Good day readers, I have returned from New Zealand and while I sort out my own ideas, thought I would start the week off with Ted Kooser’s pick…. Enjoy!
American Life in Poetry: Column 366
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
I don’t think we’ve ever published a poem about a drinker. Though there are lots of poems on this topic, many of them are too judgmental for my liking. But here’s one I like, by Jeanne Wagner, of Kensington, California, especially for its original central comparison.
My mother was like the bees
because she needed a lavish taste
on her tongue,
a daily tipple of amber and gold
to waft her into the sky,
a soluble heat trickling down her throat.
Who could blame her
for starting out each morning
with a swig of something furious
in her belly, for days
when she dressed in flashy lamé
leggings like a starlet,
for wriggling and dancing a little madly,
her crazy reels and her rumbas,
for coming home wobbly
with a flicker of clover’s inflorescence
still clinging to her clothes,
enough to light the darkness
of a pitch-black hive.
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 ©2010 by Jeanne Wagner from her most recent book of poetry, “In the Body of Our Lives,” Sixteen Rivers Press, 2010. Poem reprinted by permission of Jeanne Wagner and the publisher. Introduction copyright ©2012 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.
American Life in Poetry ©2006 The Poetry Foundation
Contact: alp@poetryfoundation.org
This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.
Hi my readers!
Off to New Zealand tomorrow~AH! So excited! I’m sure I will have plenty to write about at the end of the month when I return…. maybe I’ll even try to scan in some of my “famous” journal sketches! I also have plans to start a Press Send Poetry Facebook fan page for when I get back… so for those of you on FB, stay tuned!
In the meantime, there is plenty of poetry here to keep you occupied for more than a few weeks…. Start at the beginning and just keep reading. Then, tell me what you think 🙂
Until, until,
j
Another great pick from Mr. Kooser – worth sharing today! Enjoy, and remember to subscribe if you like what you see 🙂
American Life in Poetry: Column 363
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
Psychologists must have a word for it, the phenomenon of shifting the focus of sadness from the source of that sadness to something else. Here’s a fine poem on this subject by Penelope Scambly Schott, who lives in Oregon.
Second Tour
While my husband packed to fly back to Vietnam,
this time as a tourist instead of a soldier,
I drove to the zoo to say goodbye to the musk oxen
who were being shipped out early next morning
to Tacoma. We were getting lions instead.
When I got there, it was too easy to park.
The zoo was closing early so they wouldn’t let me in.
I went back to my car and slid into the driver’s seat.
Sobs tore from deep in my chest, I who had never
seen a musk ox and never cared until now.
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 ©2010 by Penelope Scambly Schott, from her most recent book of poems, “Crow Mercies,” Calyx Books, 2010. Poem first appeared in “Arroyo Literary Review,” Vol. 2, Spring 2010. Reprinted by permission of Penelope Scambly Schott and the publishers. Introduction copyright 2012 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.
American Life in Poetry ©2006 The Poetry Foundation
Contact: alp@poetryfoundation.org
This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.
In a hush hush hush
doors closing all around
static anxiety takes a seat down and waits….
Some unnoticed take
boxes with them so soundlessly
it seems a magician’s disappearing act, poof!
Those felt grey walls
left staring into a distance still
crackling with the laughter of better times.
gray walls, stockings tight,
hair slicked back, a hurtful bun.
tattoo underneath….
Mixing it up today with a random journal excerpt – this is where the previous haiku “i am a river stone” came from (sort of)… enjoy this little peek into my demented little diary.
“whatever do we do with these rainy day thoughts? saw a mystery bird today, black and white and a parrot face, puffin perhaps? cat saw many active ghosts tonight, head went bobbing side to side to side to side, her ears pricked up. riding my bike through the humid wet pavement city perfumed with that intoxicating smell of bread dough in Fells Point, i think suddenly… i am a river rock.”
fresh snow has a silence
like the last sigh before
every last cell goes dark
and the soul drifts on; like
how even a tiny gust can
send these mortal flurries
skyward.
Hi and Happy Friday!! I wrote this essay a few years ago and, after talking with a good friend who’s father has also just retired, I thought I’d find it and post it here. Let me know what you think!
How to Start the Day: Reflections on the International Day of Older Persons
http://www.un.org/ageing/documents/Intlday/how2start_the_day.pdf
Poetry by JC Snyder 