Ask Not What You Can Do for Poetry. Ask What Poetry Can Do for You.
A Book Every Music Lover Should Own
I was envious of people who had morning devotions, mornings devoted to peaceful reflection and centering prayer, consumption of inspiring passages. So I turned to poetry. Verse has turned my mornings for so many years.
Sometimes I wonder why I studied poetry instead of fiction in graduate school and then I remember the mornings. Poetry lifted each day by the edge and sent me on a long, slow fall that landed me again in its intricate net. Poetry put me through my twenties.
I’ve been asked to work on reading poetry aloud with a public speaking group for teens and young adults in Nuremberg. Poetry is so carefully scripted, it can give its readers clear clues about how to read it. The reader’s job is to listen to the cadences, pauses, emphases and make audible the rhythm and melody of the poem.
This project has sent me in search of poems that are particularly musical, that most yearn to be spoken aloud. I’m eager for suggestions from you. Here are some poems that I can’t help but sing this morning:
More of the Same
by Kary Wayson
But even with my mouth on your thigh
I want my mouth on your thigh.
At the center bite of bread I want the whole loaf
toasted, and an orange. On a sunny day
I want more sun, more skin for the weather.
I’m in Seattle wishing for Seattle,
for this walk along the water, for her hand while I hold it:
I want to tie my wrist to a red balloon.
I’m counting my tips.
I’m counting the tips I could have made.
I want the television on, the television off.
In the ocean, I want to float an inch above it
and when my father finally held me
like a stripe of seaweed over his wet arm,
I was kicking to get away, wishing he’d hold me
like he held me while I was kicking away. Listen to me.
I want to leave when I’m walking out the door.
(from American Husband)
Bad Boats
by Laura Jensen
They are like women because they sway.
They are like men because they swagger.
They are like lions because they are king here.
They walk on the sea. The drifting
logs are good: they are taking their punishment.
But the bad boats are ready to be bad,
to overturn in water, to demolish the swagger
and the sway. They are bad boats
because they cannot wind their own rope
or guide themselves neatly close to the wharf.
In their egomania they are glad
for the burden of the storm and the men are shirking
when they go for their coffee and yawn.
They are bad boats and they hate their anchors.
(from Bad Boats)
homage to my hips
by Lucille Clifton
these hips are big hips
they need space to
move around in.
they do not fit into little
petty places, these hips
are free hips.
they don’t like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top!
Tags: American Husband, Bad Boats, Homage to My Hips, Kary Wayson, Laura Jensen, Lucille Clifton, More of the Same
I’ve been rereading this collection lately, and though it may not be a poem that you’d want to sing to begin your morning, I enjoy the cadence:
Save Me Joe Louis
Gabrielle Calvocoressi
When I was small, no one stopped the fights.
A man could beat you until you died,
the crowd leaning in, you on your knees,
maybe somewhere, someone says, No,
but it’s like spoons dropping in kitchens:
enough to make someone look up,
not enough to get them moving.
The ref’s just glad it’s not him
trying to stand, shading his face,
like he’s coming out of the movies
into winter sun, shock of the world
made real again– brutal, to be sure,
but America is like that,
unrelenting, you get what you ask for
in the ring or on the kitchen floor.
Someone always wants you to give up,
shake hands, wipe the blood away and talk
of lighter things. And you do
because you’ve been fighting long enough
to know there’s no one here to save you.
(from The Last Time I Saw Amelia Earhart)
Thanks, Melissa. I am enjoying singing this poem this morning. I’m a Calvocoressi fan, but I only have _The Last Time I Saw Amelia Earhart_. Have you read anything else by her?
I have Apocalyptic Swing, but I haven’t started it yet. Must get to it ASAP!
This sounds like an excellent project — and perfect for you. Will the reading be in English? German? Both?
The club is an English speaking club–which makes it even more perfect for me. I did just install a basic internet system on my computer using German, though. Watch out German!
I’ve never read Kary Wayson or “more of the same” before, but I love it so much. Is the rest of her stuff like that?
Yes, I think you’ll dig the rest of her stuff. She’s so good at quirkiness and sweet sounds. Here’s another short one:
Intimacy Vs. Autonomy
Light began time.
We filled our daybuckets with it.
We battled our umbrellas.
We dropped our dresses in gutters of gathers.
We managed our fans of poker feathers.
We gave each gust a good hard twist–
invisible sacks of bread on by.
Well! And still. We live like we’re hills.
Imagine my mother imagine her father.
Now I’m herding the sky.
This one is still so much fun to read out loud:
anyone lived in a pretty how town
by e. e. cummings
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn’t he danced his did
Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain
children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more
when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone’s any was all to her
someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream
stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)
one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was
all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.
Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain
Dude. I woke up with the first line of this poem in my head. I love so many lines here including, “…with up so floating many bells down…”
I’d like to read a transcription of that dream.
Yes, this poem is perfect. I don’t know why I always forget about e.e. cummings. Thanks, Amaris.