{"id":147,"date":"2019-03-14T12:50:00","date_gmt":"2019-03-14T12:50:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2019\/03\/14\/a-poem-for-thursday-23\/"},"modified":"2020-10-26T22:49:19","modified_gmt":"2020-10-26T22:49:19","slug":"a-poem-for-thursday-23","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2019\/03\/14\/a-poem-for-thursday-23\/","title":{"rendered":"A Poem for a Thursday #23"},"content":{"rendered":"\n\n\n\n
<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Photo by\u00a0Joanna Kosinska<\/a>\u00a0on\u00a0<\/span>Unsplash<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

Elizabeth Bishop was born in 1911 in Worcester, Massachusetts (about 30 miles from me) and grew up there and in Novia Scotia. She was a respected poet in her lifetime but has come to more and more prominence in the years since her death. She only published 101 poems because she was a perfectionist and spent a long time refining each poem. Her poems are “marked by precise descriptions of the physical world and an air of poetic serenity, but her underlying themes include the struggle to find a sense of belonging, and the human experiences of grief and longing.” Those themes come through clearly in the poem for today.<\/p>\n

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;<\/i>
\nso many things seem filled with the intent<\/i>
\nto be lost that their loss is no disaster.<\/i>
\n
\n<\/i> Lose something every day. Accept the fluster<\/i>
\nof lost door keys, the hour badly spent.<\/i>
\nThe art of losing isn’t hard to master.<\/i>
\n
\n<\/i> Then practice losing farther, losing faster:<\/i>
\nplaces, and names, and where it was you meant<\/i>
\nto travel. None of these will bring disaster.<\/i>
\n
\n<\/i> I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or<\/i>
\nnext-to-last, of three loved houses went.<\/i>
\nThe art of losing isn’t hard to master.<\/i>
\n
\n<\/i> I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,<\/i>
\nsome realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.<\/i>
\nI miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.<\/i>
\n
\n<\/i> –Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture<\/i>
\nI love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident\u00a0<\/i>
\nthe art of losing’s not too hard to master<\/i>
\nthough it may look like ( Write it!) like disaster.\u00a0<\/i>
\n
\n<\/i> One Art\u00a0<\/i>
\nElizabeth Bishop<\/p>\n

Visit Typings<\/a> and Pastry & Purls<\/a> for more poems.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Photo by\u00a0Joanna Kosinska\u00a0on\u00a0Unsplash Elizabeth Bishop was born in 1911 in Worcester, Massachusetts (about 30 miles from me) and grew up there and in Novia Scotia. She was a respected poet in her lifetime but has come to more and more prominence in the years since her death. She only published 101 poems because she was a perfectionist and spent a long time refining each poem. Her poems are “marked by precise descriptions of the physical world and an air of poetic serenity, but her underlying themes include the struggle to find a sense of belonging, and the human experiences of grief and longing.” Those themes come through clearly in the poem for today. The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster. –Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident\u00a0 the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like ( Write it!) like disaster.\u00a0 One Art\u00a0 Elizabeth Bishop Visit Typings and Pastry & Purls for more poems.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1561,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-147","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poem-for-a-thursday"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/147","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=147"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/147\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2609,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/147\/revisions\/2609"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1561"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=147"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=147"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=147"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}