Don't You Wonder, Sometimes? • National Poetry Month

Don't You Wonder, Sometimes?

          1.

After dark, stars glisten like ice, and the distance they span

Hides something elemental. Not God, exactly. More like

Some thin-hipped glittering Bowie-being—a Starman

Or cosmic ace hovering, swaying, aching to make us see.

And what would we do, you and I, if we could know for sure

That someone was there squinting through the dust,

Saying nothing is lost, that everything lives on waiting only

To be wanted back badly enough? Would you go then,

Even for a few nights, into that other life where you

And that first she loved, blind to the future once, and happy?

Would I put on my coat and return to the kitchen where my

Mother and father sit waiting, dinner keeping warm on the stove?

Bowie will never die. Nothing will come for him in his sleep

Or charging through his veins. And he’ll never grow old,

Just like the woman you lost, who will always be dark-haired

And flush-faced, running toward an electronic screen

That clocks the minutes, the miles left to go. Just like the life

In which I’m forever a child looking out my window at the night sky

Thinking one day I’ll touch the world with bare hands

Even if it burns.

          2.

He leaves no tracks. Slips past, quick as a cat. That’s Bowie

For you: the Pope of Pop, coy as Christ. Like a play

Within a play, he’s trademarked twice. The hours

Plink past like water from a window A/C. We sweat it out,

Teach ourselves to wait. Silently, lazily, collapse happens.

But not for Bowie. He cocks his head, grins that wicked grin.

Time never stops, but does it end? And how many lives

Before take-off, before we find ourselves

Beyond ourselves, all glam-glow, all twinkle and gold?

The future isn’t what it used to be. Even Bowie thirsts

For something good and cold. Jets blink across the sky

Like migratory souls.

          3.

Bowie is among us. Right here

In New York City. In a baseball cap

And expensive jeans. Ducking into

A deli. Flashing all those teeth

At the doorman on his way back up.

Or he’s hailing a taxi on Lafayette

As the sky clouds over at dusk.

He’s in no rush. Doesn’t feel

The way you’d think he feels.

Doesn’t strut or gloat. Tells jokes.

I’ve lived here all these years

And never seen him. Like not knowing

A comet from a shooting star.

But I’ll bet he burns bright,

Dragging a tail of white-hot matter

The way some of us track tissue

Back from the toilet stall. He’s got

The whole world under his foot,

And we are small alongside,

Though there are occasions

When a man his size can meet

Your eyes for just a blip of time

And send a thought like SHINE

SHINE SHINE SHINE SHINE

Straight to your mind. Bowie,

I want to believe you. Want to feel

Your will like the wind before rain.

The kind everything simply obeys,

Swept up in that hypnotic dance

As if something with the power to do so

Had looked its way and said:

                                                     Go ahead.

by Tracy K. Smith

from Life on Mars

Courtesy Poetry Foundation

Walking the Dog • National Poetry Month

Thanks to Bob for sharing this new-favorite poem. 

Walking The Dog

Two universes mosey down the street
Connected by love and a leash and nothing else.
Mostly I look at lamplight through the leaves
While he mooches along with tail up and snout down,
Getting a secret knowledge through the nose
Almost entirely hidden from my sight.

We stand while he's enraptured by a bush
Till I can't stand our standing any more
And haul him off; for our relationship
Is patience balancing to this side tug
And that side drag; a pair of symbionts
Contented not to think each other's thoughts.

What else we have in common's what he taught,
Our interest in shit. We know its every state
From steaming fresh through stink to nature's way
Of sluicing it downstreet dissolved in rain
Or drying it to dust that blows away.
We move along the street inspecting shit.

His sense of it is keener far than mine,
And only when he finds the place precise
He signifies by sniffing urgently
And circles thrice about, and squats, and shits,
Whereon we both with dignity walk home
And just to show who's master I write the poem.

by Howard Nemerov 

courtesy of Poem Hunter


Got a favorite poem you'd like to share? Send it to me and I'll include it in the poems published during National Poetry Month!

When I Am Among the Trees • National Poetry Month

Thanks to Louse for sharing this lovely poem — and making me want to read more!

When I Am Among the Trees

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
 but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

by Mary Oliver

won't you celebrate with me? • National Poetry Month

won't you celebrate with me?

won’t you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.

by Lucille Clifton
Courtesy The Poetry Foundation

Song • National Poetry Month

Welcome to National Poetry Month! Check back here at Hedgehog Lover for a new poem every day in April — and send me your favorite poem, or one that catches your attention, or the poem you memorized in high school, or... you get it.

To get us started, here is a poem shared with me by Mike.

Song A rowan like a lipsticked girl.

Between the by-road and the main road

Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance

Stand off among the rushes.

There are the mud-flowers of dialect

And the immortelles of perfect pitch

And that moment when the bird sings very close

To the music of what happens. by Seamus Heaney courtesy University of New Mexico

Poetry: Heal the Cracks in the Bell of the World

Heal the Cracks in the Bell of the World

                    For the community of Newtown, Connecticut,
                    where twenty students and six educators lost their
                    lives to a gunman at Sandy Hook Elementary
                    School, December 14, 2012

Now the bells speak with their tongues of bronze.
Now the bells open their mouths of bronze to say:
Listen to the bells a world away. Listen to the bell in the ruins
of a city where children gathered copper shells like beach glass,
and the copper boiled in the foundry, and the bell born
in the foundry says: I was born of bullets, but now I sing
of a world where bullets melt into bells. Listen to the bell
in a city where cannons from the armies of the Great War
sank into molten metal bubbling like a vat of chocolate,
and the many mouths that once spoke the tongue of smoke
form the one mouth of a bell that says: I was born of cannons,
but now I sing of a world where cannons melt into bells.

Listen to the bells in a town with a flagpole on Main Street,
a rooster weathervane keeping watch atop the Meeting House,
the congregation gathering to sing in times of great silence.
Here the bells rock their heads of bronze as if to say:
Melt the bullets into bells, melt the bullets into bells.
Here the bells raise their heavy heads as if to say:
Melt the cannons into bells, melt the cannons into bells.
Here the bells sing of a world where weapons crumble deep
in the earth, and no one remembers where they were buried.
Now the bells pass the word at midnight in the ancient language
of bronze, from bell to bell, like ships smuggling news of liberation
from island to island, the song rippling through the clouds.

Now the bells chime like the muscle beating in every chest,
heal the cracks in the bell of every face listening to the bells.
The chimes heal the cracks in the bell of the moon.
The chimes heal the cracks in the bell of the world.

by Martín Espada

From Bullets Into Bells: Poets and Citizens Respond to Gun Violence (Beacon Press, 2017). 
Courtesy poets.org

The Year 2017 in Books: What Rocked, What Did Not

In 2017, I read 60 books. I think.

Keeping track isn't as easy as it should be. Marking e-books as "read" on Goodreads is easy, thanks to a feature that prompts readers to "mark as currently reading" when opening the book and automatically listing them as "read" when flipping the last page.

Alas, print books don't offer the same auto-prompt when a reader cracks the spine. However, I try to remember to record completed print and audio book titles on my cloud drive, and cross-check my drive list against Goodreads from time to time. It's a handy resource to remind myself why a book seems so familiar. (Ahem, Mariana!)

Which is a long way of saying, "In 2017, I am pretty sure I read 60 books, give or take."

It's not a personal best, but it is a healthy number considering my bout of reading ennui this summer. A friend experienced the same thing last year, and I didn't understand until I stood in front of my bookshelves and perused my bursting Kindle and could only muster, "Meh." I managed to recover after a few months by gorging on "junk food" books, mostly rumpled paperback mysteries with titles that had numbers, letters, or other gimmicks. I may not be completely through it, but I feel like I'm on the reading side of my slump.

Of the 60 books I finished in 2017, Goodreads calculates that  I averaged 271 pages per book, so an occasional Inside-Outside Dinosaur balances out Anna Karenina. 

I discovered some interesting graphic novels this year, which were surprisingly substantial. Before I read them, I was known to confuse them with comics. I understand better the differences between the genres (but still counts as "reading," people!).

Here are my top eight favorite books of the year, in no particular order:

• What the Hell Did I Just Read? — The latest raucous David Wong novel, whose title is accurate: I couldn't describe what I read in the book.
  

• Little Fires Everywhere — A storm quietly brewing in suburban Ohio in the 1990s, reminding us how much our world, and expectation of privacy, have changed.

• Uprooted — A new fairy tale with a strong female lead character. (Review here)

• Pride and Prejudice — A wonderful classic that is as good as everyone told me, and I will re-read often. (Related article here)

• Big Little Lies — Kept me going until the last page. If you watch the series, don't skip the book. (And if you read the book, you may not want to watch the series, I've been told.)

• The Inexplicable Logic of My Life — Another fabulous novel by Benjamin Alire Sáenz, who can share the truest, deepest parts of a teenage boy's heart.

• The Handmaid's Tale — Alas, it is not as far-fetched as it seemed when first read it back in 1987.

• Wrinkles — Old people are people, too.

My least favorite books were:

• Origin — One of my favorite authors has fallen asleep at the keyboard, and his latest book is almost a parody of his better tales. (Review here)

• Yesternight — Cat Winters wrote a good book until she went off the rails at Chapter 25.

• The Case Against Sugar — The author made a case, relentlessly, in chapters that started to blend together. The takeaway, in one sentence: sugar is big business, and the sugar industry has worked hard to protect their investment, at the cost of demonizing other food and throwing up smoke screens. 

Here is a complete list of what I read, and the format in which I read it (print 📖, ebook 📲, or audiobook 🎧). 

1. What the Hell Did I Just Read? 📖
2. Do Unto Otters 📖
3. Miracles and Other Christmas Stories 📲
4. Adulthood is a Myth 📲
5. The Little Pup Collection 📲
6. Drama 📲
7. Origin📲
   
8. Little Fires Everywhere 📖
9. One Book in the Grave (Bibliophile Mystery #5) 📖
10. The Tortilla Cat 📖
11. The Magician King 📲
12. Good and Cheap 📲
13. Uprooted 📲 🎧
14. The 5 Second Rule 📲
15. Truly Madly Guilty 📲
16. The Magicians 📲
17. Ghosts 📲
18. Gwendy’s Button Box 📲
19. Can't We Talk About Something More Pleasant? 📲
20. Yesternight 📖
21. Mariana 📲
22. Paws and Effect 📲
23. My Cousin Rachel 📖
    
24. Murder Under Cover (Bibliophile #4) 📖
25. The Graveyard Book Graphic Novel, Vol. 2 📖
26. Forbidden Brides of the Faceless Slaves in the Secret House of the Night of Dread Desire  📖
27. Other Wordly 📖
28. Wrinkles 📖
29. Clockwork Scarab 📲
30. Star Wars: Jedi Academy 1 📲
31. The Case Against Sugar 📲
32. Pride and Prejudice 🎧
33. The Handmaid’s Tale 📲 🎧
34. Forgotten Bones 📖
35. My Best Everything 📖
36. The Lies That Bind (Bibliophile #3) 📖
37. Anna Karenina 📲 🎧
38. Big Little Lies 📖
39. The Inexplicable Logic of My Life 🎧
    
40. Speaking From Among the Bones 📖
41. The Burning Page 📲
42. Ruined 📖
43. Ida, Always 📲
44. The Possession of Mr. Cave 📖
45. The Shadow Land 📖
46. Once Upon a Poem 📖
47. The Masked City 📲
48. The Bookman’s Tale 📲
49. Slumdog Millionaire 🎧
50. The Annotated Godfather 📲
51. Conclave 📖
52. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them 📲
    
53. Congratulations, By the Way📲
54. Cast Iron Nation 📖
55. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 🎧
56. Toss the Gloss 📲
57. Hillbilly Elegy 📖
58. Inside-Outside Dinosaurs 📖
59. A Cookbook Conspiracy 📲
60. Turbo Twenty-Three 📲

Have you read any of these books? Which did you like best, or least?

I just finished two good reads, A Gentleman from Moscow and The Dire King: A Jackaby Novel, and I recommend both. In fact, A Gentleman from Moscow ticks off so many boxes with great finesse I am still enamored, even days after finishing it.

Still on my nightstand: Little Dorrit.

What's on your nightstand?

Let's chatchattingwithchris@gmail.com!