Pushcart Prize and the Whiting Award. Ninety percent of what's wrong with you could be cured with a hot bath,says God from the bowels of the subway.but we want magic, to winthe lottery we never bought a ticket for.(Tenderly, the monks chant, embracethe suffering.) The voice of God does not pander,offers no five-year plan, no long-termsolution, nary an…
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A Poem for a Thursday #319
Stuart Kestenbaum has written six collections of poetry. He has also written a book of essays on craft and community. He was the poet laureate of Maine from 2016 to 2021. Kestenbaum was the director of the Haystack Mountain School of Crafts in Deer Isle, Maine, for many years. Ted Kooser said of Kestenbaum’s writing that it contains “heartfelt responses to the privilege of having been given a life.” It doesn't announce itself or knockon the door of your heart. Suddenlyit's right behind you,looking with great pityat the back of your neckand your shoulders on whichit spends days placing a burdenand lifting it. Grief arrivesin its own sweet time, sweetbecause…
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In Memoriam
My grandmother died a week and a half ago. She was 100 years old. Over the last little while, her quality of life had diminished and it was time; we all knew that. But now there is a huge hole in my life. What am I supposed to do about that? I know I am fortunate to have had a living grandparent for so long. But now she is gone it is as if a connection to my childhood is gone too. As you grow up your relationship with other family members grows too but, somehow, a grandparent-grandchild relationship changes and yet stays the same. I was simultaneously little Jenny…
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A Poem for a Thursday #318
I had a bit of trouble picking a poem for today. That is not because I couldn’t find one I like, but because I can’t keep track of which ones I have featured. Three hundred and eighteen poems is a lot of poems. I finally settled on one by Barbara Crooker. I have featured her before but I did a search and I haven’t used this poem. It is such a lovely picture of a November day. Cold morning, November, taking a walk,when up ahead, suddenly, the treesunleave,and thousands of starlings lift off, animmenseriver of noise; they braid and unbraidthemselvesover my head, the gray silk skyembroideredwith black kisses, the whoosh…
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Book Review//The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan
If I mention the American Dust Bowl to you (if you are American) you probably have some basic information that you learned in school. A few photos flash through your mind of families looking poverty-stricken and depressed. You think of dust storms and droughts and bleak landscapes. As with much of history, however, our common knowledge tends to be simply the tip of the iceberg. The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan was enlightening, depressing, and absolutely fascinating. The dust storms that took over the Great Plains in the same years as the Great Depression were unlike anything seen before. People had flooded into the Plains and wheat became a…
