It's National Poetry Month and this is the place to share the poetry you love. Whether it's Edgar Allen Poe, Dr. Seuss, or original verses by you, we want you to unveil your favorites. Ready...set...action!
I've known rivers: I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
EXPLAINING RELATIVITY TO THE CAT by Jennifer Gresham
Imagine, if you will, three mice. Contrary to what you have heard, they are not blind but are in a spaceship traveling near the speed of light. This makes them unavailable for your supper, yes.
So these mice, traveling near the speed of light, appear quite fat, though there is no cheese aboard. This is simply a distortion of mass, because the mass of a mouse is nothing more than a bundle of light, and vice versa. I see how this might imply mice are in the light fixtures, undoubtedly a problem, so let me try again. If two people attempted to feed you simultaneously, no doubt a good situation, but you were on a train traveling near the speed of light, the food would appear unappetizing, falling to the plate in slow motion, an extended glob of protein that never smelled good, if you ask me, train or no. The affinity of the food for the plate, what we call gravity, is really just a stretch in the fabric of a space-time continuum, what happens when you have sat in a seat too long, perhaps on this very train.
Oh kitty, I know how you hate to travel and the journey must have made you tired. Come now, lick your coat one more time -and let us make haste -from this strange city -of light and fantastic dream.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird by Wallace Stevens
I Among twenty snowy mountains, The only moving thing Was the eye of the blackbird.
II I was of three minds, Like a tree In which there are three blackbirds.
III The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds. It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV A man and a woman Are one. A man and a woman and a blackbird Are one.
V I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling Or just after.
VI Icicles filled the long window With barbaric glass. The shadow of the blackbird Crossed it, to and fro. The mood Traced in the shadow An indecipherable cause.
VII O thin men of Haddam, Why do you imagine golden birds? Do you not see how the blackbird Walks around the feet Of the women about you?
VIII I know noble accents And lucid, inescapable rhythms; But I know, too, That the blackbird is involved In what I know.
IX When the blackbird flew out of sight, It marked the edge Of one of many circles.
X At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply.
XI He rode over Connecticut In a glass coach. Once, a fear pierced him, In that he mistook The shadow of his equipage For blackbirds.
XII The river is moving. The blackbird must be flying.
XIII It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs.
My most recent favorite was introduced to me through NPR recently. perhaps you have heard the program too... It's called This is Just to Say. Apparently it is used to teach poetry. (I never heard it until recently.)
This Is Just To Say by William Carlos Williams
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox
and which you were probably saving for breakfast
Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold -------------------- How would your version read? You can have a lot of fun with this one :)
Here is one og my favorites:
ReplyDeleteThe Negro Speaks Of Rivers by Langston Hughes
I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
Another favorite of mine:
ReplyDeleteEXPLAINING RELATIVITY TO THE CAT by Jennifer Gresham
Imagine, if you will, three mice.
Contrary to what you have
heard, they are not blind
but are in a spaceship
traveling near the speed of light.
This makes them unavailable
for your supper, yes.
So these mice, traveling near
the speed of light, appear
quite fat, though there is
no cheese aboard. This is
simply a distortion of mass,
because the mass of a mouse
is nothing more than a bundle
of light, and vice versa. I see
how this might imply mice
are in the light fixtures,
undoubtedly a problem, so
let me try again.
If two people attempted
to feed you simultaneously,
no doubt a good situation,
but you were on a train
traveling near the speed
of light, the food would
appear unappetizing, falling
to the plate in slow motion,
an extended glob of protein
that never smelled good,
if you ask me, train or no.
The affinity of the food
for the plate, what we call
gravity, is really just
a stretch in the fabric
of a space-time continuum,
what happens when you
have sat in a seat too long,
perhaps on this very train.
Oh kitty, I know how you hate
to travel and the journey must
have made you tired. Come now,
lick your coat one more time
-and let us make haste
-from this strange city
-of light and fantastic dream.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
ReplyDeleteby Wallace Stevens
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.
XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
My most recent favorite was introduced to me through NPR recently. perhaps you have heard the program too... It's called This is Just to Say. Apparently it is used to teach poetry. (I never heard it until recently.)
ReplyDeleteThis Is Just To Say
by William Carlos Williams
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
--------------------
How would your version read? You can have a lot of fun with this one :)
Here's one of mine. This is for Kevin, still looking for meaning in the Red Wheel Barrow.
ReplyDeleteIntroduction to Poetry
by Billy Collins
I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
---submitted by Anne V.