a particular friend of mine, who has just lost her father, might appreciate this statement of grief and celebration from a fellow traveler, who is mourning his own father’s death. We might all appreciate such resilient, joyous gratitude. Here is a poem by the poet Ross Gay: Continue reading “It Occurs To Me That”
as we try to appease the trickster spirits this Halloween weekend, when our demons and grave beings haunt us again
we might all appreciate the kindly voice of Experience. Relax, the poet Ellen Bass tells us: Continue reading “It Occurs To Me That”
as we enter the summer season of blockbuster movies and special effects, we might appreciate the violent history of a little known skirmish in early American history
in this season of unlikely miracles, we might enjoy the occasion to add to our concepts of spirituality:
Unlike the mirroring eyes, the pom pom heart,
I’m opaque, an oaf with no taste for driven individuation.
I’m blamed a lot these days,
I dumb down your cheekbones,
I assuage your nerves, calmed with my myelin sheathes,
your cells are founded upon my lipids. Continue reading “It Occurs To Me That”
this might be the perfect season to display Emily Dickinson’s talents as a nature poet—for which she is not often overtly credited. She seems at times to have required of herself a very particular scrutiny of the natural world outside her bedroom window—which allowed her to identify what she was watching, without ever naming it. And since, of course, none of her poems have titles, there are no clues to be found there either.
So the three poems I am offering are, therefore, riddles. Because we can see what she herself saw, you will have to attend to the evidence as she presents it, and arrive by inductive steps at your own recognition. The first one is easy (or should be): Continue reading “It Occurs To Me That”
we might all enjoy an accidental rendezvous, a chance encounter that adds to our day, and so, with that in mind, here is a poem by Aracelis Girmay, from her collection Kingdom Animalia:
Because she has a name
in the book of my family, the book
of my father’s brain & chest,
because everyone who looks
at the old photograph of the birdish
& beautiful child always says
the same thing: Zewdit.
I believe I have an aunt named Zewdit Continue reading “It Occurs To Me That”