Poem-A-Day April 10: Dusting

Dusting

Thank you for these tiny
particles of ocean salt,
pearl-necklace viruses,
winged protozoans:
for the infinite,
intricate shapes
of submicroscopic
living things.

For algae spores
and fungus spores,
bonded by vital
mutual genetic cooperation,
spreading their
inseparable lives
from equator to pole.

My hand, my arm,
make sweeping circles.
Dust climbs the ladder of light.
For this infernal, endless chore,
for these eternal seeds of rain:
Thank you. For dust.


Hello Friends,
I like to view today’s 1994 poem by Marilyn Nelson as in conversation with another famous poem giving thanks to dust: “Dust of Snow” by Robert Frost. You’d be surprised at the number of poems written about a subject like dust — a couple other favorites are “How I Learned To Sweep” by Julia Alvarez and “Chalk-Dust” by Lillian Byrnes.
Love,
Ællen

Poem-A-Day April 23: Since it’s his birthday…

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.






Hello Friends —

Happy Bard Day! April 23 is celebrated as the birthday of William Shakespeare. The Bard was supposedly born on this day in 1564 and also supposedly died on the exact same day 52 years later, April 23, 1616. The monologue above is from Act V, scene 5 of Macbeth, when Macbeth learns of Lady Macbeth’s death.

Ever wonder how Shakespeare was able to stay in perfect iambic pentameter so much of the time? Well, it certainly didn’t hurt that he made up over 1,700 of the words he used — often taking known words and twisting them into new parts of speech; noun into verb, verb into adjective, etc. — so that they fit into his syllabic structure. In addition to individual words, Shakespeare also coined many phrases we still use today.

Other literary works that derive their titles from just this one Shakespeare passage include “Out, Out —” by Robert Frost and The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner.

Whether it’s today’s selection or “Jabberwocky” (those of you who have been on this list a few years!) or another piece that speaks to you, I strongly encourage you to pick a poem to read out loud to someone else, at least once a year, and consider learning it by heart. When you’ve memorized a poem, no one can ever take it away from you. Even locked in a dark cell. Or stranded on a deserted island. Or in the last syllable of recorded time.

Memorization is why we invented rhyme and meter and poetry itself in the first place! So an orator could travel from place to place and recite a piece, or one generation could pass on a story to the text. The first poems were never written down; they were all oral and committed to memory, aided by patterns in rhythm and sound we now call poetry. That memorization skill is a bit of a lost art — but I still think one of the most poetic things you can do is to memorize a poem.

Shakespeare indicates in many places he understands the power of words to outlive their authors. While his character Macbeth says in this passage “and then is heard no more,” it’s possible or even likely Shakespeare dreamed and aspired toward a world in which these very words were heard over and over again, even after his own death. You could argue Shakespeare believed the opposite of what this, one of his most famous passages, actually says. This passage may be more about conveying thoughts and feelings that many people have experienced, about how existence feels sometimes — rather than making fundamental claims about the nature of existence. Did Shakespeare in his wildest dreams ever imagine his words would last 450 years, or that they would be performed every single day, not only in England but around the world? Probably not. But here we are.

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. If you wish to be unsubscribed from this poem-a-day email list at any time, please reply to this email with a friendly unsubscribe request (preferably in heroic couplet form). You may also request to add a consenting friend to the list, or even nominate a poem.

To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like poem-a-day list, visit www.poets.org.

Enjoy.
Ellen

Acquainted with the Night

Acquainted with the Night

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in the rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Hello Friends,

It is extremely difficult to write a poem this deceiving simple! Today’s sonnet by Robert Frost is an example of terza rima — written in iambic pentameter and following an interlocking ABA BCB CDC DAD AA rhyme scheme. Much like Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” “Acquainted with the Night” is typically interpreted to have both literal and metaphorical layers of meaning.

Enjoy.
Ellen

Poems by Robert Frost were also featured for Poem-a-Day April 26, 2012, Poem-a-Day April 28, 2010, Poem-a-Day April 30, 2008, and Poem-a-Day April 16, 2007.

Poem-a-Day April 23: There be tygers

Hello Friends,
Long before Pink Floyd, this guy Stephen Vincent Benét (1898–1943) was writing about the dark side of the moon. Though we don’t come across his work as much now, during his lifetime, Benét sold more copies of his poetry collections than contemporaries like Robert Frost or T.S. Eliot.
Enjoy.
Ellen

 
Difference

My mind’s a map. A mad sea-captain drew it
Under a flowing moon until he knew it;
Winds with brass trumpets, puffy-cheeked as jugs,
And states bright-patterned like Arabian rugs.
“Here there be tygers.” “Here we buried Jim.”
Here is the strait where eyeless fishes swim
About their buried idol, drowned so cold
He weeps away his eyes in salt and gold.
A country like the dark side of the moon,
A cider-apple country, harsh and boon,
A country savage as a chestnut-rind,
A land of hungry sorcerers.
                                                  Your mind?

—Your mind is water through an April night,
A cherry-branch, plume-feathery with its white,
A lavender as fragrant as your words,
A room where Peace and Honor talk like birds,
Sewing bright coins upon the tragic cloth
Of heavy Fate, and Mockery, like a moth,
Flutters and beats about those lovely things.
You are the soul, enchanted with its wings,
The single voice that raises up the dead
To shake the pride of angels.
                                                  I have said.

Is that a poem in your pocket?

Hello Friends —

Tomorrow, Thursday April 26, is officially Poem in Your Pocket Day, brought to you by the Academy of American Poets — the same folks who bring you National Poetry Month, www.poets.org, and today’s subject line.

Poem in Your Pocket Day makes for an excellent excuse to spread the joy of Poetry Month to even more people! If you’ve never done it before, handing out poems on the street is very fun and rewarding. At first people will think you’re trying to hand them some promotional flyer they’ll then have to go to the trouble of finding a recycling bin for, but then they become pleasantly surprised to discover you’re giving them a little gift that asks nothing in return.

You can find today’s poem and other pocket-prone poems for your own Poem in Your Pocket Day celebration in print-your-own-at-home PDF format here. And here’s the best part: no one really knows, nor does it particularly matter, which day is actually Poem in Your Pocket Day — you can hand out poems to strangers any day, particularly any day in April.

Enjoy.
Ellen

Dust of Snow

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.


“Dust of Snow” by Robert Frost was also featured for Poem-a-Day April 16, 2007 and Poem-a-Day April 4, 2010.
Poet Robert Frost was also featured for Poem-a-Day April 30, 2008.

Poem-a-Day, April 9, 2011: civilaries

Hello Friends —

If you’ve been on this poem-a-day list all five years, you may have found every now and again I’ll deem a poem worthy of having you read over again a few years later, so thank you for bearing with me on the occasional repeat. One thing I don’t think I mentioned about today’s poem when I sent it to you in April 2007 is its synergy with a poem I sent you in April 2008 — I read Mary Oliver’s “small civilities” and Emily Dickinson’s “Chivalries as tiny” as closely connected.

Much like fellow Pulitzer-winner Robert Frost, Mary Oliver is often pigeon-holed as a “nature poet,” when in fact some of her most intriguing works take place within manmade walls. “Anne” appears in Oliver’s 1972 collection The River Styx, and is also included in her New and Selected Poems (1992). Thanks again to Molly for introducing me to this poem.

To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like poem-a-day list, visit www.poets.org.

Enjoy.
Ellen


Anne

The daughter is mad, and so
I wonder what she will do.
But she holds her saucer softly
And sips, as people do,
From moment to moment making
Comments of rain and sun,
Till I feel my own heart shaking —
Till I am the frightened one.
O Anne, sweet Anne, brave Anne,
What did I think to see?
The rumors of the village
Have painted you savagely.
I thought you would come in anger —
A knife beneath your skirt.
I did not think to see a face
So peaceful, and so hurt.
I know the trouble is there,
Under your little frown;
But when you slowly lift your cup
And when you set it down,
I feel my heart go wild, Anne,
I feel my heart go wild.
I know a hundred children,
But never before a child
Hiding so deep a trouble
Or wanting so much to please,
Or tending so desperately all
The small civilities.


“Anne” by Mary Oliver was also featured for Poem-a-Day April 9, 2007.

Poem-a-Day, April 28: What can I say? Another crow.

Dust of Snow

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

Robert Frost, New Hampshire (1923),
also included in Collected Poems (1969)


Hi Friends —

April 29 was Poem in Your Pocket Day, and I had intentions of sending y’all a batch of pocket poems on the 28th so you could print and hand them out on 29th. But, here’s the thing: no one really knows, nor does it particularly matter, which day is actually Poem in Your Pocket Day. So I see no problem whatsoever with handing out pocket poems on the 30th. “Dust of Snow” is, in my opinion, a perfect poem for handing out to random strangers on the street outside the subway exit — which is where you’ll find me tomorrow morning before work. If you are so inspired or inclined, please feel free to make any day Poem in Your Pocket Day — for yourself, for others. More pocket-sized poems from this and past years’ poem-a-day series in print-your-own-at-home PDF format here.

I am also very excited about a project Citizen Hope is doing in San Francisco tomorrow — organizing volunteers to read poems to elementary school students in San Francisco. Check it out here.


“Dust of Snow” by Robert Frost was also featured for Poem-a-Day April 16, 2007.
Poet Robert Frost was also featured for Poem-a-Day April 30, 2008.

Poem-a-Day, April 25: Or every man be blind

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant—
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth’s superb surprise

As lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind—


The work above is known simply as #1129 — a constant reminder of how heavily those who collected and edited Emily Dickinson‘s manuscripts posthumously influence how we experience the sequencing, punctuation, and other attributes of her poems today.

I sometimes experience the poem above in conversation with Robert Frost, who decades later asks Tellers of Truths to “Choose Something Like A Star.”

MC Emmie D is also well known for her Slant in #258, “There’s a certain Slant of light,” and for her frequent use of slant rhyme and dashes of various slants and lengths. (There’s a brilliant article by Saskia Hamilton in the most recent issue of American Poet magazine on Dickinson’s use of slant rhyme and breath that I wish I could link you to, but unfortunately it does not yet exist on the internets.)

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.

— Ellen

Poems by Emily Dickinson were also featured for Poem-a-Day April 29, 2008 and Poem-a-Day April 25, 2010.

Poem-a-day, April 30: So.

“Out, Out —”

The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside them in her apron
To tell them “Supper.” At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy’s hand, or seemed to leap —
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy’s first outcry was a rueful laugh,
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. The boy saw all —
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart —
He saw all spoiled. “Don’t let him cut my hand off —
The doctor, when he comes. Don’t let him, sister!”
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then — the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little — less — nothing! — and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

***

Hello Friends,

Today’s poem is by Robert Frost, in his collection Mountain Interval (1916). The poem’s title is a reference to one of the greatest monologues ever written, in Shakespeare’s Macbeth (see Poem-a-Day April 23, 2007).

And with that, I am Out. Thirty days. Thirty poets. Thirty poems. Today is the last day of April, and the last poem-a-day for 2008.

If a particular poem or two from this month has really stuck with you, I am so glad! And if you’re feeling inspired to continue reading some poetry beyond the month of April, here are some places to start.

Thank you for humoring me in this celebration of National Poetry Month. You may now return to your affairs.

– Ellen

P.S. If you missed a poem-a-day from earlier, or just want to revisit one, visit meetmein811.blogspot.com or http://groups.yahoo.com/group/poemaday_tgifreytag/.

Poem-a-yesterday, April 27: lovely, dark and deep

She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half-words whispered low:
As Earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.

***

Hello friends,

Yesterday’s much belated poem-a-day is an untitled work of Robert Graves, about which Ellen is known to have irreverently remarked: “It’s like ‘Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening’, if the narrator were in love with the horse.”

Enjoy.
Ellen