Monday Music

This piece from the American Life in Poetry series crossed my Inbox at just the right time today. I had high hopes for the weekend, but found my worst enemy right there in the mirror. I spent the two days scurrying and worrying about this, disgruntled and complaining about that.  I feel I missed the opportunity to really wade in to what matters–to the lights of my life, to the joys of my life, to what inspires the best of my creativity. Today I’m listening to my own gifts’ example. Today I’m hearing the music anew. Today is a day to drink in deeply.

American Life in Poetry: Column 239
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

It’s likely that if you found the original handwritten manuscript of T. S. Eliot’s groundbreaking poem, “The Waste Land,” you wouldn’t be able to trade it for a candy bar at the Quick Shop on your corner. Here’s a poem by David Lee Garrison of Ohio about how unsuccessfully classical music fits into a subway.

Bach in the DC Subway

As an experiment,
The Washington Post
asked a concert violinist—
wearing jeans, tennis shoes,
and a baseball cap—
to stand near a trash can
at rush hour in the subway
and play Bach
on a Stradivarius.
Partita No. 2 in D Minor
called out to commuters
like an ocean to waves,
sang to the station
about why we should bother
to live.

A thousand people
streamed by. Seven of them
paused for a minute or so
and thirty-two dollars floated
into the open violin case.
A café hostess who drifted
over to the open door
each time she was free
said later that Bach
gave her peace,
and all the children,
all of them,
waded into the music
as if it were water,
listening until they had to be
rescued by parents
who had somewhere else to go.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2008 by David Lee Garrison, whose most recent book of poems is Sweeping the Cemetery: New and Selected Poems, Browser Books Publishing, 2007. Poem reprinted from Rattle, Vol. 14, No. 2, Winter 2008, by permission of David Lee Garrison and the publisher. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

S is for Soft

Soft is the smooth touch
of my baby girl’s cheek
against mine, her skin
aglow in unfettered smiles
barely touched by the world.
the brush of eyelashes hovering
over a cloudless blue.

Soft is her sweet breath
against my nose, deepening
my inhale. in and out,
the gentle fluttering
of one thousand hopes and dreams
between her heart
and mine.

Soft is the whisper
of her sleepy fingers
against my shoulder,
the plump and eager toes
too worn with the day.
the patter of steps and moments
as they tiptoe away.

Happy 1st Birthday, Baby Girl! Your softness has forever melted my heart.

Word-Lush Wednesday

The latest column in the American Life in Poetry project reminded me that ripening happens not just in sunny days, but in rain and starry blackness as well. And, as the color deepens and becomes more varied on the surface of a time- and weather-worn life, we have hope that the lush and vibrant flesh beneath is becoming sweeter still–just waiting to crack open and spill out it’s fragrant juice. Here’s to American poets. Here’s to the poetry all around us. Here’s to a weighty life…

American Life in Poetry: Column 227
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

Jane Hirshfield, a Californian and one of my favorite poets, writes beautiful image-centered poems of clarity and concision, which sometimes conclude with a sudden and surprising deepening. Here’s just one example.

Green-Striped Melons

They lie
under stars in a field.
They lie under rain in a field.
Under sun.

Some people
are like this as well–
like a painting
hidden beneath another painting.

An unexpected weight
the sign of their ripeness.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c)2008 by Jane Hirshfield, whose most recent book of poems is “After,” Harper Collins, 2006. Poem reprinted from “Alaska Quarterly,” Vol. 25, nos. 3 & 4, Fall & Winter, 2008, by permission of Jane Hirshfield and the publisher. Introduction copyright (c)2009 by The Poetry Foundation.  The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.  We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Tardy Solstice

It seems I’m tardy with many things these days. My only excuse is the daily occurrence of real life, joyous and challenging as it may be. Saturday was the Summer Solstice, the “first day” of summer, although our already humid 90 degree temperatures in Mississippi over the last week said it was at least a little overdue. Our Saturday was spent enjoying 2009’s longest day at my parent’s home. After yummy food and racing cars and stickered airplanes and much drooling and searching for “flint” rocks (ones I’ve yet to learn how to distinguish) and late afternoon naps and shouting and extra time with Daddy, it was 11:30pm before my three gifts could be coaxed to embrace the night, long after the sun had given up it’s day of “triumph.” Earlier in the week, a friend encouraged me to stare at everyone I love a little more closely these days in light of the unexpected brevity of life. I was decidedly blessed to take her up on the challenge the few extra daylight moments.

I came across a wonderful program called American Life in Poetry, which highlights modern poetry selections with notes from former U.S. Poet Laureate, Ted Kooser. Our local Arts Council has used it in their newsletter (which I design) for years. I’ve only recently paid closer attention and realized that the weekly offering is made available for free publication. A recent column was very apropos in beautifully articulating the push and pull of day and night this time of year.

American Life in Poetry: Column 220
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE

One of the privileges of being U.S. Poet Laureate was to choose two poets each year to receive a $10,000 fellowship, funded by the Witter Bynner Foundation. Joseph Stroud, who lives in California, was one of my choices. This poem is representative of his clear-eyed, imaginative poetry.

Night in Day

The night never wants to end, to give itself over
to light. So it traps itself in things: obsidian, crows.
Even on summer solstice, the day of light’s great
triumph, where fields of sunflowers guzzle in the sun—
we break open the watermelon and spit out
black seeds, bits of night glistening on the grass.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c)2001 by Coleman Barks, from his most recent book of poems, “Winter Sky: New and Selected Poems, 1968-2008,” University of Georgia Press, 2008, and reprinted by permission of Coleman Barks and the publisher. Introduction copyright (c)2009 by The Poetry Foundation.  The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.  We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Lovely. I think I’ll search out more of Mr. Stroud’s work. One caveat: Light seems just as unwilling to give up it’s hold on our hearts. On Wednesday, the boys and Hub were out chasing “lightening bugs” in the guise of doing chores for Miss Belle (the beagle). Upon their return, all sweaty and giggling, they informed me they had caught two. Only, one “COULD NOT turn his light off.”

Much like the lights of my life.

the work of angel wings redux: in which I wish my Eye happy birthday