M Christine Delea's Blog, page 18

Night Baseball by Michael Blumenthal

Night Baseball

by Michael Blumenthal

(and printed here, as well as in his book Days We Would Rather Know)

[I] retrace by moonlight the roads where I used to play in the sun.

                                                 — Marcel Proust

At night, when I go out to the field

to listen to the birds sleep, the stars

hover like old umpires over the diamond,

and I think back upon the convergences

of bats and balls, of cowhide and the whacked

thumping of cork into its oiled pockets,

and I realiz...

Instructions for Not Giving Up by Ada Limón

Instructions on Not Giving Up

by Ada Limón

(and can be found here as well as on my refrigerator)

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out

of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s

almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving

their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate

sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees

that really gets to me. When all the shock of white

and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave

the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,

the l...

Hope, Wisdom, Trust, Valor

Yesterday, ny husband and I finally visited a place we have been meaning to go to since we moved to this area--Schreiner's Iris Gardens. Most of the irises in our yard have already come and gone, but the irises (and the allium, peonies, columbine, and other flowers) at Schreiner's were still going strong.

As we walked around, I started noticing that irises--much like roses--have interesting names. I modified my garden strategy--rather than just get close-ups of the beautiful flowers, I would al...

Daily Courage Doesn't Count by Alta

Daily Courage Doesn't Count

by Alta

(published in A Geography of Poets, edited by Edward Field, 1979)

daily courage doesn't count

we don't get diplomas for it.

i worked hard for 5 years with one man,

then had 3 years graduate training with another.

but people called e a divorcee, & acted as if

i had done something wrong.

no one was happy for me,

no one gave me a coming out party.

but i tell you, i came out of those marriages

one smart bitch.

Not Waving But Drowning by Stevie Smith

Not Waving But Drowning

By Stevie Smith

Nobody heard him, the dead man,

But still he lay moaning:

I was much further out than you thought

And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking

And now he’s dead

It must have been too cold for him his heart

gave way,

They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always

(Still the dead one lay moaning)

I was much too far out all my life

And not waving but drowning.

Jubilate Agno: Prompt

A few choices today for your prompt, and all are based on the poem on my blog today, "For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry" (from Jubilate Agno) by Christopher Smart.

1.) If you are writing, try anaphora. This is the repetition of words or phrases at the start of lines, sentences, paragrpahs, sections, etc.

2.) Visual artists can use the repetition of an image in some way.

3.) Any artist can create an homage to one of their pets.

4.) Use one of the lines from Smart's poem as your inspiration (cit...

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffrey by Christopher Smart

from Jubilate Agno

by Christopher Smart

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.

For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.

For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.

For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.

For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.

For he rolls upon prank to work it in.

For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider him...

Death Is Nothing At All by Henry Scott Holland

Death Is Nothing At All

by Henry Scott Holland

Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity ...

Henry Hudson Looks at the Hudson by David Shapiro

Henry Hudson Looks at the Hudson

by David Shapiro

(published in Jacket Magazine, August, 2003)

Henry Hudson turned to me and said:

Be expressionless and strong as me,

Be grim and green, stout as Cortez,

Double lock yourself within

Like a warning wife, and be divorced

From nothing, at last be a statue

Of a self, and threaten at night like a landing,

Turn to your river, like a monist on a raft,

And always found your river on a fault,

Be blind and copper, a mania on a column,

Obscured, finally,...

Where Were You in 1968?: Creative Prompt

If you were the poet David Shapiro, there was one day in which you posed for a photo that became symbolic and iconic and historic. The photo was first printed in Life and then ran in papers all over the world. It's in at least 2 of my books of famous photographs.

That's the poet in the chair of the then-president of Columbia University.

So besides the fact that David Shapiro, a poet of the New York School of poetry, died this week (and one of his poems is today's poem on my blog), we have be...