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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…
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A Poem for a Thursday #317
I almost forgot it was Thursday and time for another poem. I’ve been sick all week and completely lost track of time. I have to go back to work tomorrow which is unfortunate. I have enjoyed the last few days of being just sick enough to be lazy with a clear conscience but not so sick I can’t enjoy anything. Maybe I was born for a life of leisure. Just think of all the time I would have for my neglected hobbies. Here is a charming poem by Robert Frost. I hope it brightens your day. THE LAST WORD OF A BLUEBIRDAs told to a childAs I went out a…
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A Poem for a Thursday #316
Nikita Gill is an Irish-Indian poet, playwright, and illustrator. She was born in Belfast, raised in India, and immigrated to England in her twenties. She has published eight volumes of poetry but many readers first encountered her writing on Tumblr and Instagram. Her writing “explores themes of mythology, folklore, and femininity, and is known for its vulnerability and hope.” Do not teach her shame.Instead teach her that the sunon her skin is all she must carry.Do not name her burden.Instead tell her she is moonlight,easy to bear, more than enough.Do not let her hate her own body.Teach her how her sinews and bonesprovide her with safe harbour.And when the grief…
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This and That
Life has been full of a lot of nonsense lately. Who needs work and bills and laundry, and endless errands? And the cooking; why does my family insist on eating every day? And where do they put all the food? And why is it all so expensive? Also, why doesn’t my life have more cake in it? I could handle the nonsense if there were more cake. This morning, my husband had a doctor’s appointment and then we went out for breakfast. It was very nice. We had time to chat without adult children wandering through the room constantly. I’m not sure how our two kids seem to always be…
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A Poem for a Thursday #315
Jane Kenyon was born in 1947 in Michigan. After her marriage, she moved to New Hampshire where she spent the rest of her short life. She was New Hampshire’s poet laureate at the time of her death. Kenyon published four volumes of poetry and also worked as a translator. Her poetry is described as simple, spare, and unsentimental. She lay on her back in the timothyand gazed past the dodderingauburn heads of sumac.A cloud—huge, calm,and dignified—covered the sunbut did not, could not, put it out.The light surged back again.Nothing could rouse her thenfrom that joy so violentit was hard to distinguish from pain.In the Grove: The Poet at TenJane Kenyon
