Poem-a-Day, April 11: Intestines of an emerald

Death is a beautiful car parked only
to be stolen on a street lined with trees
whose branches are like the intestines
of an emerald.

You hotwire death, get in, and drive away
like a flag made from a thousand burning
funeral parlors.

You have stolen death because you’re bored.
There’s nothing good playing at the movies
in San Francisco.

You joyride around for a while listening
to the radio, and then abandon death, walk
away, and leave death for the police
to find.

*

Hello Friends —

Disclaimer: The manager of this poem-a-day list shall not be held liable for any carjackings or other illicit actions arising from the reading of this or any other (untitled) poem from Richard Brautigan’s The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster (1968).

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own eclectic selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. If you wish to be unsubscribed from this Poem-a-Day email list at any time, please reply to this email with a friendly unsubscribe request (preferably in heroic couplet form). You may also request to add a consenting friend to the list, or even nominate a poem.

To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.

Enjoy.
Ellen

“Death is a beautiful car parked only” by Richard Brautigan was featured again for Poem-a-Day April 26, 2011.

Poem-a-Day, April 10: Audacity my roof

Samurai Song

When I had no roof I made
Audacity my roof. When I had
No supper my eyes dined.

When I had no eyes I listened.
When I had no ears I thought.
When I had no thought I waited.

When I had no father I made
Care my father. When I had
No mother I embraced order.

When I had no friend I made
Quiet my friend. When I had no
Enemy I opposed my body.

When I had no temple I made
My voice my temple. I have
No priest, my tongue is my choir.

When I have no means fortune
Is my means. When I have
Nothing, death will be my fortune.

Needs is my tactic, detachment
Is my strategy. When I had
No lover I courted my sleep.

*

Hello Friends —

Today’s poem comes from tercet master Robert Pinsky, opening his 2000 collection Jersey Rain.

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own eclectic selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. If you wish to be unsubscribed from this Poem-a-Day email list at any time, please reply to this email with a friendly unsubscribe request (preferably in heroic couplet form). You may also request to add a consenting friend to the list, or even nominate a poem.

To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.

Enjoy.
Ellen

“Samarai Song” by Robert Pinsky was featured again for Poem-a-Day April 3, 2009.
Poet Robert Pinsky was also featured for Poem-a-Day, March 25, 2011.

Poem-a-Day, April 9: small civilities

Anne

The daughter is mad, and so
I wonder what she will do.
But she holds her saucer softly
And sips, as people do,
From moment to moment making
Comments of rain and sun,
Till I feel my own heart shaking —
Till I am the frightened one.
O Anne, sweet Anne, brave Anne,
What did I think to see?
The rumors of the village
Have painted you savagely.
I thought you would come in anger —
A knife beneath your skirt.
I did not think to see a face
So peaceful, and so hurt.
I know the trouble is there,
Under your little frown;
But when you slowly lift your cup
And when you set it down,
I feel my heart go wild, Anne,
I feel my heart go wild.
I know a hundred children,
But never before a child
Hiding so deep a trouble
Or wanting so much to please,
Or tending so desperately all
The small civilities.

*

Hello Friends —

Today’s poem comes from Mary Oliver (1935 – ). Much like fellow Pulitzer-winner Robert Frost, Oliver is often pigeon-holed as a “nature poet,” when in fact some of her most intriguing works (like “Anne”) take place within four manmade walls. Some Random Poet Trivia: In her teens, Mary Oliver briefly lived in the former home of poet Edna St. Vincent Millay.

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own eclectic selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. If you wish to be unsubscribed from this Poem-a-Day email list at any time, please reply to this email with a friendly unsubscribe request (preferably in heroic couplet form). You may also request to add a consenting friend to the list, or even nominate a poem.

To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.

Enjoy.
Ellen

P.S. Thanks to Molly for introducing me to this poem.

“Anne” by Mary Oliver was featured again for Poem-a-Day April 9, 2011.

Poem-a-Day, April 8: Down the rabbit hole

Jabberwocky

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought —
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One two! One two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

*

Hello Friends —

Why would I send you a poem that every last one of you is already familiar with? Because some poems ought to be read, aloud, at least once a year — You can think of this practice as akin to the Queen’s practice of believing as many as six impossible things before breakfast each morning. I challenge you to read this poem ALOUD to someone else today.

Have you ever thought about what it would mean to translate “Jabberwocky” into another language? Keith Lim has compiled a wonderful collection of “Jabberwocky” translations online. If you shy away from reading this poem aloud because you don’t know how to pronounce half of the words, you can also find Carroll’s own pronunciation guide reproduced on Keith’s site (under “Explanations”). If you shy away from reading this poem aloud because you don’t know what half of the words mean, I refer you to Humpty Dumpty (who can explain all the poems that ever were invented — and a good many that haven’t been invented just yet): “When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.” In order to read “Jabberwocky” aloud, you simply have to make choosing what you mean each of the poet’s words to mean a more conscious act.

Today’s poem, “Jabberwocky,” from Through the Looking Glass (1872) by Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson), is dedicated in loving memory to Edgar Lewis (yes, named for Poe and Carroll) — a giant pet white rabbit who hopped freely around on our front lawn for a decade’s worth of easters, entertaining countless neighboring children who finally got to meet the real easter bunny.

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own eclectic selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. If you wish to be unsubscribed from this Poem-a-Day email list at any time, please reply to this email with a friendly unsubscribe request (preferably in heroic couplet form). You may also request to add a consenting friend to the list, or even nominate a poem.

To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.

Enjoy.
Ellen

P.S. Frabjous Birthday, Jane Nevins!

“Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll was featured again for Poem-a-Day April 19, 2010.

Poem-a-Day, April 7: after things burn

Ash

The church in the forest
was built of wood

the faithful carved their names by the doors
same names as ours

soldiers burned it down

the next church where the first had stood
was built of wood

with charcoal floors
names were written in black by the doors
same names as ours

soldiers burned it down

we have a church where the others stood
it’s made of ash
no roof no doors

nothing on earth
says it’s ours

*

Hello Friends —

Today’s poem comes from the punctuation-free works of W.S. Merwin, in his 1973 collection Writings to an Unfinished Accompaniment.

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own eclectic selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. If you wish to be unsubscribed from this Poem-a-Day email list at any time, please reply to this email with a friendly unsubscribe request (preferably in heroic couplet form). You may also request to add a consenting friend to the list, or even nominate a poem.

To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.

Enjoy.
Ellen

“Ash” by W.S. Merwin was featured again for Poem-a-Day April 16, 2010.
Poems by W.S. Merwin were also featured for Poem-a-Day April 17, 2008 and Poem-a-Day April 9, 2009.

Poem-a-Day, April 6: 1,000 tulips burning in Amsterdam

why things burn

My fire-eating career came to an end
when I could no longer tell
when to spit and when

to swallow.
Last night in Amsterdam,
1,000 tulips burned to death.

I have an alibi. When I walked by
your garden, your hand
grenades were in bloom.

You caught me playing
loves me, loves me
not, metal pins between my teeth.

I forget the difference
between seduction
and arson,

ignition and cognition. I am a girl
with incendiary
vices and you have a filthy never

mind. If you say no, twice,
it’s a four-letter word.
You are so dirty, people have planted

flowers on you: heliotropes. sun-
flowers. You’ll take
anything. Loves me,

loves me not.
I want to bend you over
and whisper: “potting soil,” “fresh

cut.” When you made
the urgent fists of peonies
a proposition, I stole a pair of botanists’

hands. Green. Confident. All thumbs.
I look sharp in garden
shears and it rained spring

all night. 1,000 tulips
burned to death
in Amsterdam.

We didn’t hear the sirens.
All night, you held my alibis
so softly, like taboos

already broken.

*

Hello Friends —

Today’s poem comes from Daphne Gottlieb‘s 2001 collection Why Things Burn — because sometimes the title poem really is the one most worth reading.

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own eclectic selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. If you wish to be unsubscribed from this Poem-a-Day email list at any time, please reply to this email with a friendly unsubscribe request (preferably in heroic couplet form). You may also request to add a consenting friend to the list, or even nominate a poem.

To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.

Enjoy.
Ellen

Poem-a-Day, April 5: wet black arrow, long pink dangle

Benevolence
by Tony Hoagland

When my father dies and comes back as a dog,
I already know what his favorite sound will be:
the soft, almost inaudible gasp
as the rubber lips of the refrigerator door
unstick, followed by that arctic

exhalation of cold air;
then the cracking of the ice-cube tray above the sink
and the quiet ching the cubes make
when dropped into a glass.

Unable to pronounce the name of his favorite drink, or to express
his preference for single malt,
he will utter one sharp bark
and point the wet black arrow of his nose
imperatively up
at the bottle on the shelf,

then seat himself before me,
trembling, expectant, water pouring
down the long pink dangle of his tongue
as the memory of pleasure from his former life
shakes him like a tail.

What I’ll remember as I tower over him,
holding a dripping, whiskey-flavored cube
above his open mouth,
relishing the power rushing through my veins
the way it rushed through his,

what I’ll remember as I stand there
is the hundred clever tricks
I taught myself to please him,
and for how long I mistakenly believed
that it was love he held concealed in his closed hand.

*

Hello Friends —

Today’s poem comes from the quiet fury of Tony Hoagland, in his second book, Donkey Gospel (1998).

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own eclectic selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. If you wish to be unsubscribed from this Poem-a-Day email list at any time, please reply to this email with a friendly unsubscribe request (preferably in heroic couplet form). You may also request to add a consenting friend to the list, or even nominate a poem.

To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.

Enjoy.
Ellen

“Benevolence” by Tony Hoagland was featured again for Poem-a-Day April 11, 2010.

Poem-a-Day, April 4: each lightbulb chooses a star

The Converted

When those doves come for their evening weep
And the last sun kneels till the lawn is lit
From underneath,

When the tiny bats begin their arcs around the porch
And the older goats remember,
Running for the stable door,

The sky cracks again; the inexhaustible pours in.

Breezes swing down into fields, amulets.
Leaves chatter against the flagstone. Each house steadies
Into night like an airplane, silver propellers of light

Nosing out. The dog stands in front of the TV: Heston
Is Moses and Moses in color. Suddenly all is conspiracy.
Night dark pushes out the cold stone of moon; each lightbulb

Chooses a star to convert, to bring down.

*

Hello Friends —

Today’s poem opens Sophie Cabot Black‘s first book, The Misunderstanding of Nature (1994).

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own eclectic selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. If you wish to be unsubscribed from this Poem-a-Day email list at any time, please reply to this email with a friendly unsubscribe request (preferably in heroic couplet form). You may also request to add a consenting friend to the list, or even nominate a poem.

To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.

Enjoy.
Ellen

Poem-a-Day, April 3: reading in the dark

Hymn to Lota

Close, close all night
the lovers keep.
They turn together,
in their sleep,

close as two pages
in a book
that read each other
in the dark.

Each knows all
the other knows,
learned by heart
from head to toes.

*

Hello Friends —

Today’s poem comes from the published unpublished works of Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979).

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own eclectic selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. If you wish to be unsubscribed from this Poem-a-Day email list at any time, please reply to this email with a friendly unsubscribe request (preferably in heroic couplet form). You may also request to add a consenting friend to the list, or even nominate a poem.

To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.

Enjoy.
Ellen

P.S. Happy Birthday, Dara!

“Hymn to Lota” by Elizabeth Bishop was featured again for Poem-a-Day April 5, 2009.
Poems by Elizabeth Bishop were also featured for Poem-a-Day April 6, 2008 and Poem-a-Day April 13, 2010.

Poem-a-Day, April 2: with veins, without mirth

Weight, In Passing

Because it is still
early, the sky is skimmed
grey, and the three men working here

have little to say to each other.
They drive the truck closer
along the sand, ready the winch

for lifting. This is a solemn
thing, and the day is quiet
as communion.

They open
the whales
with chainsaws — the ribs

enormous crescent moons,
the blubber an awkward
afterthought.

Without mirth
they haul the soft masses
onto the flatbed. It is the hearts

they are after, large
as cars, with veins
a grown man could crawl through.

*

Hello Friends —

Today’s poem comes from the young poet Andrea Haslanger, circa 2002, and is unpublished.

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own eclectic selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. If you wish to be unsubscribed from this Poem-a-Day email list at any time, please reply to this email with a friendly unsubscribe request (preferably in heroic couplet form). You may also request to add a consenting friend to the list, or even nominate a poem.

To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.

Enjoy.
Ellen