April 2019

29 Apr Reading the Bones

As April, Poetry Month, comes to a close, this will be my last posting of a poem instead of prose on the blog (for a while, at least). Throughout the past month, I've chosen poems of mine that are about the making of art, specifically poetry, itself. That's true, too, of the work below.

22 Apr The Political is Personal: Two for Poetry Month

This year during April (designated by the Library of Congress Poetry Month), I've been offering us all a break from prose, instead devoting the blog to some of my older poems—specifically poems about the making of poetry itself, even though these two below diverge slightly from that theme. The first, a light verse (growing darker) piece titled, "On the Watergate Women," was written in the 1970s but seemed ripe for revisiting this particular week, although some younger readers may want to look up now forgotten names that are indelible for those of us who survived this kind of national trauma before. The second, "Lithographers," does return to the theme of creating art but the metaphor is visual: print-making. The arduous process of "making" is the same, however, and "Lithographers" is about the forging of art and, not incidentally, the forging of love. ON THE WATERGATE WOMEN Maureen Dean, wearing persimmon summer silk, sits...

15 Apr In Celebration of Poetry Month: Two Poems about the Making of Poetry

PIECING (for Lois Sasson) “Sometimes you don’t have no control over the way things are. Hail ruins the crops, or fire burns you out. And then you’re just given so much to work with in a life and you have to do the best you can with what you got. That’s what piecing is. The materials is passed on to you, or is all you can afford. But the way you put them together is your business. You can put them in any order you like. Piecing is orderly.” – An anonymous woman quoted in The Quilters: Women and Domestic Art Frugality is not the point. Nor waste. It’s just that very little is discarded in any honest spending of the self, and what remains is used and used again, worn thin by use, softened to the pliancy and the translucence of old linen, patched, mended, reinforced, and saved. So I discover how I am rejoicing slowly...

08 Apr Poetry in an Old Key

During April, Poetry Month, each week this blog will offer one of my poems about poetry and art. "I believe that in this physical, space-time world of our experience there are things which do not fit the grammatical scheme of expression. But they are not necessarily blind, inconceivable, mystical affairs; they are simply matters which require to be conceived through some symbolistic schema other than discursive language." —Susanne K. Langer Why, caring as I do for trees, am I condemned to poetry? why compelled to serve a life sentence stuttering this syntax of...