Category Archives: poetry

I take the bait and keep eating.

Every day a poem comes into my e-mail inbox from The Poetry Foundation. Even this solitary Poem-a-Day is often too much for me to handle, and I either let my supply build up for days and/or I delete some poems after a brief scan. But on the occasional day I take the bait and end up reading several poems and stories about the poets.

A couple of monthsxj kennedy ago there was a poem by X.J. Kennedy that got my attention, because although I knew his name from a poetry textbook I own, as he was co-editor with Dana Gioia of that book, I hadn’t seen any of his own poetry before. I was predisposed to like him because of his collaboration with Dana Gioia whom I greatly admire (As you will see if you check out tags with his name here on my blog).

Kennedy was born in 1929 and wrote science fiction in his youth. His poem-writing seems to have come a little later, along with journalism work during the war, and teaching English. Here is a short poem from 1985:

     You Touch Me

      You touch me.

      One by one

      In each cell of my body

      A hearth comes on.

 

When I read that he had been writing a lot of poetry for children in recent years, I borrowed several books by him from the library to investigate.  A book of nonsense poems wasn’t my style, but The Beasts of Bethlehem is quite wonderful, with short poems from the perspective not just of the usual farm animals, but some critters less famous for being near the Christ Child, such as a beetle, a bat, a worm, and this:

HAWK

Before ChristP1100192, yesterday,
From clouds I dived, gave chase,
And fed. But in this place
Of peace I shall not prey

On living things. Those six
Young hares ripped from their burrow
Were lovely, though. Tomorrow,
Old plump hen, watch your chicks.

As you can see, the animals not only think to themselves about the Event, but are in conversation with each other.  Many also convey Kennedy’s sense of humor that is not without reverence. I have already bought three copies of this book so that I’ll be ready for next Christmas.

The Owlstone Crown is a novel Kennedy wrote for middle-schoolers, I think. It features children who accidentally fall into an alternate world where they help to rescue their relatives from slave labor. I was first off charmed by the presence of a talking ladybug, but it turned out to be a man ladybug who was a wisecracking tough character, and I didn’t like him much even though he was the type who has a good heart. I did see the book through to the end, but can’t imagine anyone to whom I couldn’t recommend some much better story.

My favorite discovery from X.J. Kennedy (if you Google him you can find out how and why he got those initials) I have kept for last. It is his Child’s Introduction to Poetry titled Knock at a Star. I wish I could have read the whole thing with my children, but it was published a little late for most of them, in 1999. So I bought a few copies for grandchildren who are at the right age right now, or will eventually be.knock at a star

The first section of the book is “What Do Poems Do?” and the answers are Make You Smile, Tell Stories, Send Messages, Share Feelings, Help You Understand People, and Start You Wondering. Each of those chapters includes ten or more poems, many by well-known poets and not specifically for children, which I appreciated. Too often I’ve seen collections that were so dumbed-down as to be insulting, and not a good kind of literary food for inculcating good taste.

Even the humorous poems include “Termite” by Ogden Nash. This one from the Understanding People section is by Valerie Worth

My Mother

My mother
Wasn’t like
Some others.

She didn’t
Make cakes or
Candied apples.

She sat down
Beside her
Sewing basket

And stayed
Up late
Reading poetry.

In Section 2 the question “What’s Inside a Poem?” is answered. Here a poem by Wallace Stevens illustrates that Images may be inside. And Word Music is shown through this poem by Emanuel diPasquale, “Rain”:

Like a drummer’s brush,
the rain hushes the surfaces of tin porches.

Beats That Repeat are found in one of my favorite “Opposites” poems by Richard Wilbur, and in others by Robert Frost and Gertrude Stein. The descriptions of poetic technique are brief and helpful, so we can move on quickly to the poems themselves.

There are limericks, of course, and songs (“Blowin’ in the Wind” by Bob Dylan) and haiku. And a last section on writing your own poems. I just think this book has everything for the child of eight or ten and older, and if I’d read something like this when I was young I’d be even more like that mother in the poem. I wonder just how late she stayed up?

The Law the Lawyers Know About

The Law the Lawyers Know About

The law the lawyers know about
Is property and land;
But why the leaves are on the trees,
And why the wind disturbs the seas,
Why honey is the food of bees,
Why horses have such tender knees,
Why winters come and rivers freeze,
Why Faith is more than what one sees,
And Hope survives the worst disease,
And Charity is more than these,
They do not understand.

–H.D.C. Pepler

bee on o. blossom crp

Like a pair of gophers.

Many people need more sleep than usual during Bright Week, what we call the week after Pascha when the joy and lightness of The Resurrection of Christ are like a wave we want to ride as long as possible. Um…so why would we lie abed? Shouldn’t we be going forth in the power of the Resurrection accomplishing great things?

We are sleeping because we got  v-e-r-y  t-i-r-e-d  during the marathon of services during Holy Week, then stayed up most of the night going into Sunday morning…and we couldn’t sleep a lot extra right away because we wanted to go to the picnic, and Bright Monday services… and because we were high on all that joy. (Also, it’s true, I personally have frequent sleep issues anyway.)

Bright Week has passed, but while it is yet Pascha — until Pentecost — some of us older than forty are still catching up. This poem reminds me a little of me — and some mornings my husband is right alongside, making a pair.

WEEKENDS, SLEEPING IN

No jump-starting the day,
no bare feet slapping the floor
to bath and breakfast.

Dozing instead
in the nest
like, I suppose,
a pair of gophers

underground
in fuzz and wood shavings.
One jostles the other
in closed-eye luxury.

We are at last
perhaps
what we are:
uncombed,
unclothed,
mortal.

Pulse
and breath
and dream.

–Marjorie Saiser

Whether eager or not – books.

There is a great deal of difference between
an eager man who wants to read a book,
and a tired man who wants a book to read.

— G.K. Chesterton in Charles Dickens

I can’t relate to the tired man mentioned in this quote, because if I am ever too tired to be eager about it, I don’t enjoy reading at all. Short of totally drained, my style of “deep reading,” which requires a pencil or red pen for underlining and note-taking even for novels, is what I most like to do when fatigue sets in. In the years when I was worn completely down by evening, having provided the education, meals and home base for a passel of children and a husband, the most calming thing was to get in bed with a book of theology.

But the comparison Chesterton makes leads me to think about uses of books. It sounds as though the Tired Man is using a book, whereas the Eager Man wants to engage with and receive from the author of a specific book.

All the same, when I am an Eager Woman I seem to need several choices, not always being in the mood for meeting up with any and every interesting author. My family have been very good to me of late, providing many of these options.

My sister-in-law gave me Feather Crowns by Bobbie Ann Mason, not a book I’d have picked up otherwise; I’d never heard of the author. The prose was lovely, and transported me to Kentucky in 1900, to the house of a woman truly great with child. When she gives birth to quintuplets her home and family become the center of a community effort on the part of the women to help her with the babies, at which point I could smell the cornbread and hear the household sounds and the birds outside her window.

The closeness of the community and the friendliness and openness of the country people that are initially so appealing in this story soon set off alarms in my mother’s heart, when complete strangers hop off the train and come right in without knocking, to pick up the babies without asking. This very domestic story became a thriller for me as I turned the pages wanting to find out how fame was going to affect the babies, the marriage, the community — and most of all, the mother. I can enjoy engaging with a writer of fiction if she does a good job, and Mason qualifies.

Poetry provides a different kind of connection with the author, a relationship in which I feel most like the receiver of gifts, though of course I can’t help but bring something to the encounter. That’s why I don’t bother with many of the poems that come my way: I don’t have whatever it takes to hear what is in that particular poem, and I can tell right away. On the other hand, maybe poetry books are the sort that I want to read when I am on the verge of exhaustion. A good poem can give at several levels, depending on my state of mind.

Mary Oliver has a higher-than-average success rate with me, so I’m looking foward to delving into this collection that was a birthday gift from my husband. I’ve posted some of her poems on my blog in the past, but right now I just want to share a quote from her that makes me feel a connection to her as a fellow-writer, too. The quote within a quote, from Wikipedia:

She commented in a rare interview, “When things are going well, you know, the walk does not get rapid or get anywhere: I finally just stop, and write. That’s a successful walk!” She says that she once found herself walking in the woods with no pen and later hid pencils in the trees so she would never be stuck in that place again.

Another kind of book for less energetic times is a good cookbook, and The Joy of Cooking has been perfect for leisurely hours of perusal throughout my married life. Mr. Glad accommodated my desire for the 75th-anniversary edition, so I’ll be ready when that mood strikes.

I get poems in my inbox every day from two poetry websites, and last month one of them was by X.J. Kennedy, whose name I recognized as co-editor with Dana Gioia of a poetry textbook I bought a  while back for the purpose of improving my receptivity to poems. I started reading about Kennedy and found that he himself has specialized in writing poems and stories for children.

So I borrowed a few of his books from the library and discovered some that I wanted to buy for my grandchildren. I read one of his stories, too, The Owlstone Crown, which I don’t think worth anyone’s time unless you have absolutely nothing else at hand.

My favorite by him was the children’s introduction to poetry that he wrote and compiled, Knock at a Star. I have now bought several copies on Amazon at one cent each, plus shipping, of course. The poems Kennedy collected are all of a sort that I would feel good about my children or grandchildren reading. I am not at home with the book at the moment so I will have to write another post about it when I can give some examples.

Where I am is at the home of Soldier and Joy and Liam. 21-month-old Liam and I are eagerly reading scores of books, but not always in the focused way I prefer. Often we get a page or three into the book when he gently closes that one and jumps down off my lap to bring a replacement from his bookshelf. But I am patient; so far I haven’t given up being an Eager Reader.

Linking up to Weekends With Chesterton