GOT POETRY?
Two Dandelions — Photo by Vic Burkhammer
Dandelions. We used to call them hope weeds, partly because they seem to be able to withstand almost anything and bounce back. Well, it’s that dandelion time of year again, and today — Thursday, April 17 — is national Poem In Your Pocket Day.
To participate, make a copy of your favorite poem, carry it around and share it with whomever you please.
If you miss the national event today, why not declare your own Poem in Your Pocket day anytime?
Click poets.org to find lots of ideas about sharing poems.
One good idea there is “add a poem to your email footer.”
Here’s one of my favorites, from “Immortal Poems of the English Language,” edited by Oscar Williams:
The Groundhog
Richard Eberhart (1904-2005)
In June, amid the golden fields,
I saw a groundhog lying dead.
Dead lay he; my senses shook,
and mind outshot our naked frailty.
There lowly in the vigorous summer
His form began its senseless change,
And made my senses waver dim
Seeing nature ferocious in him.
Inspecting close his maggots’ might
And seething cauldron of his being,
Half with loathing, half with a strange love,
I poked him with an angry stick.
The fever arose, became a flame
And Vigour circumscribed the skies,
Immense energy in the sun,
And through my frame a sunless trembling.
My stick had done nor good nor harm.
Then stood I silent in the day
Watching the object, as before;
And kept my reverence for knowledge
Trying for control, to be still,
To quell the passion of the blood;
Until I had bent down on my knees
Praying for joy in the sight of decay.
And so I left; and I returned
In Autumn strict of eye, to see
The sap gone out of the groundhog,
But the bony sodden hulk remained.
But the year had lost its meaning,
And in intellectual chains
I lost both love and loathing,
Mured up in the wall of wisdom.
Another summer took the fields again
Massive and burning, full of life,
But when I chanced upon the spot
There was only a little hair left,
And bones bleaching in the sunlight
Beautiful as architecture;
I watched them like a geometer,
And cut a walking stick from a birch.
It has been three years, now.
There is no sign of the groundhog.
I stood there in the whirling summer,
My hand capped a withered heart,
And thought of China and of Greece,
Of Alexander in his tent;
Of Montaigne in his tower,
Of Saint Theresa in her wild lament.
***
And another, this one from 100-poems.com, an online collection of all sorts of poems to send to your friends:
Hope
Brian Quinn
When all about you is black with gloom,
And all you feel is pending doom.
When your bones are racked with grim despair –
When every breath is a gasp for air.
Keep on going, though you need to grope,
For around the bend is a ray of hope.
A ray of hope is perhaps all that’s left,
As your will to live has been bereft.
You’ve lost it all, it’s just no use!
You can end it all, you need no excuse.
But throw away that piece of rope,
And give yourself a chance of hope.
Just give yourself another day,
Brushing aside what your thoughts may say.
This is your life and you can make a new start,
By ignoring the brain - just follow the heart.
Taking baby steps in order to cope,
And minute by minute you’ll build on your hope.
Build on your hope, one day at a time,
Though the road be steep and hard to climb.
The hurts of the past — they should be dead.
The fears of the future are all in your head.
Just live in the present and refuse to mope
Your life will sparkle for you’re living in hope.
***
Here’s a Steve Kowit poem you’ll run into eventually when you’re out there looking for a good “how to” poetry book. Kowit has a classic out called “In the Palm of Your Hand: The Poet’s Portable Workshop.”
The Grammar Lesson
Steve Kowit
A noun’s a thing. A verb’s the thing it does.
An adjective is what describes the noun.
In “The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz”
of and with are prepositions. The’s
an article, a can’s a noun,
a noun’s a thing. A verb’s the thing it does.
A can can roll — or not. What isn’t was
or might be, might meaning not yet known.
“Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz”
is present tense. While words like our and us
are pronouns — i.e. it is moldy, they are icky brown.
A noun’s a thing; a verb’s the thing it does.
Is is a helping verb. It helps because
filled isn’t a full verb. Can’s what our owns
in “Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz.”
See? There’s almost nothing to it. Just
memorize these rules…or write them down!
A noun’s a thing, a verb’s the thing it does.
The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz.
***
Finally, here’s a short one, for the road, maybe more like something you’d rather carry in your pocket:
old pond,
a frog jumps in–
kerplunk!
Matsuo BashÅ, 17th century Japan
