Oct
3
Happy National Poetry Day!
Here is Helena Bonham Carter reading a poem by Mary Oliver called “I Worry”…
🙂
from this post on X: https://x.com/RealRavs/status/1841788766056272210
Happy National Poetry Day!
This is Helena Bonham Carter reading ‘I Worried’ by Mary Oliver, with its wonderful message at the end… pic.twitter.com/Z6C0p0ehDw
— Allie Esiri, 365 Poems for Life (@AllieEsiri) October 3, 2024
May
27
http://www.greatwar.co.uk/poems/john-mccrae-in-flanders-fields.htm
by John McCrae, May 1915
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
References
May
26
http://www.greatwar.co.uk/poems/john-mccrae-in-flanders-fields.htm
The 91st Psalm:
“Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
This I declare about the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety, He is my God, and I trust Him. For He will rescue you from every trap and protect you from deadly disease.
He will cover you with His feathers. He will shelter you with His wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection.
Do not be afraid of the terrors of the night, nor the arrow that flies in the day. Do not dread the disease that stalks in darkness, nor the disaster that strikes at midday.
Though a thousand fall at your side, though ten thousand are dying around you, these evils will not touch you. Just open your eyes and see how the wicked are punished.
If you make the Lord your refuge, if you make the Most High your shelter, no evil will conquer you; no plague will come near your home.
For He will order His angels to protect you wherever you go.
They will hold you up with their hands so you won’t even hurt your foot on a stone.
You will trample upon lions and cobras; you will crush fierce lions and serpents under your feet!
The Lord says, “I will rescue those who love me. I will protect those who trust in my name.
When they call on me, I will answer; I will be with them in trouble. I will rescue and honor them.
I will reward them with a long life and give them my salvation.”
May
25
Red poppies have been a symbol of the aftermath of battles. The pairing of Red poppies and mourning for soldiers’ sacrifice has been linked to the Napoleonic war when red poppies (Palaver rhoeas), would be observed growing over soldiers’ graves.Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,
Sleep sweet – to rise anew!
We caught the torch you threw
And holding high, we keep the Faith
With All who died.
We cherish, too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led;
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders Fields.
And now the Torch and Poppy Red
We wear in honor of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
We’ll teach the lesson that ye wrought
In Flanders Fields.
References
Pruitt, S. (2017). The WWI origins of the poppy as a remembrance symbol. History.com.
https://www.history.com/news/
National American Legion (2021). The Poppy Story. https://www.legion.org/
Jul
2
Good Night
Carl Sandburg
Many ways to spell good night. Fireworks at a pier on the Fourth of July
spell it with red wheels and yellow spokes.
They fizz in the air, touch the water and quit.
Rockets make a trajectory of gold-and-blue
and then go out. Railroad trains at night spell with a smokestack
mushrooming a white pillar. Steamboats turn a curve in the Mississippi crying
in a baritone that crosses lowland cottonfields
to a razorback hill. It is easy to spell good night.
Many ways to spell good night.
This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day by the Academy of American Poets.
Dec
6
The Weekend Ed. Quote this week is… a poem!!
The mind is constantly trying to figure out
what page it’s on in the story of itself.
Close the book. Burn the bookmark. End of story.
Now the dancing begins.~ Ikko Narasaki
photo by Helen Teague
Aug
23
Every day has something in
it whose name is Forever.~ Mary Oliver, from the poem, “Forever”
Photo by Helen Teague
Jun
25
From the Library of Congress Email Digest:
Librarian of Congress Carla Hayden announced on June 19, 2019 that Joy Harjo had received the appointment of the nation’s 23rd Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry for 2019-2020. Harjo will take up her duties in the fall, opening the Library’s annual literary season on Sept. 19 with a reading of her work in the Coolidge Auditorium.
“What a tremendous honor it is to be named the U.S. Poet Laureate,” Harjo said. “I share this honor with ancestors and teachers who inspired in me a love of poetry, who taught that words are powerful and can make change when understanding appears impossible, and how time and timelessness can live together within a poem. I count among these ancestors and teachers my Muscogee Creek people, the librarians who opened so many doors for all of us, and the original poets of the indigenous tribal nations of these lands, who were joined by diverse peoples from nations all over the world to make this country and this country’s poetry.”
Read some of Harjo’s poetry at this link from the Poetry Foundation.
Harjo joins a long line of distinguished poets who have served in the position, including Juan Felipe Herrera, Charles Wright, Natasha Trethewey, Philip Levine, W.S. Merwin, Kay Ryan, Charles Simic, Donald Hall, Ted Kooser, Louise Glück, Billy Collins, Stanley Kunitz, Robert Pinsky, Robert Hass and Rita Dove.
Click here for more information.
Related Information: Hooray for Joy! The Library Has a New Poet Laureate
Jun
24
Poetry is Part of Literacy and Lifelong Reading
Here’s is my current favorite poem
What Is Usual Is Not What Is Always
What is usual is not what is always.
As sometimes, in old age, hearing comes back.Footsteps resume their clipped edges,
birds quiet for decades migrate back to the ear.Where were they? By what route did they return?
A woman mute for years
forms one perfect sentence before she dies.The bitter young man tires;
the aged one sitting now in his body is tender,
his face carries no regret for his choices.What is usual is not what is always, the day says again.
It is all it can offer.Not ungraspable hope, not the consolation of stories.
Only the reminder that there is exception.
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