Pam Webb

a writer's journey as a reader

Archive for the category “national poetry month”

11 Apr 2016

POM: April 11


April is so close to May which is close to June and then it’s SUMMER!!

Here’s some Ella to remind us of that good, good season:

Good old William Blake also knew how to lay down one awesome summer poem, I will credit him for that.

O thou who passest thro’ our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer,
Oft pitched’st here thy goldent tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.

Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard
Thy voice, when noon upon his fervid car
Rode o’er the deep of heaven; beside our springs
Sit down, and in our mossy valleys, on
Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy
Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream:
Our valleys love the Summer in his pride.

Our bards are fam’d who strike the silver wire:
Our youth are bolder than the southern swains:
Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance:
We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,
Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven,
Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat

And for something a little less dazzling, I turn to a fave: William Carlos Williams

Wanderer moon
smiling a
faintly ironical smile
at this
brilliant, dew-moistened
summer morning,—
a detached
sleepily indifferent
smile, a
wanderer’s smile,—
if I should
buy a shirt
your color and
put on a necktie
sky-blue
where would they carry me?
Posted in national poetry month, Reflections, summer, Uncategorized and tagged , | Leave a comment
10 Apr 2016
2 Comments

POM: April 10


There are a handful of contemporary poets whose poems resonate with me long after I’m done reading their words. Naomi Shihab Nye is one such poet.

The Rider

A boy told me
if he roller-skated fast enough
his loneliness couldn’t catch up to him...
Posted in children, national poetry month, poems, Reflections and tagged , ,
09 Apr 2016

POM: April 9


Why does the night so frighten children? I’m still not so keen about night–sometimes it seems so long until the darkness fades into the warmth of day. I found this poem and it absolutely captures the discomfort sometimes felt during those long nights of childhood fears.

 

Kyrie

At times my life suddenly opens its eyes in the dark.
A feeling of masses of people pushing blindly
through the streets, excitedly, toward some miracle,
while I remain here and no one sees me.

It is like the child who falls asleep in terror
listening to the heavy thumps of his heart.
For a long, long time till morning puts his light in the locks
and the doors of darkness open.

—Tomas Tranströmer

 

Posted in children, national poetry month, Reflections and tagged , , , | Leave a comment
08 Apr 2016
6 Comments

POM: April 8


dandelions

I wish I could grow like a dandelion,
from gold to thin white hair,
and be carried on a breeze
to the next yard.

—Julie Lechevsky

Posted in American poets, humor, national poetry month, Nature, Reflections, summer and tagged , ,
07 Apr 2016
4 Comments

POM: April 7


Mentors. They are sometimes early in our life. Sometimes they arrive too late. A cautionary tale offered by Timothy Murphy.

 

Mentor

For Robert Francis

Had I known, only known
when I lived so near,
I'd have gone, gladly gone
foregoing my fear
of the wholly grown
and the nearly great.
But I learned alone,
so I learned too late.

—Timothy Murphy

 

Posted in American poets, national poetry month, poems, Reflections and tagged , ,
06 Apr 2016
2 Comments

POM: April 6


Jellyfish freak me out. This stems from a series of childhood encounters with them. One instance involved being dumped into a flock of the gelatinous goo by my dad. These were the teeny non-stinging transparent types, so no harm to me except I cringe whenever I see them now. The jellyfish scene in Bond required deep breathing. 

It’s said we overcome our fears by facing them. This poem helps. I still don’t like jellyfish. I see them in a bit friendlier way now.

A Jelly-Fish

 by Marianne Moore

Visible, invisible,

A fluctuating charm,

An amber-colored amethyst

Inhabits it; your arm

Approaches, and

It opens and

It closes;

You have meant

To catch it,

And it shrivels;

You abandon

Your intent—

It opens, and it

Closes and you

Reach for it—

The blue

Surrounding it

Grows cloudy, and

It floats away

From you.

Posted in American poets, humor, memories, national poetry month, poems and tagged , , ,
05 Apr 2016
3 Comments

POM: April 5


Bildungsroman

Bil·dungs·ro·man
ˈbildo͝oNGzrōˌmän,ˈbēldo͝oNGks-/noun 
  1. a novel dealing with one person’s formative years or spiritual education

Such an interesting word. My German heritage perks up when I hear this term bantered around in literary musings. Bildungsroman is the combination of two German words: Bildung, meaning “education,” and Roman, meaning “novel.” To Kill a Mockingbird always comes to mind when I try to explain to students what the word is all about. After the mention of TKaM titles ping about the classroom: “Oh, you mean like Huckleberry Finn, Jane Eyre, The Catcher in the Rye…I get it now.” Gotta love those literary epiphanies. In fact, the other day my across-the-hall-colleague walked over with purpose and asked, “What is the long word you like to toss around when it comes to To Kill a Mockingbird?”  I told him. He tried repeating it and I shrugged with a smile. “Try it phonetically.” I’ll see his students in about three years and I’ll ask them if they know the technical term for a coming-of-age novel. Or maybe I’ll toss out examples.

All that to say this is why I’m featuring this poem excerpt today. Enjoy. What’s your favorite bildungsroman novel, play, or poem?

 

 

                         i.m. Scott David Campbell (1982-2012)

From “Bildungsroman” by Malachi Black

Streetlights were our stars,
hanging from the midnight
in a planetary arc
above each empty ShopRite
parking lot—spreading
steam-bright
through the neon dark—
buzzing like ghost locusts,
trembling in the chrome
Posted in American poets, national poetry month, poems, Reflections, teaching and tagged , ,
04 Apr 2016

POM: April 4


Nikki Giovanni is a poet who knows how to capture a moment, a feeling, an event. She is a poet of note. This poem, never no matter it’s about Tennessee, gets me itching for summer. Summer and its treats is summer regardless of the state. Summer is a state all its own.

Knoxville, Tennessee

Nikki Giovanni, 1943

I always like summer
best
you can eat fresh corn
from daddy’s garden
and okra
and greens
and cabbage
and lots of
barbecue
and buttermilk
and homemade ice-cream
at the church picnic
and listen to
gospel music
outside
at the church
homecoming
and go to the mountains with
your grandmother
and go barefooted
and be warm
all the time
not only when you go to bed
and sleep

Posted in America, American poets, national poetry month, Reflections, summer and tagged , , , , | Leave a comment
03 Apr 2016
2 Comments

POM: April 3


Confession: I was a closet poker as a child.

*Whew* I’m glad that one is out of the way. Yes, I see that nod. You, too? What is it that fascinates the child to stand before a parent’s closet and sift through their belongings? I enjoyed parading around in my mom’s high heels, arraying myself in her scarves, her jewelry, and balancing a purse in the crook of my arm. Hats were in style back in my childhood. Well, maybe in the childhood before my childhood. I’ve always admired the fashions of the forties. A well-dressed adult always wore a hat. I missed those days of unspoken dress code by a decade or two. Hats once had meaning. Now they hide bad hair days. Never mind. I do enjoy what Mark Irwin shares about his own closet discoveries.

My Father’s Hats

     Sunday mornings I would reach
high into his dark closet while standing
     on a chair and tiptoeing reach
higher, touching, sometimes fumbling
     the soft crowns and imagine
I was in a forest, wind hymning
     through pines, where the musky scent
of rain clinging to damp earth was
     his scent I loved, lingering on
bands, leather, and on the inner silk
     crowns where I would smell his
hair and almost think I was being
     held, or climbing a tree, touching
the yellow fruit, leaves whose scent
     was that of clove in the godsome
air, as now, thinking of his fabulous
     sleep, I stand on this canyon floor
and watch light slowly close
     on water I can't be sure is there.

—Mark Irwin

Posted in Family, national poetry month, poems, Reflections and tagged , , , ,
02 Apr 2016
1 Comment

POM: April 2


An extended metaphor of personal significance.

To a Daughter Leaving Home

When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
as you wobbled away
on two round wheels,
my own mouth rounding
in surprise when you pulled
ahead down the curved
path of the park,
I kept waiting
for the thud
of your crash as I
sprinted to catch up,
while you grew
smaller, more breakable
with distance,
pumping, pumping
for your life, screaming
with laughter,
the hair flapping
behind you like a
handkerchief waving
goodbye.

—Linda Pastan

 

Posted in American poets, children, memories, national poetry month, Reflections and tagged , , , ,

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