Saturday, May 16, 2015

Summer Reading Club: Go Wild in 2015!

Are you ready for some reading?

Get your books in a row in time for the Summer Reading Club.

There are lots of reasons to enjoy a summer read. You can use it to catch up on the good stuff you think is too Fluff 'n Trash™ for the rest of the year. Maybe it's time to focus on one genre, the one you never admit to in mixed company. Maybe you just want to walk into the library once a week and pick up the first book that looks good.

For whatever reason, indulge. Read all summer, and enjoy yourself.

And maybe win a book.

That's right: if you are the book club member who reads the most books, you will win a new book.

The reading period is from Memorial Day through the end of summer. This year, let's choose Friday, May 22 through Sunday, September 27.

Send me your list any time you're ready. I'll publish mine by the end of May.

Join the club: read all summer!

Thursday, April 30, 2015

The Lake Isle of Innisfree — Poem in Your Pocket Day during National Poetry Month!


Print this poem and stick it in your pocket for Poem in Your Pocket Day!

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping
     slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket
     sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
 
by W. B. Yeats 
courtesy poets.org

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Dulce et Decorum Est — National Poetry Month









Dulce Et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.


by Wilfred Owen
courtesy War Poetry

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Power — National Poetry Month



Listen to writer Cheryl Strayed speak about this poem, and power, and poetry, via Brain Pickings.
Power

Living in the earth-deposits of our history

Today a backhoe divulged out of a crumbling flank of earth
one bottle amber perfect a hundred-year-old
cure for fever or melancholy a tonic
for living on this earth in the winters of this climate.

Today I was reading about Marie Curie:
she must have known she suffered from radiation sickness
her body bombarded for years by the element
she had purified
It seems she denied to the end
the source of the cataracts on her eyes
the cracked and suppurating skin of her finger-ends
till she could no longer hold a test-tube or a pencil

She died a famous woman denying
her wounds
denying
her wounds came from the same source as her power.
 
by Adrienne Rich
courtesy Brain Pickings  

Monday, April 27, 2015

There is no frigate like a book — National Poetry Month



There is no frigate like a book (1263)

There is no Frigate like a Book  
To take us Lands away,  
Nor any Coursers like a Page  
Of prancing Poetry –   
This Traverse may the poorest take         
Without oppress of Toll –   
How frugal is the Chariot  
That bears a Human soul.
 
by Emily Dickinson
courtesy poets.org 

Sunday, April 26, 2015

Trans- during National Poetry Month



I read a "joke" by an athlete who competed against Bruce Jenner that he was upset that he lost an Olympic competition to a woman. It's not funny. It's demeaning and sexist. Women are not inferior athletes, or inferior anything. Knock it off. Now.

Trans-

I work a lot and live far less than I could,
but the moon is beautiful and there are
blue stars . . . . I live the chaste song of my heart.
—Garcia Lorca to Emilia Llanos Medinor,
November 25, 1920
The moon is in doubt
over whether to be
a man or a woman.

There’ve been rumors,
all manner of allegations,
bold claims and public lies: 

He’s belligerent. She’s in a funk.
When he fades, the world teeters.
When she burgeons, crime blossoms.

O how the operatic impulse wavers!
Dip deep, my darling, into the blank pool.


by Rita Dove
courtesy poets.org

Saturday, April 25, 2015

Insomnia — National Poetry Month



Insomnia

The moon in the bureau mirror
looks out a million miles
(and perhaps with pride, at herself,
but she never, never smiles)
far and away beyond sleep, or
perhaps she's a daytime sleeper.

By the Universe deserted,
she'd tell it to go to hell,
and she'd find a body of water,
or a mirror, on which to dwell.
So wrap up care in a cobweb
and drop it down the well

into that world inverted
where left is always right,
where the shadows are really the body,
where we stay awake all night,
where the heavens are shallow as the sea
is now deep, and you love me. 



by Elizabeth Bishop
courtesy Poem Hunter