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A Poem for a Thursday #258
Rhina Polonia Espaillat was born in Santo Domingo and grew up in New York after her family became refugees from the Dominican government. When she was 16 she became the youngest member ever of the Poetry Society of America. They altered their rules to allow her entry. Her poetry captures the beauty of daily routine and snapshots of family life. She also uses her poetry to retell stories from the Bible and mythology. As well, Espaillat is known for her extensive translation work. My daughter-in-law is baking bread for dinner. The smell of it arabesques through the house like music and out to the spring-damp lawn where crocuses rear their…
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A Poem for a Thursday #257
William Stafford didn’t publish is first major collection of poetry until he was 48 years old. That collection won the 1963 National Book Award for Poetry. Stafford went on to publish 57 volumes of poetry. His poems have a gentle, conversational style with a clear connection to nature. Mostly you look back and say, "Well, OK. Things might have been different, sure, and it's too bad, but look—things happen like that, and you did what you could." You go back and pick up the pieces. There's tomorrow.There's that long bend in the river on the wayhome. Fluffy burst of milkweed are floatingthrough shafts of sunlight or disappearing wheretrees reach out…
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I Bought a Few Books
There are a few guaranteed ways to improve any day; drink more tea, eat some chocolate, or buy some books. Repeat as needed until happiness is achieved. I take these words to heart regularly. Last week I had a follow-up appointment with the surgeon and his office happened to be only 15 minutes away from Half Price Books. I knew what I needed to do and I did it. I had a lovely time browsing through the shelves. As an inveterate bargain hunter, I started in the clearance section. That is where I found the knitting magazine and the copy of Code Girls. My fascination with life during WWII continues…
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A Poem for a Thursday #256
I have featured Robert Francis once before. You can read that post here. I like today’s poem because it sounds so friendly and conversational. It is filled with the joy of friendship and the enjoyment of the natural world. What more can you ask out of a poem? Keep me from going to sleep too soon Or if I go to sleep too soon Come wake me up. Come any hour Of night. Come whistling up the road. Stomp on the porch. Bang on the door. Make me get out of bed and come And let you in and light a light. Tell me the northern lights are on And…
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Too Many Notebooks and Not Enough Words
For as long as I can remember I have done what I call “writing in my head.” I would tell myself stories about the people around me, rehash conversations, write essays about things I was upset about or happy with, and generally narrate my life. Sometimes these “writings” would turn into actual writing in notebooks or on this blog but frequently they would just drift away with the day. A lot of this writing would happen at night as I lay in bed. All too often, I stayed awake late into the night to fine-tune something that would be just a hazy memory by morning. But that was fine. That…
