poem-in-your-pocket day!

ahhh! perhaps my favorite day in the whole of april-- the day i first heard about and started celebrating in new york-- the day when, ideally, EVERYONE walks out the door in the morning with a little slice of poetry in his or her pocket and can therefore ask ANYONE he or she meets on the street to share that poem...two years ago, when i was commuting on the subway every day, i was thrilled to find that on this fun holiday many of my fellow riders did in fact have poems to share-- i met a dylan thomas, a gwendolyn brooks, a few shakespeares, a gary soto, a carl sandberg, and even a jewel (! ha!) all in the space of 6:50 to 7:32 am on the downtown 2 train! last year, i was lucky enough to be teaching english at desert academy in santa fe-- my students were told that if they carried a poem and then, upon being asked to do so read it to me with heart and feeling, they could earn extra credit! the spirit spread around the school more widely than i had anticipated [i particularly remember colin's rilke recitation!] and i wish i could be there this year to spread it even further! games classes at waldorf just don't present the same opportunity....


HOWEVER, i intend to carry a poem in my own pocket today! my selection for this year is a poem that i sent out in my poem-a-day emails back in january-- i hope you forgive me for the repetition :)

get articulate.
move the blood.
attend periphery.
prepare to dance the Open Dance.
learn to gather momentum and
throw it away.
explode into the ordinary and
keep your eyes wide
embrace fear.
suspend doubt.
specify.
simplify.
strengthen.
launch.
float.
dignify the confusion.
visualize the next step.
stick your toe in.
get all wet!

~barbara dilly



for more information about poem-in-your-pocket day, check out...


http://poets.org/page.php/prmID/409

!

living in poetry, as possibility

i don't know if i've ever read a more poetic painting of poetry than emily dickinson's "i dwell in possibility." so inspiringly illustrated and gorgeously evoked, the power of this literary form is praised at its height...i imagine this palace of poetry-- wide open, flooded with a delicious golden glow through its infinite windows and doors and its celestial ceilings...is there anything more paradisal?





I dwell in Possibility – (466)

by Emily Dickinson

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 –


if this doesn't convince a person that life should be lived in the colors of poetry, that it CAN be lived in such a way, then i don't know what will...

today, i intend to dwell, at the very least, in its possibility...

haiku

HAIKU

n., pl., haiku, also -kus.
A Japanese lyric verse form having three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables, traditionally invoking an aspect of nature or the seasons.
A poem written in this form.


When I was student teaching my 7th Grade class at the Clinton School for Writers and Artists in Chelsea two years (!) ago, we had such fun with the poetry unit of our Reading/Writing Workshop; one of the poetic forms, though, that the kids and I both had the most fun with, especially on the writing side was HAIKU-- and I think this is true in many creative writing circles in which poetry is the focus-- these little snapshot poems are so fun in their sense of quick spontaneity, their ability to slice a little sliver of a moment and crystallize it in a rainbowing, sunshine-catching prism of multiple dimensions....and at the same time, they are challenging for this very reason as well! How does one choose that PRECISELY PERFECT word, that syllable that contains within it all of these hues and textures to capture an experience????

Well, my POEM OF THE DAY selection today, the first of my blog-ness :), continues my theme of "poetry about poetry" and in a clever and quite cute (if I can say so!) way, illustrates just how I for one read and write HAIKU...


SEVEN

FIVE

SEVEN

!


So here is today's piece:


Art of the Haiku

by Irving Feldman

His finger then, now yours
here, where master stopped, went back,
counted syllables.




I've figured out that the trick to writing a haiku is, for a long-winded person inclined to the overuse of adjectives and an excessive employment of adverbial phrases: "put whatever you can't fit into the ridiculously rigid (grrrr) 7-5-7 into the TITLE!" ;) So here is a HAIKU I composed in my head during Hot Yoga this morning...


AHEM!

conquering and exalting in Natarajasana (not-ah-raj-AHS-anna)~dancer's pose

raining sweat, rise fierce above
clouds of distraction
defy gravity of mind!




[this is me at a waterfall in a hidden oasis in the anzo borrego desert-- what better place to practice yoga than here!?! or to create poetry, for that matter!]

And just to close this for now, another little one of my favorite haiku; slightly irreverent, but endearingly honest! :)

[all the time I pray to Buddha]by Kobayashi Issa

Kobayashi Issa
All the time I pray to Buddha
I keep on
killing mosquitoes.

[we all stray from that 8 limbed path to enlightenment sometimes!]

WARNING: Haiku writing is a bit of an addicting practice; once one begins finding these little gems in each sight, each smell, each sound and taste and texture, beating out a rhythm of 7-5-7, one may begin speaking only in these syllabic combinations! One wouldn't this be slightly wonderful???

the pre-june gloom...transformed

mist and fog blended dreams with reality as i woke this morning...

immediately, i thought of carl sandberg's "the fog" and crept outside on the deck to watch this morning transform....





....as the sun burst through, slowly but surely, to banish the soft folds of gray to the mountains to the east...but then, what a discovery....



my own fog-cat curled in the outdoor chair to share the cool, damp quiet with me...

[so beautiful, isn't she? she's the neighbor's but clearly likes me more ;)]


The Fog

by Carl Sandberg


The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.