by Jane Kenyon (1947-1995)
I saw him leaving the hospital
with a woman's coat over his arm.
Clearly she would not need it.
The sunglasses he wore could not
conceal his wet face, his bafflement.
As if in mockery the day was fair,
and the air mild for December. All the same
he had zipped his own coat and tied
the hood under his chin, preparing
for irremediable cold.
*
Questions to think about: Why won't the woman need the coat? Why is the cold described as "irremediable"? When you write a poem, can you write about a big event without mentioning the event itself?
Friday, April 24, 2020
4 daughters
by Lucille Clifton (1936-2010)
i am the sieve she strains from
little by little
everyday.
i am the rind
she is discarding.
i am the riddle
she is trying to answer.
something is moving
in the water.
she is the hook.
i am the line.
*
Questions to think about: The speaker of the poem sees herself through her daughters' eyes, and becomes a different object to each daughter. Can you think of a thing, an object, that describes your relationship to another person?
i am the sieve she strains from
little by little
everyday.
i am the rind
she is discarding.
i am the riddle
she is trying to answer.
something is moving
in the water.
she is the hook.
i am the line.
*
Questions to think about: The speaker of the poem sees herself through her daughters' eyes, and becomes a different object to each daughter. Can you think of a thing, an object, that describes your relationship to another person?
Jabberwocky
by Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
*
Questions to think about: The poem is written in a language all its own. Can you make up a word that hints at meaning by its sound? Could you write a four- or five-line poem that uses such made-up words?
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
*
Questions to think about: The poem is written in a language all its own. Can you make up a word that hints at meaning by its sound? Could you write a four- or five-line poem that uses such made-up words?
Psalm 114
attributed to King David (c. 1000 BCE)
Hallelujah!
When Israel came out of Egypt,
the house of Jacob from a people of strange speech,
Judah became God’s sanctuary
and Israel his dominion.
The sea beheld it and fled;
Jordan turned and went back.
The mountains skipped like rams,
and the little hills like young sheep.
What ailed you, O sea, that you fled?
O Jordan, that you turned back?
You mountains, that you skipped like rams?
you little hills like young sheep?
Tremble, O earth, at the presence of the Lord,
at the presence of the God of Jacob,
Who turned the hard rock into a pool of water
and flint‑stone into a flowing spring.
*
Question to think about: When you write a poem, can you make things in the natural world do things they wouldn't usually do (as here, with the mountains and the hills skipping like rams and sheep)?
Hallelujah!
When Israel came out of Egypt,
the house of Jacob from a people of strange speech,
Judah became God’s sanctuary
and Israel his dominion.
The sea beheld it and fled;
Jordan turned and went back.
The mountains skipped like rams,
and the little hills like young sheep.
What ailed you, O sea, that you fled?
O Jordan, that you turned back?
You mountains, that you skipped like rams?
you little hills like young sheep?
Tremble, O earth, at the presence of the Lord,
at the presence of the God of Jacob,
Who turned the hard rock into a pool of water
and flint‑stone into a flowing spring.
*
Question to think about: When you write a poem, can you make things in the natural world do things they wouldn't usually do (as here, with the mountains and the hills skipping like rams and sheep)?
Wednesday, April 22, 2020
Blancie
Zoe DeFreitas (b. 2011)
I love my dear Blancie
She loves being covered
Cuddling with a plush
She doesn't rush
What a nice dog.
I love my dear Blancie
She loves being covered
Cuddling with a plush
She doesn't rush
What a nice dog.
Downstairs
Zoe DeFreitas (b. 2011)
Downstairs, oh downstairs! Their displeasing "Woo!"s, it being so loud I can't hear the bird's happy "Coo, Coo!"s! When I see them, I don't have a clue
Why they look so nice, but their noise isn't!
Downstairs, oh downstairs! Their displeasing "Woo!"s, it being so loud I can't hear the bird's happy "Coo, Coo!"s! When I see them, I don't have a clue
Why they look so nice, but their noise isn't!
Grapes
Zoe DeFreitas (b. 2011)
Grapes, oh the lovely taste of grapes! Such an underrated fruit, it needs to wear a cape! Oh, if I could rate, I'd give 5 stars! I eat it everywhere, in a plane, in a car, I love it!
Grapes, oh the lovely taste of grapes! Such an underrated fruit, it needs to wear a cape! Oh, if I could rate, I'd give 5 stars! I eat it everywhere, in a plane, in a car, I love it!
French Fries
Zoe DeFreitas (b. 2011)
French fries, oh fries!
They taste so good! They definitely make the mood better! At a restaurant, in your home, their goodness will make you groan! So if you happen to stop by, please give french fries a try!
French fries, oh fries!
They taste so good! They definitely make the mood better! At a restaurant, in your home, their goodness will make you groan! So if you happen to stop by, please give french fries a try!
Upstairs
Zoe DeFreitas (b. 2011)
Upstairs, oh upstairs!
They throw cups on the floor, berries and more! Oh they're never merry. Kid 1 plays guitar in his hammock, Kid 2 yells and throws rocks, while Kid 3 plays a video, Oh no oh no oh no! The ceiling has cracked! Their footsteps can break a camera, footsteps as loud as a hammer!
Upstairs, oh upstairs!
They throw cups on the floor, berries and more! Oh they're never merry. Kid 1 plays guitar in his hammock, Kid 2 yells and throws rocks, while Kid 3 plays a video, Oh no oh no oh no! The ceiling has cracked! Their footsteps can break a camera, footsteps as loud as a hammer!
I used to.. (Laziness Clots)
Zoe DeFreitas (b. 2011)
I used to run a shop, but now I sell crummy mops.
I used to drink and buy some potions, now I just sell unscented lotion.
I used to be creative and draw, now I just look at buying saws.
I've changed alot, have I? I don't really bother to do anything, because I've been taken by the Laziness Clots.
Laziness clots, oh laziness clots! They always snack on the unhealthiest tater tots with their Mott's! They add butter, so much to mutter, "Too much, too much!"
I used to run a shop, but now I sell crummy mops.
I used to drink and buy some potions, now I just sell unscented lotion.
I used to be creative and draw, now I just look at buying saws.
I've changed alot, have I? I don't really bother to do anything, because I've been taken by the Laziness Clots.
Laziness clots, oh laziness clots! They always snack on the unhealthiest tater tots with their Mott's! They add butter, so much to mutter, "Too much, too much!"
10:00 air
Zoe DeFreitas (b. 2011)
The 10:00 air is subtle, crisp, cold, sweet
The wintery air sweeping at our feet.
The 10:00 fairies coming to meet and greet
I write this poem about 10:00 air
To share the magical feeling and experience
Of breathing and seeing the 10:00 air.
The 10:00 air is subtle, crisp, cold, sweet
The wintery air sweeping at our feet.
The 10:00 fairies coming to meet and greet
I write this poem about 10:00 air
To share the magical feeling and experience
Of breathing and seeing the 10:00 air.
The Lights
Zoe DeFreitas (b. 2011)
When I come to
My special place, the lights shine
Shining
I trust the lights
Without them, I can't see
The ups and downs of the beautiful
world.
Wednesday, April 15, 2020
Lines from Romance Sonambulo
Zoe, hello!
A special note for this poem. You'll see some lines in Spanish. Don't panic! The English lines (on top) tell you what the Spanish lines mean. I just included the Spanish if you wanted to hear how the poem sounds in its original language!
Tommy
* * *
Romance Sonambulo :: Sleepwalking Ballad
by Federico Garcia Lorca (1898-1936)
translated by William Logan
Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
With the shade around her waist
she dreams on her balcony,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.
Green, how I want you green.
Under the gypsy moon,
all things are watching her
and she cannot see them.
Green, how I want you green.
Big hoarfrost stars
come with the fish of shadow
that opens the road of dawn.
The fig tree rubs its wind
with the sandpaper of its branches,
and the forest, cunning cat,
bristles its brittle fibers.
But who will come? And from where?
She is still on her balcony
green flesh, her hair green,
dreaming in the bitter sea.
* * *
Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verdes ramas.
El barco sobre la mar
y el caballo en la montaña.
Con la sombra en la cintura
ella sueña en su baranda,
verde carne, pelo verde,
con ojos de frÃa plata.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Bajo la luna gitana,
las cosas la están mirando
y ella no puede mirarlas.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Grandes estrellas de escarcha
vienen con el pez de sombra
que abre el camino del alba.
La higuera frota su viento
con la lija de sus ramas,
y el monte, gato garduño,
eriza sus pitas agrias.
¿Pero quién vendra? ¿Y por dónde...?
Ella sigue en su baranda,
Verde carne, pelo verde,
soñando en la mar amarga.
A special note for this poem. You'll see some lines in Spanish. Don't panic! The English lines (on top) tell you what the Spanish lines mean. I just included the Spanish if you wanted to hear how the poem sounds in its original language!
Tommy
* * *
Romance Sonambulo :: Sleepwalking Ballad
by Federico Garcia Lorca (1898-1936)
translated by William Logan
Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
With the shade around her waist
she dreams on her balcony,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.
Green, how I want you green.
Under the gypsy moon,
all things are watching her
and she cannot see them.
Green, how I want you green.
Big hoarfrost stars
come with the fish of shadow
that opens the road of dawn.
The fig tree rubs its wind
with the sandpaper of its branches,
and the forest, cunning cat,
bristles its brittle fibers.
But who will come? And from where?
She is still on her balcony
green flesh, her hair green,
dreaming in the bitter sea.
* * *
Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verdes ramas.
El barco sobre la mar
y el caballo en la montaña.
Con la sombra en la cintura
ella sueña en su baranda,
verde carne, pelo verde,
con ojos de frÃa plata.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Bajo la luna gitana,
las cosas la están mirando
y ella no puede mirarlas.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Grandes estrellas de escarcha
vienen con el pez de sombra
que abre el camino del alba.
La higuera frota su viento
con la lija de sus ramas,
y el monte, gato garduño,
eriza sus pitas agrias.
¿Pero quién vendra? ¿Y por dónde...?
Ella sigue en su baranda,
Verde carne, pelo verde,
soñando en la mar amarga.
Les Etiquettes Jaunes
by Frank O'Hara (1926-1966)
Notes: The title means "the yellow labels" or "the yellow tags" in French. But "etiquette" also means a list of guidelines for right or polite behavior.
Integrity: honesty; decency. It comes from a Latin word meaning "whole."
Neurotic: always needlessly anxious.
Chameleons are reptiles that can change their color.
*
I picked up a leaf
today from the sidewalk.
This seems childish.
Leaf! you are so big!
How can you change your
color, then just fall!
As if there were no
such thing as integrity!
You are too relaxed
to answer me. I am too
frightened to insist.
Leaf! don’t be neurotic
like the small chameleon.
Notes: The title means "the yellow labels" or "the yellow tags" in French. But "etiquette" also means a list of guidelines for right or polite behavior.
Integrity: honesty; decency. It comes from a Latin word meaning "whole."
Neurotic: always needlessly anxious.
Chameleons are reptiles that can change their color.
*
I picked up a leaf
today from the sidewalk.
This seems childish.
Leaf! you are so big!
How can you change your
color, then just fall!
As if there were no
such thing as integrity!
You are too relaxed
to answer me. I am too
frightened to insist.
Leaf! don’t be neurotic
like the small chameleon.
The Tyger
by William Blake (1757-1827)
Note: Nowadays, of course, the word is spelled "tiger," but most editors have followed the custom of using William Blake's older spelling.
Symmetry is when an object looks the exact same on one side as the other.
Sinews are the strong tissues that connect muscles to bones.
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Note: Nowadays, of course, the word is spelled "tiger," but most editors have followed the custom of using William Blake's older spelling.
Symmetry is when an object looks the exact same on one side as the other.
Sinews are the strong tissues that connect muscles to bones.
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Four Haiku Poems
Ryota (1718-1787)
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
No one spoke:
The host, the guest,
The white chrysanthemums.
*
Basho (1644-1694)
translated by R. H. Blyth
With what voice
and what song would you sing, spider,
in this autumn breeze?
*
Nicholas A. Virgilio (1928-1989)
1.
A distant balloon
drifting over the county fair
eclipses the moon.
2.
The cathedral bell
is shaking a few snowflakes
from the morning air.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
No one spoke:
The host, the guest,
The white chrysanthemums.
*
Basho (1644-1694)
translated by R. H. Blyth
With what voice
and what song would you sing, spider,
in this autumn breeze?
*
Nicholas A. Virgilio (1928-1989)
1.
A distant balloon
drifting over the county fair
eclipses the moon.
2.
The cathedral bell
is shaking a few snowflakes
from the morning air.
The Summer Day
by Mary Oliver (1935-2019)
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean ---
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down ---
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean ---
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down ---
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
I'm Here!
Zoe, hello again!
This is the poem of mine that I read today, if you wanted to have a closer look at it.
Ophelia is a character in Shakespeare's Hamlet who went crazy with grief and sadness when her father died. She would give weeds to people and pretend they were flowers. But in my poem, I have "a laughing Ophelia" who is going crazy with joy! And her flowers are really flowers!
And "Primavera" is both Italian and Spanish for "spring."
I hope you enjoyed today's poetry discussion!
Tommy
*
I'm Here!
by Thomas DeFreitas (b. 1969)
I hear the birds
of Lady Primavera,
a noted purveyor of lilacs.
I see daffodils at my laptop,
hyacinths by the recliner,
bumblebees in the coffee-mug,
robins by the iPhone,
sparrows atop the fridge.
Antic, frisky,
April announces,
I'm here! and flings
her hundred thousand flowers,
a laughing Ophelia
whose mind is all light.
Pray you, mark!
this tuft of green
which shines like nature's neon.
And look, this willow
burgeoning aslant
a gaily chattering brook!
All this bright grace
after long months
of cold hope!
This is the poem of mine that I read today, if you wanted to have a closer look at it.
Ophelia is a character in Shakespeare's Hamlet who went crazy with grief and sadness when her father died. She would give weeds to people and pretend they were flowers. But in my poem, I have "a laughing Ophelia" who is going crazy with joy! And her flowers are really flowers!
And "Primavera" is both Italian and Spanish for "spring."
I hope you enjoyed today's poetry discussion!
Tommy
*
I'm Here!
by Thomas DeFreitas (b. 1969)
I hear the birds
of Lady Primavera,
a noted purveyor of lilacs.
I see daffodils at my laptop,
hyacinths by the recliner,
bumblebees in the coffee-mug,
robins by the iPhone,
sparrows atop the fridge.
Antic, frisky,
April announces,
I'm here! and flings
her hundred thousand flowers,
a laughing Ophelia
whose mind is all light.
Pray you, mark!
this tuft of green
which shines like nature's neon.
And look, this willow
burgeoning aslant
a gaily chattering brook!
All this bright grace
after long months
of cold hope!
Deep Reading: A Few Tips
Zoe and Alisha, hello!
These are some helpful tips on how to read poetry deeply.
Many of the ideas come from my own high-school English teacher, Mr Waldron, who has written several books on poetry and the life of the spirit.
1. Quiet Place...If Possible!
Whenever possible, try to read poetry without other distractions in the background. Sometimes, soft music can help you "get into" a poem. But usually, music or TV or mobile devices or the internet will take our attention away from the poem. (Although I have to admit: I used to lie on the couch and read poetry with a baseball game on the TV in the background!)
2. Read the Poem Aloud
Poets mean for their poems to be heard as well as seen! Sometimes, we don't hear the music of a poem if our eyes just skim the page. And sometimes, when we say the words of a poem, the very act of speaking reveals a deep meaning to the words that wasn't clear before!
3. You Might Not Understand It All
And that is perfectly OK. There are poems with new and strange words, which we can look up when we have a chance. But there are poems that use familiar words in strange ways! Try to accept what's going on in a poem with an open heart, an open mind, and an open ear. In good time, and with our patient attention, the riches of the poem will be revealed!
4. Pause
Then, if you have the time and the desire, read the poem (aloud) a second time.
5. Gentle, Patient Attention
"Never is a genuine act of attention wasted," says author and thinker Simone Weil, who lived in the early part of the 20th century. "Attention always has a spiritual effect. And all spiritual light enlightens the mind."
These are some helpful tips on how to read poetry deeply.
Many of the ideas come from my own high-school English teacher, Mr Waldron, who has written several books on poetry and the life of the spirit.
1. Quiet Place...If Possible!
Whenever possible, try to read poetry without other distractions in the background. Sometimes, soft music can help you "get into" a poem. But usually, music or TV or mobile devices or the internet will take our attention away from the poem. (Although I have to admit: I used to lie on the couch and read poetry with a baseball game on the TV in the background!)
2. Read the Poem Aloud
Poets mean for their poems to be heard as well as seen! Sometimes, we don't hear the music of a poem if our eyes just skim the page. And sometimes, when we say the words of a poem, the very act of speaking reveals a deep meaning to the words that wasn't clear before!
3. You Might Not Understand It All
And that is perfectly OK. There are poems with new and strange words, which we can look up when we have a chance. But there are poems that use familiar words in strange ways! Try to accept what's going on in a poem with an open heart, an open mind, and an open ear. In good time, and with our patient attention, the riches of the poem will be revealed!
4. Pause
Then, if you have the time and the desire, read the poem (aloud) a second time.
5. Gentle, Patient Attention
"Never is a genuine act of attention wasted," says author and thinker Simone Weil, who lived in the early part of the 20th century. "Attention always has a spiritual effect. And all spiritual light enlightens the mind."
Sunday, April 12, 2020
Four Questions to Ask Yourself
Zoe, hello!
As you read a poem, you might ask yourself questions like these:
As you read a poem, you might ask yourself questions like these:
- What do I like about this poem?
- What don't I like about this poem?
- Is there anything I didn't expect? Is there something surprising, exciting, new or strange?
- Would I read this poem again if I didn't have to?
There is no right or wrong answer to these questions!
It's all about how you react to the poem, how you receive the poem, what kind of an impression it makes on you.
I hope you enjoy the poems. We'll talk about (some of) them on Wednesday!
Peace and light
Tommy
Saturday, April 11, 2020
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost (1874-1963)
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
House in the World
by Langston Hughes (1902-67)
I’m looking for a house
In the world
Where the white shadows
Will not fall.
There is no such house,
Dark brothers,
No such house
At all.
I’m looking for a house
In the world
Where the white shadows
Will not fall.
There is no such house,
Dark brothers,
No such house
At all.
Song of Myself, from section 31
by Walt Whitman (1819-92)
[Pismire: ant-hill. Chef-d'oeuvre: French for "masterpiece." Sextillion: a billion trillion.]
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars,
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,
And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.
[…]
In vain the speeding or shyness,
In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach,
In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones,
In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes,
In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low,
In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky,
In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs,
In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods,
In vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Labrador,
I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff.
[Pismire: ant-hill. Chef-d'oeuvre: French for "masterpiece." Sextillion: a billion trillion.]
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars,
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,
And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.
[…]
In vain the speeding or shyness,
In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach,
In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones,
In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes,
In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low,
In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky,
In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs,
In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods,
In vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Labrador,
I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff.
At April
by Angelina Weld Grimke (1880-1958)
Toss your gay heads,
Brown girl trees;
Toss your gay lovely heads;
Shake your brown slim bodies;
Stretch your brown slim arms;
Stretch your brown slim toes.
Who knows better than we,
With the dark, dark bodies,
What it means
When April comes a-laughing and a-weeping
Once again
At our hearts?
Toss your gay heads,
Brown girl trees;
Toss your gay lovely heads;
Shake your brown slim bodies;
Stretch your brown slim arms;
Stretch your brown slim toes.
Who knows better than we,
With the dark, dark bodies,
What it means
When April comes a-laughing and a-weeping
Once again
At our hearts?
The Waking
by Theodore Roethke (1908-63)
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
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