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 

Poetry Wednesday: Happy Birthday, Emily Dickinson

"Arcturus" is his other name

"Arcturus" is his other name—
I'd rather call him "Star."
It's very mean of Science
To go and interfere!

I slew a worm the other day—
A "Savant" passing by
Murmured "Resurgam"—"Centipede"!
"Oh Lord—how frail are we"!

I pull a flower from the woods—
A monster with a glass
Computes the stamens in a breath—
And has her in a "class"!

Whereas I took the Butterfly
Aforetime in my hat—
He sits erect in "Cabinets"—
The Clover bells forgot.

What once was "Heaven"
Is "Zenith" now—
Where I proposed to go
When Time's brief masquerade was done
Is mapped and charted too.

What if the poles should frisk about
And stand upon their heads!
I hope I'm ready for "the worst"—
Whatever prank betides!

Perhaps the "Kingdom of Heaven's" changed—
I hope the "Children" there Won't be "new fashioned" when I come—
And laugh at me—and stare—

I hope the Father in the skies
Will lift his little girl—
Old fashioned—naught—everything—
Over the stile of "Pearl."

— Emily Dickinson

Courtesy Poem Hunter

National Poetry Month: Because I Could Not Stop My Bike

Because I Could Not Stop My Bike, and other poems by Karen Jo Shapiro (with delightful illustrations by Matt Faulkner) features complimentary, poems written "with apologies" to the original poet. See if you can guess who received the apology for the title poem:

Because I could not stop my bike
it kindly stopped for me.
Unluckily, it did not stop
until I hit a tree.

How fast we rode; at what a speed
I pedaled down the hill!
I did not know the brakes were stuck
until I took that spill.

I must admit, it was a thrill
to feel so fast and free —
I think we would br whissing still
If we'd not hit that tree!

Bill Murray and Poetry

No, that's not the punchline, but a great video.

Members of the construction team which built Poets House's new home joined actor Bill Murray in May 2009 for the first poetry reading at 10 River Terrace. If you want to read the whole story, click here.

Here are the poems he read:

Poet’s work

Grandfather   

   advised me:

         Learn a trade

I learned

   to sit at desk

         and condense

No layoff

   from this

         condensery

by Lorine Niedecker

 

I dwell in Possibility-- (#657)

I dwell in Possibility--
A fairer House than Prose--
More numerous of Windows--
Superior--for Doors--

Of Chambers as the Cedars--
Impregnable of Eye--
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky--

Of Visitors--the fairest--
For Occupation--This--
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise--  

by Emily Dickinson

Which Poet Will You Be for Hallowe'en?

If you're anything like me, right about now you're poking through your closet trying to figure out exactly what or who in the world you can dress up like for that Hallowe'en party or to accompany your family trick-or-treating on Hallowe'en night.

Well, look no further! The Academy of American Poets has costume ideas galore for the poetry lover. A white nightgown, a collection of folded papers and flies will transform you into Emily Dickenson. A lyre will make you Sappho. Gather up butterflies and a beard and violá! Walt Whitman is walking down your staircase.

Okay, maybe a ribbon will help, or perhaps a wheelbarrow or a stethoscope may be needed for a more complete transformation (or if you've changed your mind to become William Carlos Williams).

At any rate, consider your options. I'm sure you'd make a lovely Emily or Edgar, and the opportunity to share poetry will just guild the lily. (Visit the Academy of American Poets Web site for your favorites.)

Amethyst Remembrance

As my GemsTV ring rests on my finger, the amethyst sparkling in the light, I thank Tammy Powley of www.jewelryandbeading.com for reminding me about this gem by Emily Dickinson.

XXXIII

I HELD a jewel in my fingers
And went to sleep.
The day was warm, and winds were prosy;
I said: “’T will keep.”

I woke and chid my honest fingers,—
The gem was gone;
And now an amethyst remembrance
Is all I own.

by Emily Dickinson
Complete Poems, published in 1924, courtesy of Bartleby.com: Great Books Online