Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for April, 2019

poem is between Picasso face and “Land of Morning Calm” flyer

 

The Rest

by Lawrence Raab

 

You’ve tried the rest.

You’ve waited long enough.

Everything catches up with you.

 

And you’re too old,

or too young.

Or you don’t have the money

 

or you don’t have the time.

Maybe you’re shy, and maybe

you’re just afraid.

 

How often have you heard it,

have you promised

yourself you’d try

 

something really different

if you had the chance?

Though you can’t help but wonder

 

if all those people

know what they’re doing, now

you’re saying it with them:

 

Eventually everything

catches up with us,

and it starts to show.

 

We’ve waited all our lives, or as long

as we can remember, whichever

is long enough.

 

 

I pinned Lawrence Raab’s “The Rest” on a bulletin board at my local post office. This poem depresses me, it feels heavy in spite of Raab’s expert light touch. But I’ve gotten Raab really wrong before, so I leave it to you. Hopeful or hopeless? Or am I asking the wrong question?

 

From a previous post:

Lawrence Raab was born in Pittsfield, Massachusetts in 1946. He went to Middlebury College and earned his masters from Syracuse. He’s taught at University of Michigan, American University, and these days at Williams College. He’s one numerous awards and grants and has published seven collections of poetry. This poem, “Marriage,” comes from his 1993 collection What We Don’t Know About Each Other.

 

Raab has also written screenplays and adapted Aristophanes’ The Birds for theater.

 

 

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

It’s just-spring here in Michigan and each little green shoot is a jigger of encouragement. So is this poem, “Thank You” by Ross Gay, which I left in a pile of dead leaves at the end of a church parking lot.

 

Thank You
by Ross Gay
If you find yourself half naked
and barefoot in the frosty grass, hearing,
again, the earth’s great, sonorous moan that says
you are the air of the now and gone, that says
all you love will turn to dust,
and will meet you there, do not
raise your fist. Do not raise
your small voice against it. And do not
take cover. Instead, curl your toes
into the grass, watch the cloud
ascending from your lips. Walk
through the garden’s dormant splendor.
Say only, thank you.
Thank you.

 

Seasonally this poem is off—it’s set in late fall—but existential crises come year-round.

 

Ross Gay was born in 1974 in Youngstown, Ohio but grew up in Pennsylvania. He teaches at Indiana University and Drew University’s low-residency MFA program. He’s won many awards, among them a Cave Canem Workshop fellowship.

 

Read Full Post »

File under Best Laid Plans. Nearly two years ago I resolved (publicly, unfortunately) to use up my stash of poems by posting several a week. Of course they’re still here. They’ve even grown in number. All the crinkled slips of paper stuffed in my Poem Elf bag like old underwear—I can’t bear to throw them out when they still hold shape, ratty though they are.

 

But a Thoughtful Reader (see comment at end of linked post) reminded me it’s National Poetry Month, and National Poetry Month is as good as a spring cleaning for a poem-hoarder. I’m re-upping my pledge to post poems with minimal commentary on as many days of the month as I can, here on the blog and on Twitter, in hopes of getting rid of most of them.

 

Let’s get on with it.

 

I poked a stick through Li Po’s “The Cold Clear Spring at Nanyang” along the banks of a not-entirely clear cold spring.

 

 

The Cold Clear Spring at Nanyang

by Li Po

 

A pity it is evening, yet

I do love the water of this spring

seeing how clear it is, how clean;

rays of sunset gleam on it,

lighting up its ripples, making it

one with those who travel

the roads; I turn and face

the moon; sing it a song, then

listen to the sound of the wind

amongst the pines.

 

Singing a song to the moon, I love that.

 

Li Po (701-762) was the most famous Chinese poet of the Tang Dynasty, also known as the Golden Age of Chinese Poetry.

Read Full Post »