Poem: Summer Stars

It's been a while since I've posted a poem, and I'm in a summery mood, so here's a great one from Carl Sandberg.

Summer Stars

BEND low again, night of summer stars.

So near you are, sky of summer stars,

So near, a long arm man can pick off stars,

Pick off what he wants in the sky bowl,

So near you are, summer stars,

So near, strumming, strumming,

So lazy and hum-strumming.

Star gazing in the summer is the best, don't you think? Are there any poems that evoke special summer memories or feelings for you? Do share!

Art Class by James Galvin

Art Class

Let us begin with a simple line,

Drawn as a child would draw it,

To indicate the horizon,

More real than the real horizon,

Which is less than line,

Which is visible abstraction, a ratio.

The line ravishes the page with implications

Of white earth, white sky!

The horizon moves as we move,

Making us feel central.

But the horizon is an empty shell--

Strange radius whose center is peripheral.

As the horizon draws us on, withdrawing,

The line draws us in,

Requiring further lines,

Engendering curves, verticals, diagonals,

urging shades, shapes, and figures...

What should we place, in all good faith,

On the horizon? A stone?

An empty chair? A submarine?

Take your time. Take it easy.

The horizon will not stop abstracting us.

by James Galvin

I remember being in art class in elementary school, and watching these videos about drawing. It always started with a single line. This poem immediately brought me back there. But then it quickly took me somewhere else.

I want to read more poetry. I want to share more poetry. I might even want to try my hand at a little poetry myself. But mostly I just want to make it part of my life. Any favorites? Any suggestions?

Poetry and "April Rain Song"

Currently reading: The Know-It-All by AJ Jacobs

Apparently there is a crazy cold front heading for South Texas.  The weather on the evening news said it was 55 in Amarillo and 85 or something in Abilene and everything south of it.  You could literally see the front coming on the map.  So all that by way of saying that we're to expect rain tomorrow.  We seem to be making up for a season's worth of rain in a few weeks.  

I was flipping through my current favorite children's poetry book (A Family of Poems by Caroline Kennedy) and found this lovely poem by Langston Hughes. 

April Rain Song

Let the rain kiss you.

Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.

Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.

The rain makes running pools in the gutter.

The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night--

And I love the rain.

And I love this poem!  My 7-year-old nephew wrote a Haiku about the rain the other day.  My sister read it to me and it was really good!!  I've never been very good at writing poetry.  I'd like to be though, but I've simply always been more comfortable with prose.  When I was cleaning out the garage, I found an old book by Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge that I never read: poemcrazy.  I love the subtitle: "freeing your life with words".  Anne Lamott, one of my favorite writers, writes of it "You're going to love it, and love writing poetry more for having read it." 

And finally, while I am in a poetic mood, you should all read my darling Katie's latest post.  She shares her favorite 11 poems and they are gems!  (At least the ones I've read--there are several I need to read.  But as a dedicated English major, Katie's poetic taste can surely be trusted.)

Upcoming posts:

The Journey That Saved Curious George

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

American Wife

A Walk with Jane Austen

And several others that I promised weeks ago...

A Quotation and a Poem

Most recent read: Little Men, by Louisa May Alcott 

Today I was flipping through a new book I recently purchased by Sarah Ban Breathnach called Moving On.  She is the author of Simple Abundance, which I thoroughly enjoyed and still refer to often.  I haven't really begun to read this other book, but at the very beginning a lovely quotation and poem caught my eye and I was moved to share them with you all.  

"If a reader cannot create a book along with the writer, the book will never come to life."

-Madeline L'Engle

Isn't that so true?  Sometimes when they are collecting dust on a shelf or in a box, books began to seem like such static things, which really, I believe they were meant to be dynamic and full of life.  The best books are ever-changing conversations between the author, the reader, and sometimes all the readers that have come before or will come after.  These are usually the books that we revisit and find in them new meaning and delight.

And now the poem by David Whyte:

This the bright home

in which I live,

this is where

I ask

my friends

to come,

This is where I want

to love all the things

it has taken me so long

to learn to love...

There is no house

like the house of belonging.

Where is your "house of belonging"?

Image from Amazon.com

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

-Robert Frost

If I had to pick, I would definitely choose Robert Frost as my favorite poet.  At times I've feared that it's too much of a conventional choice, but I love the poems, so who cares.  This is one of my favorites.  I memorized it in high school for no particular reason.  In 7th grade I had to memorize "Nothing Gold Can Stay" when we read The Outsiders, and that was the beginning of my love for Mr. Frost.  For some reason I memorized a lot of his poems in high school and they are still with me (mostly).  I believe part of the appeal for me is like the poem I wrote about a few months ago-"Keep a Poem in Your Pocket."  For me I always read that more figuratively-the keep a poem at the ready when you need it.  Frost's poems have always been there for me.  They are soothing in their rhyme and steadying rhythm.  

Who are your favorite poets?  Do you ever memorize poems or have any still in your head from school days?  Kids usually hate memorizing poems in school-it always stressed me out.  But memorizing them for yourself is much different.  What value does it hold today when we can find the text of a poem at the click on a mouse?  

Jerusalem Is Walking in This World

This is great happiness.

The air is silk.

There is milk in the looks

That come from strangers.

I could not be happier

If I were bread and you could eat me.

Joy is dangerous.

It fills me with secrets.

"Yes" hiss in my veins.

The pains I take to hide myself

Are sheer as glass.

Surely this will pass,

the wind like kisses,

The music in the soup,

The group of trees,

Laughing as I say their names.

It is all hosannah.

It is all prayer.

Jerusalem is walking in the world.

Jerusalem is walking in the world.  

Julia Cameron

I recently found Walking in This World, by Julia Cameron in the bargain bin at my local Borders.  Only $4!  I was thrilled!  It is basically a sequel to the wildly popular The Artist's Way.  I didn't even know there was a second book.  I knew the she had written others (including The Writing Diet, which I have and highly recommend.), but I didn't know about this specific title.  

I have heard countless people rave about The Artist's Way and I've owned it myself for several years.  After one unsuccessful attempt to work through the book about a year ago, I am trying again.  It is a 12-week "course" and I am almost finished with week 1.  So far, it has been an entirely positive experience.  It is all about uncovering your creativity as part of a spiritual path.  I have been feeling quite stuck lately, so I think the structure and inspiration of the book is just what I need right now.  It is getting me writing and reflecting every day, which seems to be very beneficial.

Also, I believe having "part two" is giving me some motivation to work through the original more diligently.  When I have finished that I will be at liberty to start my new find.  In the mean time, I have flipped through the pages a few times, and it looks delightful.  This poem was at the front, and I couldn't wait to share.  

Have any of you ever worked through The Artist's Way?  I would love to hear about your experiences.  Would anyone like to work through it with me now?  I'd love some company!

The Prayer of St. Francis

This is one of my favorite prayers/poems/songs:

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love;

for it is in giving that we receive,

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

As I was typing this out, I could hear the music from the John Rutter version of this text that I learned in church choir back in high school.  There are many different and lovely versions of this prayer set to music.

Although this prayer is attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, it cannot be definitively traced back to him.  Nevertheless, it remains a powerful source of inspiration and encouragement to myself and countless others.  

St. Francis' writings can be found along with the works of other remarkable spiritual thinkers in Love Poems from God.  It is a collection of poems and prayers from religious writers of several different faiths.  Each time I pick it up, I discover something new and always put it down refreshed and inspired.  Check it out.  

The Journey

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 their voices behind,

the starts 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 you could save.

-Mary Oliver

I posted this poem for my very first post, back when I think my dear Katie was the only one reading (and now she's been joined by a handful of others, for which I am grateful).  I posted it because one of my professors read it for the opening devotional in our first class of the semester.  The same professor read it again for our last class, as our benediction, and its meaning changed for me, even in those three months.  I also quoted it in one of the papers I wrote today.  Now that I am one partially completed paper away from a seminary degree-this poem continues change and grow in its significance in my life.  

Do you have favorite poems that mean different things to you as you revisit them at different points in your life?  Isn't that what great poetry is supposed to do?  

Tomorrow morning I am off to North Carolina to visit a friend from college.  By Monday evening I will be back in Atlanta and finished with all the requirements for my MDiv.  Then I'll have one last week in the city for packing and visits before my family comes for graduation and I follow them back to Texas.  Wow-that sounds weird.  

Well, off to finish my last paper.  Crazy!

This is Just to Say

I have eaten 

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which 

you were probably 

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold.

-William Carlos Williams

Another great poem from Caroline Kennedy's collection of poetry for children.  I enjoy poems whose titles actually start the poem.  Instead of the titling the poem using the first line, the title actually functions as the first line of the poem.  I don't care as much when I am just reading a poem, but it makes a big difference when you are reading it out loud.  

Keep a Poem in Your Pocket

The little girl that I baby-sit for has this great book of poems for children, edited by Caroline Kennedy.  The illustrations are beautiful and it's a wonderful mixture of silly "kids" poems and "real" poems.  I don't know what I really meant by that except to say that there's something for everyone in the book-not just children.  The little girl is two and wants me to read to her from this book often.   Here is one of my favorites from there: 

"Keep A Poem in Your Pocket", 

by Beatrice Schenk de Regniers

Keep a poem in your pocket and a picture in your head

And you'll never feel lonely, at night when you're in bed.  

The little poem will sing to you, the little picture bring to you

A dozen dreams to dance to you, at night when you're in bed.

So-keep a picture in your pocket and a poem in your head

And you'll never feel lonely, at night when you're in bed.  

Isn't that sweet?  It feels quite comforting.  Apparently, New York likes it as well.  The City of New York has made April 28 "Poem in Your Pocket Day".  I think I want to participate as well.  What poem should I choose?  Caroline Kennedy also edited another anthology of poems.  Maybe I'll pull that off the shelf and pick one of those.  But first I need to pick a poem to take with me tonight when I go to sleep...

White Flour by David LaMotte

The day was bright and sunny as most May days tend to be
In the hills of Appalachia down in Knoxville, Tennessee
A dozen men put on their suits and quickly took their places
In white robes and those tall and pointed hoods that hid their faces
Their feet all fell in rhythm as they started their parade
They raised their fists into the air, they bellowed and they brayed
They loved to stir the people up, they loved when they were taunted
They didn’t mind the anger, that’s precisely what they wanted

As they came around the corner, sure enough, the people roared
They couldn’t quite believe their ears, it seemed to be… support!
Had Knoxville finally seen the light, were people coming ‘round?
The men thought for a moment that they’d found their kind of town
But then they turned their eyes to where the cheering had its source
As one their faces soured as they saw the mighty force
The crowd had painted faces, and some had tacky clothes
Their hair and hats outrageous, each had a red foam nose

The clowns had come in numbers to enjoy the grand parade
They danced and laughed that other clowns had come to town that day
And then the marchers shouted, and the clowns all strained to hear
Each one tuned in intently with a gloved hand to an ear
“White power!” screamed the marchers, and they raised their fisted hands
The clowns leaned in and listened like they couldn’t understand
Then one held up his finger and helped all the others see
The point of all this yelling, and they joined right in with glee

“White flour!” they all shouted and they felt inside their clothes
They pulled out bags and tore them and huge clouds of powder rose
They poured it on each other and they threw it in the air
It got all over baggy clothes and multi-colored hair
All but just a few of them were joining in the jokes
You could almost see the marchers turning red beneath white cloaks
They wanted to look scary, they wanted to look tough
One rushed right at the clowns in rage, and was hauled away in cuffs

But the others chanted louder marching on around the bend
The clowns all marched on too, of course, supporting their new friends
“White power!” came the marchers’ cry — they were not amused
The clowns grew still and thoughtful; perhaps they’d been confused
They huddled and consulted, this bright and silly crowd
They listened quite intently, then one said “I’ve got it now!”
“White flowers!” screamed the happy clown and all the rest joined in
The air was filled with flowers, and they laughed and danced again

“Everyone loves flowers, and white’s a pretty sort
I can’t think of a better cause for marchers to support!”
Green flower stems went flying like small arrows from bad archers
White petals covered everything, including the mad marchers
And then a very tall clown called the others to attention
He choked down all his chuckles, then said “Friends I have to mention
That with all the mirth and fun today it’s sort of hard to hear
But now I know the cause that these strange marchers hold so dear

“Tight showers!” the clown bellowed and he hit his head in wonder
He held up a camp shower and the others all got under
Or at least they tried to get beneath, they strained but couldn’t quite
There wasn’t room for all of them— they pushed, but it was tight
“White Power!” came their marchers’ cry, quite carefully pronounced
The clowns consulted once again, then a woman clown announced
“I’ve got it! I’m embarrassed that it took so long to see
But what these marchers march for is a cause quite dear to me…”

“Wife power!” she exclaimed and all the other clowns joined in
They shook their heads and laughed at how erroneous they’d been
The women clowns were hoisted up on shoulders of the others
Some pulled on wedding dresses, shouting “Here’s to wives and mothers!”
The men in robes were angry and they knew they’d been defeated
They yelled a few more times and then they finally retreated
And when they’d gone a black policeman turned to all the clowns
And offered them an escort to the center of the town

The day was bright and sunny as most May days tend to be
In the hills of Appalachia down in Knoxville, Tennessee
People joined the new parade, the crowd stretched out for miles
The clowns passed out more flowers and made everybody smile
And what would be the lesson of that shiny southern day?
Can we understand the message that the clowns sought to convey?
Seems that when you’re fighting hatred, hatred’s not the thing to use
So here’s to those who march on in their big red floppy shoes

(based on true events of May 26, 2007 - ©2007 David LaMotte)

I've loved David LaMotte's music since I heard him in Colorado in high school.  His songs are beautiful, funny, smart, and really thought-provoking.  He also tells amazing stories during his shows.   He's just recently stopped touring with his music and moved to Australia to study international relations and peace building.  I just found his blog, and he has wonderful things to say.  He also wrote this poem.  I'd love to read more about the real life situation that inspired it.  

The Journey

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 their voices 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 you could save.

by Mary Oliver

I've always liked this poem. I read it in a couple of books, and then I copied it into my notebook of quotations, poems, and songs. Whenever I come across it, I find something different and it becomes profound for me in whole new ways. I've been searching for a good title for my blog. Yesterday in class, my professor read this poem for our opening devotion. The phrase "sheets of clouds" stuck out in my mind. When I went back to my notebook to read it again last night, the lines around that phrase really spoke to me and my life right now. I hope this blog will help me to find a voice that I can recognize as my own. And so it became the title of my blog, and is the first entry as well. Here goes!