Memaparkan catatan dengan label Richard Wilbur. Papar semua catatan
Memaparkan catatan dengan label Richard Wilbur. Papar semua catatan

Rabu, 21 Ogos 2019

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Museum(s)


“The building has the ability to wrap itself around you, making you feel safe. All the animosity if the street is left outside, for everyone in there has come for the same reason. To be humbled by art.”
Carrie Adams, The Godmother




"When you think about it, department stores are kind of like museums."

“As once-colonized nations seek to stand on their own, the countries once denuded of their past seek to assert their independent identities through the objects that tie them to it. The demand for restitution is a way to reclaim history, to assert a moral imperative over those who were once overlords.”
Sharon Waxman, Loot: The Battle over the Stolen Treasures . . .

File:Castillo Serralles.JPG
Street facade of the Castillo Serrallés — overlooking Ponce, in southern Puerto Rico
(An agricultural museum that showcases the sugar cane and its derivative rum industry)



Midweek Motif ~ Museum(s)

Can museum be a verb?  I love museum-ed objects of art and history and the buildings that stage them and the evidence of choices made of what to include and why.  Lately, I sit down frequently, so appreciate the many benches that dot museums.  Also, I've grown to enjoy smaller and more obscure collections than in the past.  How about you?

Your Challenge: Pick a museum, pick any museum, and write a new poem that takes us there. 
 

The Louvre in Paris.

Museum Piece

by Richard Wilbur


The good grey guardians of art
Patrol the halls on spongy shoes,
Impartially protective, though
Perhaps suspicious of Toulouse.
Here dozes one against the wall,
Disposed upon a funeral chair.
A Degas dancer pirouettes
Upon the parting of his hair.
See how she spins! The grace is there,
But strain as well is plain to see.
Degas loved the two together:
Beauty joined to energy.
Edgar Degas purchased once
A fine El Greco, which he kept
Against the wall beside his bed
To hang his pants on while he slept.

 
by this point you must be hungry
for God not the real thing only
flecks of gold paint the marble bust
of a half-bull half-man

today I took a visit to the only
museum and every last gallery was
packed with snow I mean this
literally the whole place

frozen I didn’t stay long
I was worried about melting
the art I touched my eyes lightly
to each flake and when I left

the museum I believed a bit more
in God the strangest thing was
I never shivered I knew love
the whole time




by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

'Truth is not the secret of a few
yet
you would maybe think so
the way some
librarians
and cultural ambassadors and
especially museum directors
act

you'd think they had a corner
on it
the way they
walk around shaking
their high heads and
looking as if they never
went to the bath
room or anything

But I wouldn't blame them
if I were you
They say the Spiritual is best conceived
in abstract terms
and then too
walking around in museums always makes me
want to
'sit down'
I always feel so
constipated
in those
high altitudes


Map of museums all over the world (interactive map)
   

Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community—
              (Next week Sumana’s Midweek Motif will be ~ Glory.)
 
When you think about it, department stores are kind of like museums. Andy Warhol
Read more at https://www.brainyquote.com/topics/museums
When you think about it, department stores are kind of like museums. Andy Warhol
Read more at https://www.brainyquote.com/topics/museums
When you think about it, department stores are kind of like museums. Andy Warhol
Read more at https://www.brainyquote.com/topics/museums

Jumaat, 24 Ogos 2018

The Living Dead

~ Honouring our poetic ancestors ~

The Beautiful Changes



One wading a Fall meadow finds on all sides   
The Queen Anne’s Lace lying like lilies
On water; it glides
So from the walker, it turns
Dry grass to a lake, as the slightest shade of you   
Valleys my mind in fabulous blue Lucernes.

The beautiful changes as a forest is changed   
By a chameleon’s tuning his skin to it;   
As a mantis, arranged
On a green leaf, grows
Into it, makes the leaf leafier, and proves   
Any greenness is deeper than anyone knows.

Your hands hold roses always in a way that says   
They are not only yours; the beautiful changes   
In such kind ways,   
Wishing ever to sunder
Things and things’ selves for a second finding, to lose   
For a moment all that it touches back to wonder.

– Richard Wilbur (1921-2017)


I had been thinking I should acquaint myself better with the poetry of Richard Wilbur. Then tonight I felt like finding a gentle, lovely poem to offset the nastier things that are going on in the world. I also thought that as I didn't find the time to write to the Midweek Motif prompt about the beauty of the world, it would be nice to present something fitting in my Friday post. As you see, all these threads came together – beautifully.


This appears to me a most delicate love poem as well. While it seems to be, and is, a celebration of the way Nature changes from one kind of beauty to another, doesn't it also say that the beloved grows only into a new kind of beauty with age?

He celebrates the beauties of Nature in this short YouTube interview-cum-reading, too:




(Patience! It seems to load slowly if at all. Read on and come back here, if you don't see it at once. Or else go direct to YouTube.) 

I was surprised to find that Wilbur died only last year, not even 12 months ago yet, having reached a great age himself.

A distinguished American poet and translator, he received numerous prestigious literary awards including two Pulitzers, and was the second Poet Laureate of the United States.

Known for his elegant language and meticulous craft, his work was out of vogue for a while, considered by many too formal and lacking depth of feeling. Reading it now, I think the feeling is there! He is now, again, being better appreciated.

An article in Poetry Foundation says more about this, and about his translations, particularly from Moliere, his books for children, and other prose works.

The obituary in The Guardian gives a succinct but thorough account of his life and work.  Wikipedia goes into even more detail.

And of course you can find his books on his Amazon page. I think his work is lovely, and will be reading more.



Material shared in 'The Living Dead' is presented for study and review. Poems, photos and other writings and images remain the property of the copyright owners, where applicable (older poems may be out of copyright)

Rabu, 29 Jun 2016

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Birthday(s)

Traditional English birthday greeting


Is that a birthday? 'tis, alas! too clear;
'Tis but the funeral of the former year.
~Alexander Pope, To Mrs. M. B, line 9.


“With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.” 
― William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice


“I grabbed a pile of dust, and holding it up, foolishly asked for as many birthdays as the grains of dust, I forgot to ask that they be years of youth. ” 
― Ovid, Metamorphoses


Midweek Motif ~ Birthday(s)

It is either your birthday 
or your un-birthday.  
And someone else's as well.

Your Challenge:  Write a new poem giving yourself or someone else a birthday gift on a specific birthday.  

(Or remember one already given/received.)



A BIRTHDAY
by: Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

My heart is like a singing bird
    Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
    My heart is like an apple-tree
    Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;
    My heart is like a rainbow shell
    That paddles in a halcyon sea;
    My heart is gladder than all these,
    Because my love is come to me.
     
    Raise me a daïs of silk and down;
    Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
    Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
    And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
    Work it in gold and silver grapes,
    In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
    Because the birthday of my life
    Is come, my love is come to me.
The Author Reflects on His 35th Birthday

Related Poem Content Details

35? I have been looking forward 
To you for many years now 
So much so that 
I feel you and I are old 
Friends and so on this day, 35 
I propose a toast to 
Me and You 
35? From this day on 
I swear before the bountiful 
Osiris that 
If I ever 
If I EVER 
Try to bring out the 
Best in folks again I 
Want somebody to take me 
Outside and kick me up and 
Down the sidewalk or 
Sit me in a corner with a 
Funnel on my head 
. . . .
Read the rest HERE

Related Poem Content Details

The black kitten cries at her bowl 
meek meek and the gray one glowers 
from the windowsill. My hand on the can 
to serve them. First day of spring. 
Yesterday I drove my little mother for hours 
through wet snow. Her eightieth birthday. 
What she wanted was that ride with me— 
shopping, gossiping, mulling old grievances, 
1930, 1958, 1970. 
How cruel the world has been to her, 
how uncanny she’s survived it. 
In her bag, a birthday card 
from “my Nemesis,” signed Sincerely 
with love—“Why is she doing this to me?” 
she demands, “She hates me.” 
“Maybe 
she loves you” is and isn’t what Mother 
wants to hear, maybe after sixty years 
the connection might as well be love. 
Might well be love, I don’t say— 
I won’t spoil her birthday, 
my implacable mother.
. . . . 
Read the Rest HERE.

For K.R. On Her Sixtieth Birthday 

by Richard Wilbur

Blow out the candles of your cake.
They will not leave you in the dark,
Who round with grace this dusky arc
Of the grand tour which souls must take.

You who have sounded William Blake,
And the still pool, to Plato's mark,
Blow out the candles of your cake.
They will not leave you in the dark.

Yet, for your friends' benighted sake,
Detain your upward-flying spark;
Get us that wish, though like the lark
You whet your wings till dawn shall break:
Blow out the candles of your cake. 


###

Please share your new poem with Mr. Linky below and visit others 
in the spirit of the community.

(Next week Susan's Midweek Motif will be ~ Compromise )


Rabu, 21 Oktober 2015

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Gravity


“Gravity is a habit that is hard to shake off.”
― Terry PratchettSmall Gods

"In a poem the excitement has to maintain itself.
I am governed by the pull of the sentence as
the pull of a fabric is governed by gravity."
Marianne Moore

But the strong base and building of my love
Is as the very centre of the earth,
Drawing all things to 't.
— William Shakespeare





Midweek Motif ~ Gravity

"Gravity is the force that attracts two bodies toward each other, the force that causes apples to fall toward the ground and the planets to orbit the sun. The more massive an object is, the stronger its gravitational pull."


Falling apple
source
(Today is Apple Day in Great Britain.)


Gravity is also seriousness, solemnity and dignity.


Your Challenge:  
Write a new poem 
with lots of gravity in it.

*** *** ***


Height Is the Distance Down

BY MARY BARNARD
What’s geography? What difference what mountain   
it is? In the intimacy of this altitude   
its discolored snowfields overhang half the world.

On a knife rim edge-up into whirlpools of sky,   
feet are no anchor. Gravity sucks at the mind   
spinning the blood-weighted body head downward.

The mountain that had become a known profile   
on the day’s horizon is a gesture of earth   
     . . . . 
(Read the rest HERE at the Poetry Foundation.)


*** *** ***


Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community.


(Next week Susan's Midweek Motif will be ~ Animation)

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