Poetry and Photo Friday

For the first time in a long time I had both of the older two kiddos do some memorization this week.  Jazz headed straight for Where the Sidewalk Ends to find a poem that should have been appropriate for April:

RAIN

   I opened my eyes
   And looked up at the rain,
   And it dripped in my head
   And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

   I step very softly,
   I walk very slow,
   I can't do a handstand--
   I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.

by Shel Silverstein

But I think that, given the date and what our backyard currently looks like (see photos below), this one is more appropriate:

OH HAVE YOU HEARD

Oh have you head it's time for vaccinations?
I think someone put salt in your tea.
They're giving us eleven-month vacations.
And Florida has sunk into the sea.

Oh have you heard the President has measles?
The principal has just burned down the school.
Your hair is full of ants and purple weasels--
                  APRIL FOOL!


by Shel Silverstein

Poetry Friday - Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979)

It was Elizabeth Bishop's birthday on Tuesday (and also the grandfather of science fiction, Jules Verne's), so, to help celebrate both it and Poetry Friday,  here is another work by the Massachusetts-born poet:

Five Flights Up

Still dark.

The unknown bird sits on his usual branch.

The little dog next door barks in his sleep

inquiringly, just once.

Perhaps in his sleep, too, the bird inquires

once or twice, quavering.

Questions--if that is what they are--

answered directly, simply,

by day itself.

Enormous morning, ponderous, meticulous;

gray light streaking each bare branch,

each single twig, along one side,

making another tree, of glassy veins...

The bird still sits there. Now he seems to yawn.

The little black dog runs in his yard.

His owner's voice arises, stern,

"You ought to be ashamed!"

What has he done?

He bounces cheerfully up and down;

he rushes in circles in the fallen leaves.

Obviously, he has no sense of shame.

He and the bird know everything is answered,

all taken care of,

no need to ask again.

--Yesterday brought to today so lightly!

(A yesterday I find almost impossible to lift.)

I posted a poem of Bishop's about music two years ago around this same time of year.  Read that one here.

Poetry Friday is being hosted today by Carol at Reading Is Fundamental.

Poetry Friday: Mary Oliver, again

White Eyes
by Mary Oliver

In winter

    all the singing is in

         the tops of the trees

             where the wind-bird

with its white eyes

    shoves and pushes

         among the branches.

             Like any of us

he wants to go to sleep,

    but he's restless—

         he has an idea,

             and slowly it unfolds

from under his beating wings

    as long as he stays awake.

         But his big, round music, after all,

             is too breathy to last.

Read the rest here.

Poetry Friday is being hosted today at Check It Out.  Enjoy!

Poetry Friday: Mary Oliver (b.1935)

Breakage
by Mary Oliver

I go down to the edge of the sea.

How everything shines in the morning light!

The cusp of the whelk,

the broken cupboard of the clam,

the opened, blue mussels,

moon snails, pale pink and barnacle scarred—

and nothing at all whole or shut, but tattered, split,

dropped by the gulls onto the gray rocks and all the moisture gone.

It's like a schoolhouse

of little words,

thousands of words.

First you figure out what each one means by itself,

the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop

       full of moonlight.

Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story.

Poetry Friday is being hosted today at Carol's Corner.  Check it out!

Poetry Friday: Elizabeth Barrett Browning

The Best Thing in the World

What's the best thing in the world?
June-rose, by May-dew impearled;
Sweet south-wind, that means no rain;
Truth, not cruel to a friend;
Pleasure, not in haste to end;
Beauty, not self-decked and curled
Till its pride is over-plain;
Love, when, so, you're loved again.
What's the best thing in the world?
--Something out of it, I think.

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

While I'm not sure yet whether or not the poem plays a pivotal role in Maisie Dobbs's investigation of the death of American cartographer Michael Clifton, I did enjoy coming across this gem while reading The Mapping of Love and Death, by Jacqueline Winspear, just last night.  I especially love the word "impearled," and hope to work it into conversation during the weekend's festivities somehow. ☺

Poetry Friday is being hosted this week at The Miss Rumphius Effect.

Poetry Friday: Haiku

My eldest child gave me a book of Japanese Haiku for Mother's Day (how well he knows me!) and I've been enjoying reading it.  Here are a few favorites so far:

On the surface

of petal-covered water--

frogs' eyes

-Füsei

Recited on and on,

the poems of the frogs

have too many syllables

-Eiji

Its face

looks like a horse--

the grasshopper

-Anonymous

Flower petals

set the mountain in motion--

cherry blossoms

-Höitsu

photo by O.L.K. (age 12)

The book is Haiku--an Anthology of Japanese Poems.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Laura Salas at Writing the World for Kids.

Poetry Friday - Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)

Fern Hill, by Dylan Thomas

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
     The night above the dingle starry,
          Time let me hail and climb
     Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
          Trail with daisies and barley
     Down the rivers of the windfall light.

Read the rest here.


My favorite line from Fern Hill is from the third verse: "As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away. . ." 


Molly would approve.


John Corigliano (The Red Violin) has a setting of Fern Hill with some truly lovely harmonies and interesting rhythms that are fun to sing.  The clip below will give you a small, small taste of the eighteen minute work.  Visit lala.com to hear the piece in its entirety.

Poetry Friday is being hosted this week at 7-Imp.

Poetry Friday - George Meredith (1828-1909)

I'm continuing to enjoy links between music and poetry as Poetry Month advances.  Sad to say, when I played The Lark Ascending for my senior recital (cough, twenty years ago, cough), I never read the poem by which Vaughan Williams was inspired, but I'm very glad to have found it now.  It's definitely a poem to take in slowly.  The words seem to beat like the wings of the bird Meredith describes and I find I need to pause and rest in the midst of them.

The Lark Ascending

HE rises and begins to round,
He drops the silver chain of sound
Of many links without a break,
In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake,
All intervolv’d and spreading wide,	5
Like water-dimples down a tide
Where ripple ripple overcurls
And eddy into eddy whirls;
A press of hurried notes that run
So fleet they scarce are more than one,	10
Yet changingly the trills repeat
And linger ringing while they fleet,
Sweet to the quick o’ the ear, and dear
To her beyond the handmaid ear. . .

Read the rest here.

The piece for violin and orchestra, like much, if not most, of the music of Vaughan Williams, is evocative of the English countryside, and it has been recorded by many violinists of note.  A recent CD by Nicola Benedetti includes the piece, and it is one of my favorite recordings of the work that I've heard so far.  But an mp3 version is not available to date, and the CD is an import, hence the hefty price tag.  You can enjoy some of the piece in the soloist's official music video of the piece, here on YouTube (non-embeddable, or I'd include it here), or listen to part of it on her website.

Here, however, is part one of the piece as played by the equally talented Janine Jansen:




This week's Poetry Friday round-up is being held at Paper Tigers.

Poetry Friday - Sara Teasdale, again

Another little bit of serendipity came my way this week in the area of music meets poetry. Last week my PF post was a poem by Sara Teasdale ("April"), and three days later I sat down in a choir rehearsal to begin working on a song called "A Blessing," by New Zealand-born composer David N. Childs (SATB, piano, flute; published by Santa Barbara Music Publishing, Inc.). The lyrics just happen to be based on another poem by Sara Teasdale that I find very moving:

Peace
Sara Teasdale

Peace flows into me
As the tide to the pool by the shore;
It is mine forevermore,
It ebbs not back like the sea.

I am the pool of blue
That worships the vivid sky;
My hopes were heaven-high,
They are all fulfilled in you.

I am the pool of gold
When sunset burns and dies--
You are my deepening skies,
Give me your stars to hold.

Poetry Friday is being hosted today at Becky's Book Reviews.

Poetry Friday - Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)

April
Sara Teasdale

The roofs are shining from the rain,
The sparrows twitter as they fly,
And with a windy April grace
The little clouds go by.

Yet the back yards are bare and brown
With only one unchanging tree--
I could not be so sure of Spring
Save that it sings in me.



My sentiments exactly.

Poetry Friday is being hosted today at Carol's Corner.

Poetry Friday - John David (b.1946)

"You Are the New Day"
by John David

I will love you more than me
and more than yesterday
if you can but prove to me
you are the new day.

Send the sun in time for dawn,
let the birds all hail the morning.
Love of life will urge me say,
you are the new day.

When I lay me down at night
knowing we must pay,
thoughts occur that this night might
stay yesterday.

Thoughts that we as humans small
could slow worlds and end it all
lie around me where they fall
before the new day.

One more day when time is running out
for ev'ryone,
like a breath I knew would come
I reach for a new day

Hope is my philosophy,
just needs days in which to be,
love of life means hope for me,
born on a new day.

Well, I don't know if it stands alone enough as a poem, but Welsh songwriter John David's song is very moving, especially as sung by The King's Singers (try to ignore Barney and the Teletubbies--I do):



The local community chorus with which I sing is singing an SATB arrangement (by former King's Singers member Peter Knight) of this song in our upcoming spring concert, along with some other lovely choices.

Poetry Friday is being hosted today by children's book author Julie Larios over at The Drift Record.

Poetry Friday - Nancy White Carlstrom

Today, in honor of Alaska's Last Great Race, the 2009 Iditarod, which begins tomorrow at 10 a.m. Alaska time (2 p.m. EST), I am posting the "spring" part of a poem celebrating the four seasons by Nancy White Carlstrom, from her book, Midnight Dance of the Snowshoe Hare--Poems of Alaska (1998), with the author's permission. The book's lovely illustrations are by Ken Kuroi.

from "Raven Cries River"
by Nancy White Carlstrom

Snowshoe Hare, white on light,
Sled Dog dreaming big race
Grouse family comic
Roosting tree like joke
Red Squirrel carries sunshine.
Gangly Moose
Dangling new buds
Stamping mud from snowmelt.

And Raven,
Bold rascal Raven
Cries River
Ice chunks crashing
Water rushing
Spring breakup!

The rest of the poem tells of each of the other three seasons from the animals' perspectives. The other poems in the book are also told in the voices of various Snowshoe Hare--young ones, wise grandfather hare, and others. Carlstrom's usually spare verse doesn't verge into cutesieness, so, although this book is likely aimed at the four to eight crowd, older readers will also enjoy it.

We've read the Jesse Bear books by Carlstrom, and have copies of Who Said BOO? Halloween Poems for the Very Young and Thanksgiving Day at Our House--Thanksgiving Poems forthe Very Young that we get out each fall. The author has a website, with a list of the Jesse Bear books, plus a list of all of her other books to date.

For more of my posts about the Iditarod, including lists of books, dvds, and other resources concerning the race, Alaska, and the Arctic, visit one of my other blogs, Rockhound Place.

Poetry Friday is being hosted today at Picture Book of the Day. Check it out!

Poetry Friday - Dante, and more

"Divine Geometry"
from Dante's Divine Comedy
translated by Dorothy L. Sayers

As the geometer his mind applies
To square the circle, not for all his wit
Finds the right formula, howe'er he tries,

So strove I with wonder--how to fit
The image of the sphere; so sought to see
How it maintained the point of rest in it.

Thither my own wings could not carry me,
But that a flash my understanding clove,
Whence its desire came to it suddenly.

High phantasy lost power and here broke off;
Yet as a wheel moves smoothly, free from jars
My will and my desire were turned by love,

The love that moves the sun and the other stars.








from The Pythagorean Liturgy

Though in noon's heaven no star you see,
Know well that many there must be.
And with your soul's extended ears
You'll hear the music of the spheres.

Read about Pythagoreanism here. And for an interesting look (and listen) at one man's attempt to hear literally the planets as they orbit the sun, visit Carmen of the Spheres.

Poetry Friday is being hosted today at The Holly and the Ivy. Head on over and check it out!

Poetry Friday - Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

After the Dazzle of Day
Walt Whitman

After the dazzle of day is gone,
Only the dark dark night shows
to my eyes the stars;
After the clangor of organ majestic,
or chorus, or perfect band,
Silent, athwart my soul, moves the
symphony true.

The Walt Whitman Archive has an incredible amount of information, photos, and, of course, the works of the poet--definitely worth a visit, so mosey on over if you have the inclination. There is even a photo of Whitman's original manuscript of this poem, among others.

Poetry Friday is being hosted at Big A little a. Check it out!

Poetry Friday - Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979)

I Am in Need of Music
Elizabeth Bishop

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

I'm continuing in my quest to find poetry about music. Elizabeth Bishop was born not too far from here, in Worcester, MA, though throughout her life she traveled far and wide, and her poems often reflect this fact.

Poetry Friday is being hosted today at Wild Rose Reader.

Poetry Friday - Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)

Snow in the Suburbs
by Thomas Hardy

Every branch big with it,
Bent every twig with it;
Every fork like a white web-foot;
Every street and pavement mute:
Some flakes have lost their way, and grope back upward when
Meeting those meandering down they turn and descend again.
The palings are glued together like a wall,
And there is no waft of wind with the fleecy fall.
A sparrow enters the tree,
Whereon immediately
A snow-lump thrice his own slight size
Descends on him and showers his head and eye
And overturns him,
And near inurns him,
And lights on a nether twig, when its brush
Starts off a volley of other lodging lumps with a rush.
The steps are a blanched slope,
Up which, with feeble hope,
A black cat comes, wide-eyed and thin;
And we take him in.

I posted this poem today at the request of ds (11 - today!). Besides being a favorite poem of his, he wants to know if "inurns" is right or if "inturns" as is in one of our poetry books is correct. Thoughts? Links? Comments? All welcome. : )

Poetry Friday is being hosted today at Adventures in Daily Living.

Poetry Friday - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

The Arrow and the Song
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I know not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I know not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

These words have been set to music many, many times, usually for solo voice and piano. Two better known composers that have written art songs with this text are Charles Gounod (who also wrote a setting of Ave Maria with Bach's C major Prelude, BWV 846, as the accompaniment) and New England's own Amy Beach.

Poetry Friday is being hosted today by Laura Purdie Salas. Check it out!

Music Monday - Everyone Sang

I just found out today that, in a happy bit of kismet, the poem I posted on my other blog, A Habit of Reading, for last week's Poetry Friday, serves as the text for a lovely choral work from 1975 that the community chorus I sing with will be performing this spring. The author of the text is British poet Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967), and the composer is fellow Brit Peter Willsher (b. 1951). This clip is from the BBC's 2008 Remembrance Sunday episode of Songs of Praise.

Poetry Friday - Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967)

Everyone Sang
by Siegfried Sassoon

Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom,
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark-green fields; on - on - and out of sight.

Everyone's voice was suddenly lifted;
And beauty came like the setting sun:
My heart was shaken with tears; and horror
Drifted away. . . O, but Everyone
Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never
be done.

Look here for more about this 20th century English poet, and be sure to check out the external links at the bottom of the page. Many resources for learning more about the poet and links to his poems online are included.

Poetry Friday is being hosted today by Karen Edmisten.

Poetry Friday - Elizabeth Coatsworth (1893-1986)

Cat on a Night of Snow
by Elizabeth Coatsworth

Cat, if you go outdoors you must walk in the snow.
You will come back with little white shoes on your feet,
little white shoes of snow that have heels of sleet.
Stay by the fire, my Cat. Lie still, do not go.
See how the flames are leaping and hissing low.
I will bring you a saucer of milk like a marguerite,
so white and so smooth, so spherical and so sweet--
stay with me, Cat. Outdoors the wild winds blow.

Outdoors, the wild winds blow, Mistress, and dark is the night,
strange voices cry in the trees, intoning strange lore,
and more than cats move, lit by our eyes' green light,
on silent feet where the meadow grasses hang hoar--
Mistress, there are portents abroad of magic and might,
and things that are yet to be done. Open the door!

Elizabeth Coatsworth was an American author of more than sixty children's books, including Newbery Medal Winner, The Cat Who Went to Heaven.

Poetry Friday is being hosted today at Picture Book of the Day. Check it out!