Let's talk about the pleasures and puzzles of the smaller mystery--mystery novels and other fiction--and the bigger one--life.
I agree, Mary, you should think of Dylan Thomas more often. I've loved his poetry for around 40 years. And hearing him read his own poems was when I first really understood the power of poetry as as an aural medium.And bless the youtube, here he is reading In my craft and sullen art [LINK].And for today's contribution, here's a youtube of him reading Fern Hill, the poem that brought on my love at first read.[LINK] (with rather creepy animation).Morning all.
Found this today which would have been perfect for Andi's yesterday picture.Springing by Marie Ponsot In a skiff on a sunrisen lake we are watchers.Swimming aimlessly is luxury just as walking loudly up a shallow stream is.As we lean over the deep well, we whisper.Friends at hearths are drawn to the one warm air; strangers meet on beaches drawn to the one wet sea.What wd it be to be water, one body of water (what water is is another mystery) (We are water divided.) It wd be a self without walls, with surface tension, specific gravity a localexchange between bedrock and cloud of falling and rising, rising to fall, falling to rise.
Andi--It was fascinating to listen and not be able to hear the words. I am so visual that I can't always make as much sense of the words when I can't follow along as it's read to me. That second reading was creepy. Couldn't it at least have had clothes or hair. Thanks to all you guys/gals for yesterdays poems. It was the best group yet for me. Look for more today.
Morning, peeps! Loved yesterday's poems. Here's a snippet of one in honor of where I am:A Boston Ballad by Walt Whitman A Boston Ballad, 1854 TO get betimes in Boston town, I rose this morning early;Here's a good place at the corner--I must stand and see the show.Read the rest here
Morning, all! Hope the weekend holds fun, rest, and joy for everyone. We might see the end of these storms that have wandered through all week...This is great - makes me search for new poets and poems. Found this one:The Layers by Stanley KunitzI have walked through many lives,some of them my own,and I am not who I was,though some principle of beingabides, from which I strugglenot to stray.When I look behind,as I am compelled to lookbefore I can gather strengthto proceed on my journey,I see the milestones dwindlingtoward the horizonand the slow fires trailingfrom the abandoned camp-sites,over which scavenger angelswheel on heavy wings.Oh, I have made myself a tribeout of my true affections,and my tribe is scattered!How shall the heart be reconciledto its feast of losses?In a rising windthe manic dust of my friends,those who fell along the way,bitterly stings my face.Yet I turn, I turn,exulting somewhat,with my will intact to gowherever I need to go,and every stone on the roadprecious to me.In my darkest night,when the moon was coveredand I roamed through wreckage,a nimbus-clouded voicedirected me:"Live in the layers,not on the litter."Though I lack the artto decipher it,no doubt the next chapterin my book of transformationsis already written.I am not done with my changes.
Way to show some backbone!Poetry after caffeine.
I had completely forgotten till five minutes ago that I had a poem dedicated to me by brilliant poet and fellow Transita Ltd novelist, Christine Coleman. She was amused that my then internet username had the word 'seal' in it and came up with this inspired piece.Becoming a SealBecoming a seal takes dedication.I’ve time for little else nowwhat with days in snack barsaccumulating layer on layer of flaband evenings stretched out in the bathholding my breath under water.Night swells with dreams of blubberlight as airships, supple and strongas branches of willow. Sometimes I lurkby plastic ponds in garden centres.After a little practice, Koi carpslip down smoothly as noodles.My place of pilgrimage is Blakeney Point.Those massive bolster shapes baskingon sandbanks barely glance towards meas I wriggle inch by inch a little closer.Now that I’ve tuned in to their grunts and barksI understand their conversations.Lately I’ve noticed changes in my skin -it’s thicker now and turning mottled grey.Each plunging struggle againstNorth Sea tides creates a tingling glowthough I still have to coat myself with greasebefore I slide into the waves.When my legs have fused togetherthey’ll propel me faster. I’ll have no needfor arms – the sinuous seals caressfrom head to tail. Soon I will smellas they do. They’ll nuzzle me gentlygliding around me along the sea-bed.(Christine Coleman)
How very cool that you're an inspiration, Nicky! Not to mention, a seal! :-) What a lovely poem - thanks for sharing it with us.
Andi, I think I blocked out Dylan Thomas after seeing some movie (I can't remember the name) about a teacher who had a Dylan-Dylan contest that linked Dylan Thomas and Bob Dylan. They became linked in my mind and the negative linkage to Bob outweighed the positive linkage of Dylan.
Whew…Looking for coffeeAfter a presentationTo reboot my brain.At least it's Friday, right?
Wow, great stuff here again today. I guess I didn't read carefully enough to realize this was an ongoing thing this week. Me likee.Jimf, I love Love That Dog. Hate that Cat was good, but Love That Dog was better! I love how the student becomes a poet in the book, thanks to the dedication of a great teacher.Here's a part of Nikki Giovanni's Deal or No Deal from her book "Bicycles."I know you cannot go Through lifeUnless you are willing For love or moneyTo make a fool Of yourselfWhere else does the ecstasylie
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