Yeats and Easter

Easter, 1916

I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

That woman’s days were spent
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When, young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse;
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road.
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone’s in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven’s part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

by William Butler Yeats
courtesy Famous Poets and Poems

Love Poem to a Furry Family Member

Pushkin

The old cat sleeps
in the newly arrived sun. One more spring
has come his way
dropping a solar bath
on failing kidneys, old cat bones.
I check for the rise and fall of breath.

Once he stalked hares
across the yard, tracked down
chicken hearts with split-lentil eyes.
Fearless, disinterested, a poseur, a demideity.
He and the dog are strangers still
after years of eating side by side.

I remember times of wailing
into my couch, alone
and utterly baffled by life,
when suddenly a cat
would be sitting on my head.

Last week I pulled him snarling
from under a chair in Dr. Bacon's office,
held him while she examined his dull coat,
felt his ribs. Pressed where it hurt.
Eight pounds of fur and bone and mad as hell
but "He's certainly less anxious in your lap,"
she murmured, astonishing me.
I had no idea. Old cat, old friend,
have I reached some place inside,
added to your life
as you have to mine?

by Marjorie Kowalski Cole

from Inside, Outside, Morningside. © Ester Republic Press, 2009. 

courtesy poets.org

Any Time is the Right Time for a Little Poe

A Dream Within a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow:

You are not wrong who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.  

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand—

How few! yet how they creep  

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep--while I weep!

O God! can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?


by Edgar Allen Poe
courtesy poets.org

Happy National Poetry Month!

Welcome to the first of a month-long celebration of poetry.  I hope you like this poem.  If you have a suggestion for a poem to share, drop me a line either in the comments section of this blog or drop me an e-mail.

You know who you are, so I won't name names  — but take this to heart, all you who love those whom I love!

To My Son's Girlfriend

I'm tempted to ask
what you see in him.
Although you probably
see the good that I see
I wonder if you realize
how much he is my handiwork,
or which of the qualities
you daydream about in class
are the ones that I take pride in,
his cordiality, for example,
or love of silliness.

It's uncomfortable for me
to think of anyone else
loving him the way I do,
possessing him in a way
that only his mother and I
have ever possessed him,
and I can't deny being jealous,
not so much reluctant
to share or relinquish him
as resolved to remind you
that he's been around
longer than your love,
under construction if you will,
and that each cute trait
or whatever occurs to you
when you hear his name
I feel proprietary about,
like a woodworker
who makes a table
intending to sell it
but prays that no buyer
will recognize its worth.

by Michael Milburn

from Drive By Heart. © Word Press, 2009. 

courtesy The Writer's Almanac

My First Stop for Filling in the Gaps: The Lost Symbol

I've been pretending to start reading the first of my Fill in the Gaps books any day now.

Oh, I've read some good books lately, and those of you who have stopped by From One Book Lover have read about them.  However, none have been on my Fill in the Gaps list. And, frankly, that's a problem: how in the world can I get them all read in time?  I'm in trouble!

Until now.

Of the 100 books on my list, none have jumped off the shelves and into my hands — until....

Drum roll, please:

The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown.

Bless the library for having a copy on the shelves when I dropped off my other books a few days ago.  (I've been scanning the bargain tables, but so far, alas, no symbol — and with as quickly as I devour his books, I need 'em discounted, like cheap junk food for a sugar high.)

I've already set aside a little time this weekend to get lost in the book.  I've enjoyed his other novels, so I suspect his magic will still hold.

What are you reading?

Poem to Celebrate Spring

In the Memphis Airport

Above the concourse, from a beam,
A little warbler pours forth song.
Beneath her, hurried humans stream:
Some draw wheeled suitcases along
Or from a beeping belt or purse
Apply a cell phone to an ear;
Some pause at banks of monitors
Where times and gates for flights appear.

Although by nature flight-endowed,
She seems too gentle to reproach
These souls who soon will climb through cloud
In first class, business class, and coach.
She may feel that it’s her mistake
She’s here, but someone ought to bring
A net to catch and help her make
Her own connections north to spring.

She cheeps and trills on, swift and sweet,
Though no one outside hears her strains.
There, telescopic tunnels greet
The cheeks of their arriving planes;
A ground crew welcomes and assists
Luggage that skycaps, treating bags
Like careful ornithologists,
Banded with destination tags.

by Timothy Steele

courtesy poets.org

New Year's Resolution, Part Deux

On the Ides of March, the question arises: how are the New Year's resolutions coming along?  Only time will tell, and now is the time to tell!

I want to read more.
If I chose shorter books, I'd have a greater number of books under my belt.  Instead, I choose books like Black Hills (from the author of Drood) and The Swan Thieves by Elizabeth Kostova, which aren't modest tomes.  I have finalized my Fill in the Gap list, and have quite a selection of modest books from which to choose.  (I keep promising to start Dracula soon. Maybe tomorrow?) 

I finally found what sounds like the perfect H.P. Lovecraft book: Bloodcurdling Tales of Horror and the Macabre.  David has told me I can't read it at night, especially since it was touted as having sixteen of Lovecraft's "most horrifying visions."  The cover alone is disturbing.  Bring it on!

I want to listen to more music.
Nikki's recent visit was a lovely reminder about the great music on the radio today.  We jammed to Lady Gaga, The Black Eyed Peas and Beyonce — plus one by Lady Gaga and Beyonce, very cool. Nikki knows all the words, which was a lot of fun.  I may not be there anytime soon, but I can sing a chorus or two.

However, it's not all roses and happiness. I listened to Ke$ha's song "Blah Blah Blah" and I thought, "I'm sure I heard it wrong."  Then Rachael talked about some new pop music she recently heard and, yes, Rachael confirmed that what I heard was what I heard.  I have a question for the radio station: since when is THAT kind of language allowed on the air?  Yes, that may be a man's nickname, but not in that context.

I also am appalled by the lyrics of most Pitbull songs I have heard, but I am totally sucked into the beat.  Sigh.  Can I listen and still be able to champion the dignity of women?

I want to listen to music more.
Chez Cohen now rings with the tunes from yet another Nickelback album, and David and I got tickets to see Jeff Beck, one of the most talented guitarists on the planet (except for Philip Cohen).  The next few months will be filled with live Eddie from Ohio, Nickelback, Julie Murphy Wells and more.

In the meantime, the iPod is on with plenty of Aretha, Dr. Horrible — and did I mention Nickelback?

I want to write more letters.
The 2010 letter-writing campaign begins tomorrow with a letter to Mom.  Then there's the Christmas newsletter I will write for public consumption.  Soon.  (Hey, at least now you have a chance to read it!)

I want to run faster.
Now that the weather will permit running without a perilous dance on the ice, I look forward to breaking in a new pair of running shoes.  Last week when the weather broke, I took to the streets — and promptly developed blisters.  (Two on one foot! Talk about a wake-up call for new shoes....)

My new Asics will grace the streets of Fairfax soon, and you'll see me limping around as my legs mutter, "Oh, that's the painful stuff you do to us on a regular basis!  Now I remember!"  If you're in the car, slow down: I can't move that fast.  Yet.


So, which of your resolutions have survived intact? Which have you abandoned or postponed?  C'mon, you can tell me!