Sunday, February 26, 2012

A disappointing winter

The climber blushes against the chain link fence.
A gift of rosemary and sage sing from their stalks,
root-wet and room warm, under the trash trees arms.

So alive, with a moss underbelly electric in the
middle of February- but bloated, too. A dead
descalled fish, muscle up to damn the sharp

watching eyes of a slivered night face. The turgid
straight-backed Russian tulip shoots will die
before May, despite their present determination.

Monday, February 20, 2012

April is fast approaching...

I'm excited that April is close for so many reasons!

  1. Its sandwiched between my two weddings to the Byronic beauty Melicious the Melodic. Who knew having to go to other states for basic civil rights meant that we queerbians get two parties? Shit yeah, homophobia!

    ~Be wild and crazy and drunk with Love,
    if you are too careful, Love will not find you.~
    Rumi ♥
  1. It's Poetry Month.
  2. Flowers! The bulbs, they bloom.
In the spirit of the upcoming poetry month, I've been searching for ways to celebrate*. What is the best way to enjoy April? Could I manage a poem a day? Have I ever managed a poem a day? Maybe I should focus on reading. I miss reading poetry, too. Luckily, the website has page entitled, "30 Ways to Celebrate--." Allow me to highlight my favorites...
  • Memorize a poem 
    "Getting a poem or prose passage truly 'by heart' implies getting it by mind and memory and understanding and delight."
  • Put poetry in an unexpected place 
    "Books should be brought to the doorstep like electricity, or like milk in England: they should be considered utilities."
  • Watch a poetry movie
    "What better time than National Poetry Month to gather some friends, watch a poetry-related movie, and perhaps discuss some of the poet's work after the film?"
  • Tom & Viv —Willem Dafoe and Miranda Richardson star as T.S. Eliot and Vivienne Haigh-Wood in a film that depicts their tumultuous marriage and Eliot's literary success.
  • Total Eclipse —This film captures the turbulent, explosive affair between Parisian poets Paul Verlaine, played by David Thewlis, and Arthur Rimbaud, played by Leonardo DiCaprio
  • Put a poem on the pavement 
    "Go one step beyond hopscotch squares and write a poem in chalk on your sidewalk."

    Chalk + Kirstin = yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
  • Start a commonplace book 
    "Since the Renaissance, devoted readers have been copying their favorite poems and quotations into notebooks to form their own personal anthologies called commonplace books."

    I already have a sketchbook ready, bitches.
  • Visit a poetry landmark
    "Visiting physical spaces associated with a favorite writer is a memorable way to pay homage to their life and work."
  • Sarah Teasedale

    Sara Teasdale's grave? She's in Bellefontaine Cemetary. She was pretty bitch'n. Check this out...

    To Sappho


    Impassioned singer of the happy time.
    When all the world was waking into morn,
    And dew still glistened on the tangled thorn,
    And lingered on the branches of the lime —
    Oh peerless singer of the golden rhyme,
    Happy wert thou to live ere doubt was born —
    Before the joy of life was half out-worn,
    And nymphs and satyrs vanished from your clime.
    Then maidens bearing parsley in their hands
    Wound thro' the groves to where the goddess stands,
    And mariners might sail for unknown lands
    Past sea-clasped islands veiled in mystery —
    And Venus still was shining from the sea,
    And Ceres had not lost Persephone.

These are all things I think I should do right now. Is this like Valentines Day? I should be courting words all year instead of waiting for April.

*kick my ass in gear

Monday, February 13, 2012

Not mine but yours...

I've been reading love poems, lately; which is understandable, I guess, what with tomorrow's holiday (valentine's day) and my upcoming nuptials. I wanted to share some of my favorites.

Me and the following poem have been together so long, we might as well celebrate anniversaries. Lord Byron was some of the first "real" poetry I was exposed to, as a youngster. Most of his stuff didn't resonate- but this poem jumped out at me and clung for dear life.

She Walks in Beauty  
by George Gordon Byron
She walks in beauty, like the night
   Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
   Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
   Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
   Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
   Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
   How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
   So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
   But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
   A heart whose love is innocent!
This one is new. I found it today. I love it so much, already.

by Maureen N. McLane 
and if
I were to say 
I love you and
I do love you 
and I say it
now and again 
and again
would you say 
would you see 
the world revolves
its axis
Pam McClure introduced me to the next poem (as she did hundreds of other young, impressionable kids). It's not love, but after-love- and it will haunt you like her ghost. The poem makes me think of crooning and weird modern runes; but most of all, it makes me think of Pam.

One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster. 
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master. 
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster. 
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master. 
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. 
--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

And then one more poem. I just found it 3 minutes ago. It's beautiful and confusing. I want to read it a couple more times, so this one is for posterity...

Hey You  
by Adrian Blevins
Back when my head like an egg in a nest
was vowel-keen and dawdling, I shed my slick beautiful
and put it in a basket and laid it barefaced at the river
among the taxing rocks. My beautiful was all hush
and glitter. It was too moist to grasp. My beautiful
had no tongue with which to lick—no discernable
wallowing gnaw. It was really a breed of destruction
like a nick in a knife. It was a notch in the works
or a wound like a bell in a fat iron mess. My beautiful
was a drink too sopping to haul up and swig!
Therefore with the trees watching and the beavers abiding
I tossed my beautiful down at the waterway against
the screwball rocks. Even then there was no hum.
My beautiful was never ill-bred enough, no matter what
you say. If you want my blue yes everlasting, try my
she, instead. Try the why not of my low down,
Sugar, my windswept and wrecked.