Tag Archives: poem

Apr9

dipped in words and art.

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a beautiful, beautiful book

 what is a poem, really, and what exactly is its use?

Every once in a while, you stumble upon something so lovely, so unpretentiously beautiful and quietly profound, that you feel like the lungs of your soul have been pumped with a mighty gasp of Alpine air. This is a Poem That Heals Fish  is one such vitalizing gasp of loveliness — a lyrical picture-book that offers a playful and penetrating answer to the question of what a poem is and what it does. And as it does that, it shines a sidewise gleam on the larger question of what we most hunger for in life and how we give shape to those deepest longings.

Written by the French poet, novelist, and dramatist Jean-Pierre Simeón, translated into English by Enchabnted Lion Books founder Claudia Zoe Bedrick (the feat of translation which the Nobel-winning Polish poet Wislawa Syymborska had in mind when she spoke of “that rare miracle when a translation stops being a translation and becomes … a second original”), and illustrated by the inimitable Olivier Tallec, this poetic and philosophical tale follows young Arthur as he tries to salve his beloved red fish Leon’s affliction of boredom.

i read the above review by maria popova, and simply had to find it

i read it three times and looked closely at the details

i so agree with her.

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in honor of national poetry month

and every day of every month

read a poem. 

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“great children’s books are wisdom dipped in words and art.”

-peter h. reynolds

 

 

‘

 

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credits: maria popova, marginalian, enchanted lion books

Aug20

so, how’s a poet to even try to keep their days straight?

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yo!

rainbow

hello

don’t go!

 

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an original, in honor of bad poetry day

which i just missed 

but now

it’s very nearly national poets day

and before too long will be national poetry day.

and so

see below.

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Hard on the heels of Bad Poetry Day on August 18

Comes National Poets Day on August 21

Presumably we celebrate good poets for this day.

Although Poets Day could certainly refer to any poets, good or bad.

It could even mean you! If you’re a poet …

So on August 21, celebrate the poet in you. Or in your friend. Or your favorite poet. It’s all up to you.

This day is different from yet another day celebrating poets and poems: National Poetry Day in October.

Oct7

october slipped quietly in.

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“Don’t you imagine the leaves dream now how comfortable it will be to touch the earth instead of the nothingness of the air and the endless freshets of wind? And don’t you think the trees, especially those with mossy hollows, are beginning to look for the birds that will come – six, a dozen – to sleep inside their bodies? And don’t you hear the goldenrod whispering goodbye, the everlasting being crowned with the first tuffets of snow? The pond stiffens and the white field over which the fox runs so quickly brings out its long blue shadows. The wind wags its many tails. And in the evening the piled firewood shifts a little, longing to be on its way.”

~Mary Oliver, “Song for Autumn”

 

 

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art credit: willowday flower project by gina, stockholm

Apr9

as poetry.

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“some of us don’t want to be tough alpha leaders.
some of us just want to write
and wander
the garden
and breathe in the sky
and nourish and nurture
and quietly create
new pathways
and live our
lives as art.
to know the earth
as poetry.”
-victoria erickson, rhythms and rhymes
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in honor of national poetry month
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art credit: Edgar Degas | Landscape | The Metropolitan Museum of Art

 

Apr17

can u haiku?

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make way on the path

 stepping creeping lime grows close

foot of goliath

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in honor of international haiku poem day

why not take a stab at it?

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“poetry is news brought to the mountains by a unicorn and an echo.”

-czeslaw milosz

 

 

 

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scio woods, ann arbor, michigan, usa – spring 2020

Apr9

journey.

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“One day you finally knew what you had to do,

and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice —

 though the whole house began to tremble

and you felt the old tug at your ankles.

 “Mend my life!” each voice cried.

But you didn’t stop.

You knew what you had to do, though the wind

pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations

though their melancholy was terrible.

It was already late enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen branches and stones.

But little by little, as you left your voice behind,

the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds

and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own,

that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world,

determined to do the only thing you could do —

determined to save the only life that you could save.”

 

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credits: papercut by annie howe papercuts, poetry by Mary Oliver – ‘Journey.’