Poetry appreciation and sharing

I know there was a thread (and I am pretty sure it was in ClubRead) where we shared poems we enjoyed. I cannot find the thread. Although I do struggle with the onset of Alzheimer's I am fairly sure I am not imagining the thread. :-)

Be that as it may, perhaps some will now be encouraged to share poetry they are reading and enjoying. I will, for reasons of copyright and fairness to poets, only post poems if they have been previously posted on the Net.

The Persistance of Fatherhood
Paul Zimmer

Yesterday the autumn finished.
I began raking it into piles
Around the house. Sue came out
And called from the distance.
I cupped my ears but could not hear
Through bare winds and branches rattling.

I thought she said,
“Your father’s on the phone,”
And started walking toward
The house, until I remembered
He’s been dead for five years.

Then last night this dream:
Suddenly leaves were children’s clothing,
Blue jeans, caps and flannel shirts.
I raked them up, bent over by sadness,
Fatherhood all used up and gone,
Playthings and storytimes gone,
I swept and piled, doing my duties,
Only this caretaking left to do.

Andrew - Thanks for posting. That poem reaches me. I don't have the right words for it, "poignant" comes to mind. So do many other things.

The old thread is here : http://www.librarything.com/topic/87611 ...despite my recent posts there, it's distinctly dated "April", so we're overdue for a new poetry thread. I've been struggling with Li-Young Lee, sometimes I think I just barely get it. Anyway, I'll to post something soon.

Andrew, thanks for creating this thread. That poem is fantastic, and I think I have a similar reaction to Dan about it.

I'll also post soemthing later this week.

This is the excerpt* I've been meaning to post from Li-Young Lee's collection Book of My Nights. Pardon the dots, I'm starting mid-line.

The last lines from The Well

............................................A Heart,

and not the dark it moves through, not the waves
it births, but, visited by blood, unoccupied,

is the very wheel installing day, the well
from which paired hands set out, happy
to undress a terrifying and abundant yes.

*I'm posting an excerpt partly because of copyright concerns, but alas the full poem is available through google books here: http://books.google.com/books?id=79_bHuHyWBsC&pg=PA18&lpg=PA18&dq=%2...

Praise Them

The birds don't alter space.
They reveal it. The sky
never fills with any
leftover flying. They leave
nothing to trace. It is our own
astonishment collects
in chill air. Be glad.
They equal their due
moment never begging,
and enter ours
without parting day. See
how three birds in a winter tree
make the tree barer.
Two fly away, and new rooms
open in December.
Give up what you guessed
about a whirring heart, the little
beaks and claws, their constant hunger.
We're the nervous ones.
If even one of our violent number
could be gentle
long enough that one of them
found it safe inside
our finally untroubled and untroubling gaze,
who wouldn't hear
what singing completes us?

- Li-Young Lee from Book of My Nights (2001). The poem is posted several places online, including by The Poetry Society of America here: http://www.poetrysociety.org/psa/poetry/birdsandbards/Praise/

I’m still working my way through Book of My Nights. I came across this wonderful poem last night, which stands out partially because – at least I’m getting it a little. I’ve aware that birds in literature may be used as an analogous to heaven and angels, etc. I find it an interesting effect. They can stir up the emotions that come from religion and spirituality without overtly connecting the emotions to god, keeping the effect (somewhat) free of whatever our emotionally loaded bias might be. I’m not sure this applies here, although the title “Praise Them” encourages me to look at it that way; and the concept really changes this poem—especially those first seven lines (’It is our own astonishment. Be Glad.’) and those last couple lines. I had trouble with the grammatical logic of the last two lines – I had to write out a explanation of why they didn’t make any sense to before I could make sense out of them.

And then I love “Give up what you guessed…We’re the nervous ones.”