Poem On Your Blog Day
April 30, 2004 5:43 AM   Subscribe

To commemorate the end of National Poetry Month, today is Poem In Your Pocket Day. And for us ItarWebby types, it's also Poem On Your Blog Day. via Sharon at Watermark
posted by Wulfgar! (18 comments total)
Hmm... I needed something to write about for my daily entry, so woo hoo! Why, though, didn't I know about this month until its last day?
posted by codger at 6:16 AM on April 30, 2004

And check out tinywords, a great site that sends a daily haiku to your email or text-enabled cell phone.
posted by twsf at 6:29 AM on April 30, 2004

Too cool, thanks for the heads up. :) Me, I'm going to blog about my fave living poet, Shel Silverstein.
posted by dejah420 at 6:52 AM on April 30, 2004

*ponders "there was a young man from nantucket"*
posted by quonsar at 7:07 AM on April 30, 2004

Thanks for this, it gave me a chance to laud good ol' Pablo Neruda.
posted by moonbird at 7:33 AM on April 30, 2004

Poem On Your Blog Day.
Please - No... Don't do it. For the love of all that is right... Nooo!!!!!

This'd be a good idea if...
There wasn't enough poetry on the web anyway.
Bloggers were known for their modesty and lack of arrogance.
Bloggers could write poetry.

As it is.
I just don't know.
posted by seanyboy at 7:47 AM on April 30, 2004

Oh, that's a poem? I thought you were just happy to see me.
posted by uosuaq at 7:56 AM on April 30, 2004

seanyboy would know what to think
if he actually read the link;
it's not to show off or to gloat,
but to blog poems others wrote.
posted by rory at 8:00 AM on April 30, 2004

umm dejah420, Shel's been dead for years. i however, celebrated national poetry month by buying a shel book for each of my nieces and nephews.
posted by jodic at 8:16 AM on April 30, 2004

you're right, I'm wrong. I see that now,
The blogging poems that others write
that break the heart or crease the brow
are right to link, are never trite.
I see that and apologise.
posted by seanyboy at 8:22 AM on April 30, 2004

That's very reasonable and wise.
posted by rory at 8:28 AM on April 30, 2004


in your end is my beginning, I repeat; also,
my end; my end is, in fact, your end, in a way:

are we not bound together by our ends: and when,
end to end, our ends meet, then we begin to

see the end of disturbing endlessness; unity
does what unity can: while preserving two

it accords in mutuality a mist of wonderfully and
onefully coming together in-ah-well, why

entail sophistry: air and earth join, as you have
often read, via sculpted stone on a high platform

of the Old Peak: weight at great height fines
out into a kind of buoyance and one's feet feel

slippery and groundless: the material
spiritualizes and lock stone and air meet...

posted by clavdivs at 9:16 AM on April 30, 2004

And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass.

-Ezra Pound
posted by josephtate at 10:21 AM on April 30, 2004

Would it be too cynical of me to post This be the verse by Larkin?

Answer: yes, but I'll do it anyway
posted by filmgoerjuan at 10:21 AM on April 30, 2004

Having a Coke With You
is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, IrĂșn, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluoresent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary

it is hard to believe when I'm with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o'clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles
and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them
I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it's in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven't gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn't pick the rider as carefully
as the horse
it seems they were all cheated of some marvellous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it

(Frank O'Hara, 1960)
posted by rafter at 12:14 PM on April 30, 2004

(Thanks to Wulfgar for the fine post. And let us, every one, praise the effort and love and heart of the poet taking the rugged, unseen roads.)

This morning
two birds
fell down the side of the maple tree

like a tuft of fire
a wheel of fire
a love knot

out of control as they plunged through the air
pressed against each other
and I thought

How I meant to live a quiet life
how I meant to live a life of mildness and meditation
tapping the careful words against each other

and I thought-
as though I were suddenly spinning, like a bar of silver
as though I had shaken my arms and lo! they were wings -

of the Buddha
when he rose from his green garden
when he rose in his powerful ivory body

when he turned to the long dusty road without end
when he covered his hair with ribbons and the petals of flowers
when he opened his hands to the world.

Mary Oliver

posted by fold_and_mutilate at 2:15 PM on April 30, 2004

fold_and_mutilate, the thanks definately goes to Sharon. She asked me to post this, and I couldn't be more proud that she trusted me to do it.

And thank you for that Mary Oliver piece. I hadn't encountered that one before.
posted by Wulfgar! at 2:35 PM on April 30, 2004

umm dejah420, Shel's been dead for years.

I did not know that. Now I'm sad. Shel and Dr. Suess are dead. Sigh. Somehow, they both seemed immortal to me. Them, and Mr. Rogers. *sigh*
posted by dejah420 at 10:07 AM on May 1, 2004

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