Month: April 2014

DPF / Gilbert

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As I continue to try to not repeat poets and to not split infinitives (eventually, I will repeat, but, for now, it’s fun to see how many days I can go without doing so) I thought I might try something very loosely thematic. Robinson Jeffers placed keepsakes from around the world in the concrete of the stone pathways, in the tower, and in the exterior and interior walls of the home he built in Carmel. It’s a useful metaphor; so, this week, beginning with today, while building this part of my online home, I will embed some fragments from 20th-Century Women American Poets very loosely linked by the fact that they each wrote poetry in the 1980’s. This one’s from Blood Pressure, 1988. Too, I love to read her reading poems.

from The Last Poem About the Snow Queen / by Sandra M. Gilbert

and they love you
the way the teeth of winter
love the last red shred of November.

DPF / Rilke

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Something saintly for this weekend. I’m no Rilke expert, having put more focus on American poetry. I’ve been reading poetry for more than three decades, and the more I read, the more there is to read, not just the poems that have already been written, but, poets keep writing poems: go hunting for a good one this weekend. You’ll find multitudes from which to choose. This one is from *my* book, New Poems [1908]: The Other Part, by Rilke, and translated by Edward Snow.

from Saint George / by Rainer Maria Rilke

Alongside his battle
stood, the way towers stand, her prayer.

DPF / Heaney

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No Heaney yet? After I typed out the post, below, I flipped back to read the bio in The Spirit Level, and saw a note to myself that said I finished reading the book 7.1.96, and then a little postcard from myself fell out with my favorite poem from the book written on it, “‘Postscript,’ page 82.”

from Postscript / by Seamus Heaney

And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy shore,
In September or October, when the wind
And the light are working off each other

DPF / Healey

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Thank you, Forklift, Ohio!   http://www.forkliftohio.com/

from A History of Bodies Reproaching

My child brought me
poison soup, and I gulped it down,
and it was amazing.

DPF / Verlaine

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From French Symbolist Poetry, Trans. by CF MacIntyre. For Dr. Justice.

from Parisian Sketch / by Paul Verlaine

Dreaming of Plato, I walked on,
and of Phidias,
of Salamis and Marathon,
under winking eyes of blue jets of gas.

DPF / Wright

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from Learning to Read / by Franz Wright

My father was unavailable, and my mother
looked like she was about to break,
and not into blossom, each time I spoke.

DPF / Mendes

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from Horses / by Murilo Mendes trans. by WS Merwin

The spirited horses shake out their long blue manes.

DPF / Ponsot

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from As Is / by Marie Ponsot

The house of my mother is sold with
All its trees and their usual tall music.

DPF / Ciardi

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Am bird obsessed. So, this one is from Bright Wings: An Illustrated Anthology of Poems About Birds, ed. by Billy Collins, with paintings by David Allen Sibley. More information on Collins and Ciardi at www.poets.org.

from Bird Watching / by John Ciardi

A bird is a bird as long as it is
there. Then it is a miracle our crumbs and
sunflower seeds caught and let go.

DPF / Guillevic

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from Everywhere / by Guillevic trans. by Denise Levertov

There is nothing but you,
field poppy.