{"id":3978,"date":"2022-08-18T09:18:25","date_gmt":"2022-08-18T13:18:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/?p=3978"},"modified":"2022-08-18T09:18:26","modified_gmt":"2022-08-18T13:18:26","slug":"a-poem-for-a-thursday-190","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2022\/08\/18\/a-poem-for-a-thursday-190\/","title":{"rendered":"A Poem for a Thursday #190"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Photo by Debby Hudson<\/a> on Unsplash<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n
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Tom Hennen was born in 1942 in Minnesota. He spent his childhood on farms and then worked as a letterpress printer and offset printer. In 1972 he helped establish the Minnesota Writers’ Publishing house using a printing press in his garage. Hennen makes extensive use of the prose poem where he is able to “move freely within the rectangular tract of the paragraph.” He is said to “reveal the detailed strangeness of ordinary things.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Like people or dogs, each day is unique and has\nits own personality quirks which can easily be seen\nif you look closely. But there are so few days as\ncompared to people, not to mention dogs, that it\nwould be surprising if a day were not a hundred\ntimes more interesting than most people. But \nusually they just pass, mostly unnoticed, unless\nthey are wildly nice, like autumn ones full of red\nmaple trees and hazy sunlight, or if they are grimly\nawful ones in a winter blizzard that kills the lost\ntraveler and bunches of cattle. For some reason\nwe like to see days pass, even though most of us\nclaim we don't want to reach our last one for a \nlong time. We examine each day before us with\nbarely a glance and say, no, this isn't one I've been\nlooking for, and wait in a bored sort of way for\nthe next, when, we are convinced, our lives will\n start for real. Meanwhile, this day is going by per-\nfectly well-adjusted, as some days are, with the\nright amounts of sunlight and shade, and a light\nbreeze scented with a perfume made from the \nmixture of fallen apples, corn stubble, dry oak\nleaves, and the faint odor of last night's meander-\ning skunk. \n\nThe Life of a Day\nTom Hennen<\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Tom Hennen was born in 1942 in Minnesota. He spent his childhood on farms and then worked as a letterpress printer and offset printer. In 1972 he helped establish the Minnesota Writers’ Publishing house using a printing press in his garage. Hennen makes extensive use of the prose poem where he is able to “move freely within the rectangular tract of the paragraph.” He is said to “reveal the detailed strangeness of ordinary things.” Like people or dogs, each day is unique and has its own personality quirks which can easily be seen if you look closely. But there are so few days as compared to people, not to mention dogs, that it would be surprising if a day were not a hundred times more interesting than most people. But usually they just pass, mostly unnoticed, unless they are wildly nice, like autumn ones full of red maple trees and hazy sunlight, or if they are grimly awful ones in a winter blizzard that kills the lost traveler and bunches of cattle. For some reason we like to see days pass, even though most of us claim we don’t want to reach our last one for a long time. We examine each day before us with barely a glance and say, no, this isn’t one I’ve been looking for, and wait in a bored sort of way for the next, when, we are convinced, our lives will start for real. Meanwhile, this day is going by per- fectly well-adjusted, as some days are, with the right amounts of sunlight and shade, and a light breeze scented with a perfume made from the mixture of fallen apples, corn stubble, dry oak leaves, and the faint odor of last night’s meander- ing skunk. The Life of a Day Tom Hennen<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3979,"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-3978","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\/3978","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=3978"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3978\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3982,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3978\/revisions\/3982"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3979"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3978"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3978"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3978"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}