Month: January 2016

DPF / Tate

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For a favorite poem and interviews, from a fashion and poetry blog:
http://fashionpoetrylalanii.com/search/tate

from The Ice Cream Man / by James Tate

“Do you have much experience climbing tall mountains?” “Absolutely.
I climb them all the time. If I see a tall mountain, I have to
climb it immediately,” I said. “What about swimming long distances
in rough ocean waters, perhaps in a storm?” he said. “I’m like
a fish, you can’t stop me. I just keep going in all kinds of
weather,” I said. “Could you fly a glider at night and land in
a wheat field, possibly under enemy fire?” he said. “Nothing
could come more naturally to me,” I said.

DPF / Adamshick

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For mothers and sons, from American Poetry Review, January/February 2016.

from Moon Seen Two Days Before Thanksgiving / by Carl Adamshick

My mother is the glass cabinet
with snow falling

DPF / Strand

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For mystery, from a favorite by Mark Strand. This full version was found at npr:
the mysterious-arrival-of-an-unusual-letter
and at The Storialist blog:
http://thestorialist.blogspot.com/2015/07/the-mysterious-arrival-of-unusual.html

from The Mysterious Arrival of an Unusual Letter / by Mark Strand

It had been a long day at the office and a long ride back to the small apartment where I lived. When I got there I flicked on the light and saw on the table an envelope with my name on it. Where was the clock? Where was the calendar?

DPF / Yeshurun

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For one of those days, from poetryfoundation.org.

from Memories Are A House / by Avot Yeshurun (1904-1999), translated by Leon Wieseltier

I do not deny that a man who reaches a certain age
can no longer hope
that those from whom he came will remain
still alive with him, as my mother once

wrote to me in one of the letters
of her twilight.

DPF / Baudelaire

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For a funny but sad scene, from Paris Spleen, by Charles Baudelaire.

from Cake / by Charles Baudelaire, translated by Louise Varese

But why describe the hideous fight which lasted longer than their childish strength had seemed to warrant? The cake traveled from hand to hand and changed pockets at every instant, changing, alas! in size as well…

DPF / Plath

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For coronals of sugar roses, from The Collected Poems, by Sylvia Plath.

from The Beekeeper’s Daughter / by Sylvia Plath (1932-1963)

Trumpet-throats open to the beaks of birds.
The Golden Rain Tree drips its powders down.
In these little boudoirs streaked with orange and red
The anthers nod their heads, potent as kings
To father dynasties. The air is rich.
Here is a queenship no mother can contest —

DPF / Cummings

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For, finally, the rain on our drought, and the poem it leads me to each time, from poets.org. The rest of the poem may be found here:
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/somewhere-i-have-never-travelledgladly-beyond

from somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond / by e.e. cummings (1894 – 1962)

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

DPF / Berryman

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For more dreams, from 77 Dream Songs, by John Berryman. Here’s the first one.

from Dream Song: 1 / by John Berryman (1914-1972)

What he has now to say is a long
wonder the world can bear & be.

DPF / Oliver

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For winter birds, from poetryfoundation.org. The rest of the poem may be found here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/30876

from White-Eyes / by Mary Oliver, b. 1935

like stars, or the feathers
      of some unimaginable bird

that loves us,
        that is asleep now, and silent—
          that has turned itself
            into snow.

DPF / O’Callaghan

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For wind and woods and wishes for rain and prayers for those with too much of it, from poetryfoundation.org.

from January Drought / by Conor O’Callaghan

But tonight is buckets of stars as hard and dry as dimes.