CHRISTMAS BELLS -
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 - 1882)
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men."
This poem was written Dec. 25, 1864, months before the end of The
Civil War. Addressing the deep despair that surrounded the heart of
every American at that time, it invites us into the heart of Longfellow
himself, as Christmases past were times of his own personal tragedies.
And yet, despite utter sadness there is also utter, undeniable, hope...
"The Wrong shall fail,/the Right prevail,/With peace on earth, good-will
to men."
May we look forward with hope as we celebrate this Christmas season and the New Year ahead!
Greg Williamson has written a book-length poem in fantastic couplets. At first glance, one might assume this is a book for children - the wonderful title for starters... But all it takes is a one-minute-read and it becomes clear that this book is for intelligent adults wishing to find the joy and pleasure they found as a child, reading Dr. Seuss, Bill Peet, and Lewis Carroll. Under the covers of this book is found the story of a dog, Kirby the Sneak, stealing the beloved hole, belonging to Arlo the True. With quick and clever rhymes, masterful plot woven through astute poetry, and intelligent humor, Mr. Williamson is reminiscent of a bard, with talent that is rare and wise. With imaginative illustrations by Brian Bowes, the story of the dogs and the hole, can be thoroughly enjoyed by a younger audience, especially if held and read to by their favorite adult bedtime story-reader. The sounds alone are enchanting.
I enjoyed myself - chuckling and laughing out loud until page 54. It was then that I became tired of reading a very long poem and I lost interest in the direction the book was headed. I finally put the book down by page 68. This is not a reflection on the book or Mr. Williamson, as far as I am concerned, but about myself as a reader. I needed to invest more time and mental effort to continue the book, and I chose not to. The joy I received in reading as much as I did still makes it quite easy to praise this book. Photo credit: http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51gK9TTHvpL._SY376_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg I received this book in exchange for a fair and honest review.
Here's the thing - I am a poet. And I am also an editor. These pieces of information will weigh heavily on mind as I share my thoughts - poetic and editorial - on Pocket Poems by Randal Fosdick Moore. There were poems here I absolutely loved... But there were also pieces here that made me peevish and annoyed. There were poems that I would love to sit with Mr. Moore and hash out - remove a line here, change the "you" to "I", or rearrange stanzas of an entire poem in a completely different order. And there were poems so good I read and just sat back and felt them - felt the trail of sensation they left behind.
I disagree with the description on the back of the copy in my possession calling this slim volume a collection of "simple, polaroid, paranoid poems of human observations..." Sure, this is a collection of simple pieces... and even Polaroid in its sudden, snapshotting look at experiences... But no way is this book "paranoid"! And it isn't just a book of poems observing humans, it is also the poetry of being human and seeing, thinking, feeling.
And in these poems, I don't find "a shag carpet ride"... No! I find something else - something timeless, honest, vulnerable. I am excited to tell people about Mr. Moore's poetry. It is so true and real that it reminds me of Andrew Wyeth's paintings - unashamed and... like a Polaroid. With the lack of punctuation and capitalization found in ee cummings' works, I can sense Mr. Moore has lived through many artistic movements in painting, music, poetry, literature, and even politics. And the poems are brief, sincere, and exact. There is no drama and no made-up hysterics.
My real issue here is that some of the pieces remind me of ones I, myself, have written that are not amazing, not really to share, but just poems I wrote because they needed to come out and onto paper, thereby making room for the better lines and stanzas that would ultimately follow. So I winced a bit when I came upon those. But then I would read a piece like "never made": shadow touching shadow feeling with no fate the eternal eerie echo of love that comes too late cold damp cave of fever dagger with no blade forlorn they left life undisturbed by love they never made Or "breaker":
i followed you in to the shoreline to touch you when suddenly i felt you slip from under me on your way back to the sea Poetry to me is a visual image of the senses conveyed in words. Mr. Moore has captured in some of his works what I love in Jane Kenyon, Emily Dickinson, William Stafford, and Harry Chapin, Paul McCartney, Dan Fogelberg, and Andrew Wyeth, Vermeer, and Van Gogh - truth honestly seen and felt, then shared, quite simply.
For more information on Randal Fosdick Moore: http://www.jacksonvilleprogress.com/texas-man-writes-about-rusk-landmark/article_9ae2b202-c83c-58e7-b680-0ffca3a4509f.html Photo Credit: http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/611KU%2BKQM9L._SX322_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg I received the book in exchange for a fair and honest review.
There are wonderful things that happen with self-publishing, yet more often than not I find books in need of thorough editing. Grammar, arrangement, and hubris can become overwhelming to a reader of a self-published volume and an editor calms those stormy seas before such works reach distribution. I loved the title of Mr. Palmer's book: The Difference between a duck. In fact, it is a joke my family used to say all the time as a segue or as a way to ameliorate an awkward situation. What is the difference between a duck? One of his hind legs is both the same. But beyond the title, I was left feeling like this was written by a gentleman who thinks he is clever and wants to show others just how clever he is. I missed the humility in the art - the celebration of the art itself. Beginning with an introduction fraught with lengthy sentences, rather than introducing the work ahead, Mr. Palmer seems to excuse all of the difficulties that may lie ahead for the reader.
This book is indeed a hodge-podge of writings produced over many years, and as such is the case, it requires careful organization. Instead, the pieces are arranged in alphabetical order. Sentences are too long and heavy in the prose - as well as the poetry - and the free-verse poems seem to lack a rhythm, a flow, other than occasional word play. I found it hard to "get into" this book. I even found it hard to want to pick up the book more than once. To be fair, I did find myself chuckling at "dior death", and I enjoyed the imagery of "dinner at nate's". Both were written in November of 1998. As a fellow writer, I wish Mr. Palmer luck and I highly recommend this book be kept and admired by those that know and love him. I also suggest that more time be spent in the presence of humble poets who by virtue of their love of the art, jostle other writers into a place of accessibility and creativity. Photo credit: http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/61C3qmmmf1L._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg I received this book in exchange for a fair and honest review.
This an unassuming book from 1978 - I found it in a box at an estate sale. It has been sitting on my shelf waiting for me to abandon my ineffective dreams of writing a novel and resume my focus on poetry. I wrote poetry in college, as well as off and on throughout my years as a stay-at-home mom. I recently jumped headlong back into the practice.
Just this week, at Poemoftheweek.org, I was introduced to poet Carrie Fountain's work. As I dug a little deeper and read her poems, listened to her interviews and readings, I heard her mention William Stafford's books on "the writer's vocation". And I thought: a-ha! I have his two best on my shelf. I pulled them down, and began reading. And I was hooked. Not only did he remind me that poetry is my niche, but he has some thought-provoking ideas about writing: art. Here are some of my favorites from this work: p.27 When you write, tell me something.
p.51 The action of writing... is the successive discovery of cumulative epiphanies in the self's encounter with the world.
p.55 ...from the emergency of the encounter emerges the new realization, the now poem.
p.61 A poem is anything said in such a way or put on the page in such a way as to invite from the hearer or reader a certain kind of attention.
p.67 Writing is a reckless encounter with comes along.
p.88 ...writing...is a process of relying on pervasive feelings...
p.112 It seems to me a writer is engaged in adventuring into the language and all sorts of things occur to him or should occur to him, that's his job: the judging of these things, the selection of these things, and conduct in the light of these things, is everybody's job.
p.116-7 I believe that the so-called "writing block" is a product of some kind of disproportion between your standards and your performance. (He tells us to "lower your standards".)
p.125 The poem was in the way, so I wrote it.
p.157 ...in poetry we were always within a syllable or two of something overwhelming. It is one of the most empowering and encouraging books on "how to write" I have ever read! Photo credit: http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41NL9Pe%2BdOL._SX327_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg
This review can also be found in The Canon City Daily Record. Its Day Being Gone, by Rose
McLarney, is the latest National Poetry Series winner. A slim volume
awaits those willing to give this art form a fair shot.
My experience with poetry began in elementary school with Shel
Silverstein's "Where the Sidewalk Ends" and Lewis Carroll's
"Jabberwocky." In later years, we began to read, reread, and pick apart poems,
seeking for symbols and hidden meanings. We were encouraged to write our
own poems. I was published in my high school and college literary
magazines, was invited to read for presentations and also competed in
statewide poetry slams.
But I don't read poetry like academics. That's too daunting and
uncomfortable to me. And it takes me too far from my own experience of
the poem. I could attend lectures and read scholarly articles about Van Gogh's painting, "The Starry Night," but that would color my own
encounter, my unique observations. The undertaking would no longer be
mine alone, the piece reduced to mere critiqued paint strokes. Likewise,
I don't want to reduce a poem to mere explained words.
Rose McLarney is an assistant professor of poetry at Auburn
University and a prolific poet. There is something about the simplicity
of her work that reaches me. The events of the poetry are simple, common
moments in time, and any complexity lies in the emotion felt by the
subject of the piece, as well as the reader. Sensations linger like fog
in the morning before the day turns bright hot.
The poems in "Its Day Being Gone" concern the land and the people
tied to it. McLarney introduces us to rural Appalachia and rural South
America, places where rivers and waterways are sources of human and
ecological vitality. Themes of loss are distinct, divided loosely into
grief and relief. Myths and legends, folktales and traditions, merge
into mankind's common experience.
"Story With a Real Beast and a Little Blood in It" enchanted me:
The night the bull broke loose, there was much to learn.
Immediately I was curious. What was there to learn? I read it
silently to become acquainted with McLarney's rhythm and style. Then I
read it aloud, listening to the author. I looked for patterns, themes,
repeating ideas. And then I let it sit for a while, let it digest. I
began to understand what needed to be learned. When I go back and reread
the piece, there is always more to see and connect with.
Paying attention to how I feel when reading poetry is more important
than having full understanding of themes or even what occurs in the
poem.
But let's not look to make allegories, for any meaning beyond the marvel of a bull, tangled in a broken rope ...
Even the poet suggests just "marveling" at the images and the sensations they awaken in us as readers.
In Its Day Being Gone there are many opportunities to see and feel through the simplicity of a poem.
You can hear Rose McLarney read "Story With a Real Beast and a Little Blood in It" here.
Photo credits: http://i.ytimg.com/vi/Lmo6tdgQwrg/maxresdefault.jpg and http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51sKDh%2BsY%2BL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg
Harry Baker is the 2012 World Poetry Slam Champion. In this amazing TED talk, he shares why he chose to move from an expected career path and into the world of poetry. "I believe words hold power."
He talks about accepting a part of our Self: the powerful part that says we are unique, boxless, and we all have something important to do.
"If I didn't write my poems no one else would."
Harry Baker is engaging, witty, and a brilliant and contemporary poet. He is creative and inspirational, honest and sensitive.
He tells his story of the world. And it is enough. Here's more Harry Baker: http://www.ted.com/talks/harry_baker_a_love_poem_for_lonely_prime_numbers?language=en http://www.harrybaker.co/
![]({"http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/61C3qmmmf1L._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg":[333,499],"http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/61C3qmmmf1L._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg":[231,346]})
![]({"http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51sKDh%2BsY%2BL._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg":[231,346],"http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51sKDh%2BsY%2BL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg":[333,499]})
