Category / poetry

by Sherron0

Walt Whitman

Time for another poet that has greatly affected me.

This time a well-known classic, Walt Whitman.

One of the greatest poets of all time, he’s been compared to Homer and Shakespeare. He is probably best known for Leaves of Grass, a collection of poems that includes my favorite, “Song of Myself.”

While I was pregnant, I read aloud many poems from Leaves of Grass to the babies.  I think all babies should hear great words while they’re still too young to object.

The poem, “Song of Myself,” should be required reading for all ages. I’ve included a link below to the whole poem since it is quite lengthy. But for right here, one of the best and most often quoted stanzas.

“Do I contradict myself?

Very well, then, I contradict myself.

(I am large. I contain multitudes.)”

Walt Whitman

Link to “Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman

by Sherron0

What About Them?

Time to introduce you to another of my favorite poets, Dvorah Simon. This poem is from her exquisite book of poems, Mercy. Everyone should own it. As well as a poet, Dvorah Simon is a psychologist and runs the poetry writing workshop, “Words Rise Up From Silence.” And she can be found here: https://dvorahsimon.wordpress.com/

What About Them?

by Dvorah Simon

Noticing an audience,
I turn to Him.

“What about them?” I ask, gesturing.
“They seem … eager, or something.”

I am not sure what I am supposed to do.
These whispers and rants

were the very definition of private,
my insidest insides.

He roars and I step back, unthinking,
as if there is a “forward” or a “back,” here.

He’s almost choking like a hacking cough.
Dawningly, I realize it’s laughter.

This goes on for a while, long enough
for my own breathing to settle down.

Finally he finishes in a little happy wheeze.

“Did you think you could speak my Name,”
He says, “and no one would hear?”

by Sherron0

Beckoning

“Come closer,” she whispered, “Do not be afraid.”

beckonPalm up, fingers curled ever so daintily, her bloody hand reached for me. I stared, transfixed, both horrified and entranced by her beauty. Again she beckoned, like a flower in a gentle breeze. I shivered as the same wisp of wind passed over me, thinking how the air that touched her elegance touched me. I longed to take her hand and become like her. But I knew I wasn’t worthy and turned away.

by Sherron0

Finding Poetry Again

Mark Strand is a Pulitzer Prize winning, former U.S. Poet Laureate. It’s well-deserved acclaim. I just purchased his Collected Poems. It is as good as hoped for. A massive book showcasing what the publishers call his “canonical” works. It includes my favorite:

 

“Keeping Things Whole” by Mark Strand

Each moment is a place

you’ve never been.

 

In a field

I am the absence

of field.

 

This is

always the case.

Wherever I am

I am what is missing.

 

When I walk

I part the air

and always

The air moves in

To fill the spaces

Where my body’s been.

 

We all have reasons

for moving.

I move

to keep things whole.

 

I stumbled on him (and this poem) years ago, a lifetime ago, in a class on contemporary poetry taught by a formidable and magnificent woman named Katherine Hohlwein, who was a poet herself. She intimidated me from the first class, even though she didn’t mean to. She was published and knew famous poets, who were in textbooks. Practically a celebrity herself. But she loved her students and just wanted to expose them to poetry and how it’s made. I eventually got over being unnecessarily over-awed. Thanks to her, we did learn about poets in that class. We learned not just their verses on the page, but their inspirations and foibles. We explored their lives and their words and how the two bore on each other.

It was an open, discovering time in my life—pregnant with my first child and beginning to see how the universe moved. She gave me one of those compliments that you remember and hold close to your heart. She came upon me in a cafeteria, listening to my Walkman and writing in my journal. She asked me, “Are you a poet? You have the look of a poet.” I was almost too stunned to even answer. I think I mumbled something about sometimes getting a line or two down. That at the time I had been leaning toward the “poetry in motion” of architecture. She told me to keep writing, too.

Strand wasn’t the only poet she introduced us to, of course. The class was so rich and full, it should have been a two-year course.

Poetry inspires me, grounds me, lifts me up. It’s a special kind of language, of communication, that makes you reach inside to be able to fly.

If you think you’re not a poetry reader, you’re just wrong. There is a poem that will completely fill and define you. It might not have been written yet. It may be your work to write.