Although the wind

(Number 10, Art Print Poster by Mark
Rothko, 1903-1970, American artist)

Poets, especially, know how to point out apparent contradictions that reveal a truth, as did Emily Dickinson when she wrote, “Who never lost, are unprepared / A Coronet to find.”

Although the wind
blows terribly here,
the moonlight
also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house.

~ Izumi Shikibu (circa 974-1034), Japanese poet

Hope

Each Friday we provide the link to the blog that is hosting a celebration of poetry around the blogosphere. At that site you can find the links to the many other blogs that are posting poems (new and old), discussions of poems, and reviews of poetry books.

Enjoy the festivities!

The host this week is Dori. You can visit her here at Dori Reads.


(Bird and Vine, tapestry fabric by William Morris, 1834-
1896, English textile designer, artist, and writer)

Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906-1945) was a German Lutheran theologian and pastor, a pacifist who was arrested by the Nazis for his involvement in a plot to assassinate Hitler.

“The essence of optimism is not its view of the present,” Bonhoeffer wrote while in prison awaiting his execution, “but the fact that it is the inspiration of life and hope when others give in; it enables a man to hold his head high when everything seems to be going wrong; it gives him strength to sustain reverses and yet to claim the future for himself instead of abandoning it to his opponent.”

He was hanged in particularly cruel and painful circumstances on April 9, 1945.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers —
That perches in the soul —
And sings the tune without the words —
And never stops — at all —

And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard —
And sore must be the storm —
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm —

I've heard it in the chillest land —
And on the strangest Sea —
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb — of Me.

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), American poet

this is my letter to the World

(Leaves by Séraphine Louis de Senlis, 1864-1942,
French painter)

This month we will be looking at ars poetica, the art of poetry. We will be considering the nature of poetry and the way poets work.

Words, the what and the how of them, do matter.

To learn more about the power of words, click here.

This is my letter to the World
That never wrote to Me —
The simple News that Nature told —
With tender Majesty

Her Message committed
To Hands I cannot see —
For love of Her — Sweet — countrymen —
Judge tenderly — of Me

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), American poet

If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking

(Road to Town, woodcut by Gustave Baumann, 1881-1971,
German-born American artist and puppeteer)

The opposite of cruelty is not simply kindness or the end of the cruel relationship. The opposite of cruelty is hospitality.

This is the conclusion reached by the philosopher Philip Hallie (1922-1994) after he studied what the villagers of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon had done during the Second World War. Le Chambon was located in a part of France under the close eyes of the Nazis. All the Jews found in the area would be deported to the extermination camps in the East.

The residents decided as a village to provide food and shelter and comfort to any Jews knocking on their doors. Risking their lives, they saved more than 6000 Jews.

But their enduring hospitality did more than save lives. For example, writes Hallie, “the morning after a new refugee family came to town they would find on their front door a wreath with ‘Bienvenue!’ ‘Welcome!’ painted on a piece of cardboard attached to the wreath. Nobody knew who had brought the wreath; in effect, the whole town had brought it.”

“The people of Le Chambon,” wrote a woman years later who had been saved as a young girl, “showed to us that life can be different, that there are people who care, that people can live together and even risk their own lives for their fellow man.” The people of Le Chambon gave their guests hope for the future.

If I can stop one Heart from breaking,
I shall not live in Vain:
If I can ease one Life the Aching,
Or cool one Pain,

Or help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again,
I shall not live in Vain.

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), American poet

(To read more, see Philip Hallie’s Lest Innocent Blood Be Shed: The Story of the Village of Le Chambon and How Goodness Happened There)

The Love a Life Can Show Below

(Still Life by Jacob Collins, born 1964, American painter)

“To love our neighbor as ourselves does not mean that we should love all people equally, for I do not have an equal love for all the modes of existence of myself. Nor does it mean that we should never make them suffer, for I do not refuse to make myself suffer. But we should have with each person the relationship of one conception of the universe to another conception of the universe, and not to a part of it.”

~ Simone Weil (1909-1943), French philosopher and Christian mystic

The Love a Life can show Below
Is but a filament, I know,
Of that diviner thing
That faints upon the face of Noon —
And smites the Tinder in the Sun —
And hinders Gabriel’s¹ Wing —

’Tis this — in Music — hints and sways —
And far abroad on Summer days —
Distils uncertain pain —
’Tis this enamors in the East —
And tints the Transit in the West
With harrowing Iodine —

’Tis this — invites — appalls — endows —
Flits — glimmers — proves — dissolves —
Returns — suggests — convicts — enchants —
Then — flings in Paradise —

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), American poet

¹ Gabriel – the archangel

Heart! We will forget him!

Each Friday we provide the link to the blogger who is hosting a celebration of poetry around the blogosphere. There you can find the links to the many other blogs that are posting poems (new and old), discussions of poems, and reviews of poetry books. It’s also a great way to explore the internet.

Enjoy the festivities!

The host this week is Katie.

You can visit her here.


(Melodian by Eugene Montgomery, 1905-2001,
American portrait painter and muralist)

You cannot reason your way out of heartbreak.

Heart! We will forget him!
You and I — tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave —
I will forget the light!

When you have done, pray tell me,
Then I, my thoughts, will dim.
Haste! ’lest while you’re lagging
I may remember him!

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), American poet

If you were coming in the Fall

(Dream by Henri Matisse, 1869-1954, French
printmaker, painter, and sculptor)

Yesterday we discussed that most useful of rhetorical devices, the hypothetical, for the writing of songs and poems about love.

In this poem, Emily Dickinson also ponders the many possibilities.

If you were coming in the Fall,
I’d brush the Summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As Housewives do, a Fly.

If I could see you in a year
I’d wind the months in balls —
And put them each in separate drawers
Until their time befalls —

If only Centuries, delayed,
I’d count them on my Hand,
Subtracting, till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen’s Land*.

If certain, when this life was out —
That yours and mine, should be
I’d toss it yonder, like a Rind,
And take Eternity —

But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time’s uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee —
That will not state — its sting.

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), American poet

* Van Diemen’s Land – Tasmania, a part of Australia; in the early 19th-century it served as a penal colony for thousands of prisoners transported there from Great Britain

If I Had Known

(Above the Clouds by Hiroshi Yoshida, 1876-1950, Japanese painter and woodblock printmaker)

“Remorse is memory awake.” ~ Emily Dickinson.

IF I HAD KNOWN

If I had known what trouble you were bearing;
What griefs were in the silence of your face;
I would have been more gentle, and more caring,
And tried to give you gladness for a space.
I would have brought more warmth into the place,
If I had known.

If I had known what thoughts despairing drew you;
(Why do we never try to understand?)
I would have lent a little friendship to you,
And slipped my hand within your hand,
And made your stay more pleasant in the land,
If I had known.

~ Mary Carolyn Davies (1888-1966), American poet

Nature Assigns the Sun

(Blue Star by Joan Miró, 1893-1983,
Spanish painter, ceramist, and sculptor)

“A wish for friendship may arise quickly,” says Aristotle in Nicomachean Ethics, “but friendship does not.”

You cannot plan or design a friendship.

Nature assigns the Sun —
That — is Astronomy —
Nature cannot enact a Friend —
That — is Astrology

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), American poet

A little madness in the Spring

(Spring by René Magritte, 1898-1967, Belgian Surrealist
painter)

Delightful.

A little madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King,
But God be with the Clown —
Who ponders this tremendous scene —
This whole Experiment of Green —
As if it were his own!

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), American poet

A Light exists in Spring

(Morning Sun by Harold Knight, 1874-1961,
English painter)

Emily Dickinson spent much of her time up in her room in the house in Amherst, Massachusetts, looking at life from her window. There was much to see.

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other Period —
When March is scarcely here.

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step
On Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay —

A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), American poet

Advent: A Carol

(Washington Square by André Kertész,
1894-1985, Hungarian-born photographer)

Jean Vanier, born in 1928, is a Canadian philosopher who founded L’Arche, a worldwide movement of communities where intellectually disabled persons live and work together with those who take care of them. He travels around the globe to plead for the poor, the lonely, and the handicapped.

“Consider the history of man throughout the centuries: man born in poverty, dominated by the forces of nature, evolving into man capable of walking on the moon, of unleashing nuclear energies and of continually discovering more about God’s plan for matter, for man, and for the universe. Man, as I have just said, thirsts for liberty, for freedom to live without external coercion, but above all for that internal freedom in which the forces of love, intelligence, and life can flower.” ~ from Eruption to Hope

ADVENT: A CAROL

What did you hear?
Said stone to echo:
All that you told me,
Said echo to stone.

Tidings, said echo,
Tidings, said stone,
Tidings of wonder,
Said echo to stone.

Who then shall hear them?
Said stone to echo:
All people on earth,
Said echo to stone.

Turned into one,
Echo and stone,
The word for all coming
Turned into one.

~ Patric Dickinson (1914-1994), English poet and translator

I Am the Tree

(Polynesia, the Sky by Henri Matisse, 1869-1954, French
printmaker, painter, and sculptor)

“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul,” wrote Emily Dickinson.

I AM THE TREE

I am the tree ascending.
At the topmost branch
I’ve become the bird,
starting from tip to
climb into above.

After-
ward, cloud.

Why not?
My purposes are clear.

~ Etta Blum (1908-1981), American poet, writer, and translator of Yiddish

The Morns Are Meeker

(The Ballerina by Joan Miró, 1893-1983,
Spanish painter, ceramist, and sculptor)

The Belle of Amherst is preparing for the gala that is Autumn.

The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), American poet

Emily Dickinson and Elvis Presley in Heaven

(top: Elvis Presley, 1935-1977, and some fans;
bottom: Emily Dickinson, 1830-1886, at sixteen)

In America, anything is possible.

EMILY DICKINSON AND ELVIS PRESLEY IN HEAVEN

They call each other “E.” Elvis picks
wildflowers near the river and brings
them to Emily. She explains half-rhymes to him.

In heaven Emily wears her hair long, sports
Levis and western blouses with rhinestones.
Elvis is lean again, wears baggy trousers

and T-shirts, a letterman’s jacket from Tupelo High.
They take long walks and often hold hands.
She prefers they remain just friends. Forever.

Emily’s poems now contain naugahyde, Cadillacs,
electricity, jets, TV, Little Richard and Richard
Nixon. The rock-a-billy rhythm makes her smile.

Elvis likes himself with style. This afternoon
he will play guitar and sing “I Taste a Liquor
Never Brewed” to the tune of “Love Me Tender.”

Emily will clap and harmonize. Alone
in their cabins later, they’ll listen to the river
and nap. They will not think of Amherst

or Las Vegas. They know why God made them
roommates. It’s because America
was their hometown. It’s because

God is a thing without
feathers. It’s because
God wears blue suede shoes.

~ Hans Ostrom, born 1954, American poet, editor, and writer of short fiction

By the Light of the Silvery Moon

(By the Light of the Silvery Moon,
cover of the sheet music, 1909)

Today’s verse is a popular ditty from a century ago. It was revived in 1953 as the title song of a Doris Day movie.

Click on the YouTube site of this Oldie but Goodie and you’ll hear, in the charming patter, what the language of love used to be. “To spoon” and "cuddling" refer to the flirtations and expressions of affection between young lovers. Other such old-fashioned terms include “canoodling” and “billing and cooing.” More recently, in contrast to the prevailing language of the Free Love days of the hippy trippy Sixties, Merle Haggard sang of an Oklahoma town “where even squares can have a ball,” where “we don’t make a party out of lovin’ / but we like holdin’ hands and pitchin’ woo.”



BY THE LIGHT OF THE SILVERY MOON

By the light of the silvery moon,
I want to spoon,
To my honey I'll croon
Love's tune.
Honey moon, keep a-shinin' in June.
Your silv'ry beams will bring love's dreams.
We'll be cuddlin' soon,
By the silvery moon.

Place: Park.
Scene: Dark.
Silv'ry moon is shining through the trees.
Cast: Two,
Me, you.
Sound of kisses floating on the breeze.
Act One: Begun.
Dialogue: "Where would you like to spoon?"
My cue: With you,
Underneath the silv'ry moon.

By the light of the silvery moon,
I want to spoon,
To my honey I'll croon
Love's tune.
Honey moon, keep a-shinin' in June.
Your silv'ry beams will bring love's dreams.
We'll be cuddlin' soon,
By the silvery moon.

Act: Two.
Scene: New.
Roses blooming all around the place.
Cast: Three.
You, me,
Preacher with a solemn looking face.
Choir sings, bell rings.
Preacher: "You are wed forever more."
Act Two: All through.
Ev'ry night the same encore.

By the light (not the dark but the light)
Of the silvery moon (not the sun but the moon),
I wanna to spoon (not croon, but spoon),
To my honey I'll croon love's tune.
Honey moon (honey moon, honey moon)
Keep a-shinin' in June.
Your silv'ry beams will bring love's dreams.
We'll be cuddlin' soon,
By the silvery moon (the silv'ry moon).

~ Ed Madden (1878-1962), American lyricist and, and Gus Edwards (1875-1949), American composer and vaudevillian

We Should Not Mind So Small a Flower

(bobolink ~ a migratory American songbird)

We should not mind so small a flower ‒
Except it quiet bring
Our little garden that we lost
Back to the Lawn again.

So spicy her Carnations nod ‒
So drunken, reel her Bees ‒
So silver steal a hundred flutes
From out a hundred trees ‒

That whoso sees this little flower
By faith may clear behold ‒
The Bobolinks around the throne
And Dandelions gold.

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), American poet

O Day of Mourning, part one

The most difficult sentiments to express are those at the death of a friend or a loved one. It is at this time that poems can give comfort.

When the death is preceded by a painful struggle, let the poet speak for you.

The Heart asks Pleasure — first —
And then — Excuse from Pain —
And then — those little Anodynes
That deaden suffering —

And then — to go to sleep —
And then — if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor
The privilege to die —

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), American poet

The Beginning, part two

What is poetry all about?

We know what Emily Dickinson thought.

Many contemporary poets have also had their say.

William Matthews was an American poet and essayist who lived a century after Dickinson. He once noted that all published poems seem to embrace one of four themes:

1. I went out into the woods today and it made me feel, you know, sort of religious.
2. We’re not getting any younger.
3. It sure is cold and lonely (a) without you, honey, or (b) with you, honey.
4. Sadness seems but the other side of the coin of happiness, and vice versa, and in any case the coin is too soon spent and on we know not what.

Those are the details. But back to the question, what is poetry all about?

A POETRY READING AT WEST POINT

I read to the entire plebe class,
in two batches. Twice the hall filled
with bodies dressed alike, each toting
a copy of my book. What would my
shrink say, if I had one, about
such a dream, if it were a dream?

Question-and-answer time.
“Sir,” a cadet yelled from the balcony,
and gave his name and rank, and then,
closing his parentheses, yelled
“Sir,” again. “Why do your poems give
me a headache when I try

to understand them?” he asked. “Do
you want that?” I have a gift for
gentle jokes to defuse tension,
but this was not the time to use it.
“I try to write as well as I can
what it feels like to be human,”

I started, picking my way care-
fully, for he and I were, after
all, pained by the same dumb longings.
“I try to say what I don't know
how to say, but of course I can’t
get much of it down at all.”

By now I was sweating bullets.
“I don’t want my poems to be hard,
unless the truth is, if there is
a truth.” Silence hung in the hall
like a heavy fabric. My own
head ached. “Sir,” he yelled. “Thank you. Sir.”

~ William Matthews (1942-1997)

Let's Begin at the Beginning

(This month the George Hail Library celebrates the annual National Poetry Month. Here we will spend the next weeks taking a special look at poetry. Poetry brings beauty to our lives. It speaks for us when we cannot find the words. It shows us different ways of looking at the world. And it can be fun.)

What is poetry all about? Why not just stick with prose?

This is what the Belle of Amherst had to say.

I dwell in Possibility –
A fairer House than Prose –
More numerous of Windows –
Superior – for Doors –

Of Chambers as the Cedars –
Impregnable of Eye –
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky –

Of Visitors – the fairest –
For Occupation – This –
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise –

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), American poet