Category Archives: Poetry

Stories and Their Poems

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I love finding a poem that pairs just perfectly with a story I’m attached to.

It doesn’t happen a lot, but twice it has happened magically. Here are those two. (I still need to memorize the second one).

~

To preface Half a Blanket (It took some practice to say this one with a clear voice. My Grandfather was very dear to me).

The Little Boy and the Old Man— by Shel Silverstein

Said the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.”
Said the little old man, “I do that too.”
The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”
“I do that too,” laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, “I often cry.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
“But worst of all,” said the boy, “it seems
Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.”
And he felt the touch of a wrinkled old hand.
“I know what you mean,” said the little old man.

From the book Poetry Speaks to Children, a poem by an anonymous Inuit poet and translated by Edward Field. It is the perfect companion to Raven and the Whale’s Burning Heart. It would also make a good transition piece between traditional Alaskan tales.

Magic Words

In the very earliest time,
when both people and animals lived on earth,
a person could become an animal if he wanted to
and an animal could become a human being.
Sometimes they were people
and sometimes they were animals
and there was no difference.
All spoke the same language.
That was the time when words were like magic.
The human mind had mysterious powers.
A word spoken by chance
might have strange consequences.
It would suddenly come alive
and what people wanted to happen could happen–
all you had to do was say it.
Nobody could explain this:
that’s the way it was.

A Poem

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My Work
Henry Van Dyke

Let me do my work from day to day,
In fields or forests, at the desk or loom,
In roaring market place or tranquil room.
Let me find it in my heart to say,
When vagrant wishes beckon me astray,
“This is my work – my blessing, not my doom –
Of all who live I am the only one by whom
this work can best be done in my own way.”
Then I shall see it, not too great or small,
To suit my spirit and arouse my powers.
Then shall I cheerfully greet the laboring hours,
And cheerfully turn, when long shadows fall
at eventide, to play and love and rest,
Because I know for me my work was best.

 

My Work

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Let me do my work from day to day,
In fields or forests, at the desk or loom,
In roaring market place or tranquil room.
Let me find it in my heart to say,
When vagrant wishes beckon me astray,
“This is my work – my blessing, not my doom –
Of all who live I am the only one by whom
this work can best be done in my own way.”
Then I shall see it, not too great or small,
To suit my spirit and arouse my powers.
Then shall I cheerfully greet the laboring hours,
And cheerfully turn, when long shadows fall
at eventide, to play and love and rest,
Because I know for me my work was best.

Henry Van Dyke

I got *a lot* done today. Forgive me a list of accomplishments.

  • Cleaned girls’ room despite their lack of interest/assistance
    • The lack of interest proved useful by allowing me to actively (not secretively) thin their playthings.
  • Tidied (that work looks wrong…) all the back of the house
  • Vacuumed the (finally!) cleared floors in back of house
  • Directed the girls’ finishing their daily chore (emptying dishwasher)
  • Defused numerous spats related to being tired and feeling “deprived” at not being able to play or go outside while they dragged their feet over getting their room finished.
  • Read with the girls

This all before noon. At noon, two little cousins arrived and began round two of my day

  • Babysat two extra kids for an hour– played outside with two babies and three preschoolers, got some great pix.
  • Made and supervised lunch
  • Read-to and got all three kids to nap at once
  • Cleaned both bathrooms
  • Swept kitchen and dining room (this has been daily through Spring season– I am very thankful for our new laminate floors)
  • Mopping kitchen and dining room (desperately needed)

All this cleaning was at the direct expense of cooking– I had nothing planned/ready for dinner and we ended up snacking/convenience-fooding our way through the evening.

But I really didn’t mind.

All this on top of yesterday’s accomplishment of getting *all* the laundry washed and folded has left me tired (a little) but very pleased with what I’ve accomplished.

Revisiting Poems

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I tripped across the original post that had these along with another, and it reminded me of my clumsy attempt to explain my use for poetry.

That said, I wanted to put them back up here to be read again, and then I’m going to go read in the living room where my husband is working on his computer.

I’ve felt off-balance all day…

~ ~ ~

And another regrettable thing about death
Is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,
Which took a whole life to develop and market—
The quips, the witticisms, the slant
Adjusted to just a few, those loved ones nearest
The lip of the stage…

From Perfection Wasted by John Updyke

~

We know little
We can tell less
But one thing I know
One thing I can tell
I will see you again in Jerusalem
Which is of such beauty
No matter what country you come from
You will be more at home there
Than ever with father or mother
Than even with lover or friend
And once we’re within her borders
Death will hunt us in vain

From Four Poems in One by Anne Porter

 

 

Evolutionary Hymn

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Another C.S. Lewis poem I read years ago. I didn’t “get” it at that time, but it’s very thought-provoking now.

Lead us, Evolution lead us
Up the future’s endless stair:
Chop us, change us, prod us, weed us.
For stagnation is despair:
Groping, guessing, yet progressing
Lead us nobody knows where….

Ask not if it’s god or devil
Brethren, lest your words imply
Static norms of good and Evil
(As in Plato) throned on high;
Such scholastic, inelastic
Abstract yardsticks we deny.

Far too long have sages vainly
Glossed great Nature’s simple text;
He who runs can read it plainly
“Goodness = what comes next.”
By evolving, Life is solving
All the questions we perplexed.

On then! Value means survival–
Value. If our progeny
Spreads and spawns and licks each rival
That will prove its deity
(Far from pleasant, by our present
Standards, though it well may be).

In Praise of Solid People

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I came across a blog with Bilbo’s tagline, “It’s no bad thing to celebrate a simple life.” And it made me think of this poem from my Quotable Lewis.

Thank God that there are solid folk…
Who feel the things that all men feel
And think in well-worn grooves of thought
Whose honest spirits never reel
Before man’s mystery, overwrought.
Yet not unfaithful nor unkind
With work-day virtues surely staid
Theirs is the sane and humble mind
And dull affections undismayed.
O happy people! I have seen
No verse yet written in your praise
And, truth to tell, the time has been
I would have scorned your easy ways.
But now thro’ weariness and strife
I learn worthiness indeed
The world is better for such a life
As stout, suburban people lead.

Tonic for the “drags”

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I don’t know what everybody else calls it. I talk about someone being in a funk. I say I’m feeling “dragy.” Basically it’s that not- feeling-like-doing-anything that isn’t (I think) quite depression.

I was brainstorming about useful things to do when “down in the dumps” (another descriptor), and was surprised with how much I came up with. (This originally began as a comment elsewhere). So here’s my list of tips:

  • Put on “happy music,” whatever that is for you.
    • I found my happy music was the stuff I listened to in High School or college and hadn’t heard in a long time. It brought me a startling joy.
    • Pick music from a light era of yours.
    • A book I’ve been reading recently describes the reason books get fatter as you read them is because it preserves a part of you between the pages– like a pressed plant– the you that was, at the time you read it, and you see that former self whenever you re-read. That’s the way of me and music too.
    • ETA: Classical or folk instrumentals collected for children are a fantastic pick-me-up.

My dad loaned me the “Rhythmically Moving” series from his classroom for the summer– my kids had heard something on the radio they’d wanted to hear again.

I put the first one on while I was stressed-out and racing to finish dinner. Almost instantly I had to laugh. My mind was rebelling at the cognitive dissonance between my mood and the atmosphere. It was nearly like being in a river and resisting being moved by it.

Didn’t “fix” my stress, but it made me smile, even laugh, and that had to be healthy.

  • Start a new book, even if you haven’t finished your current one.
    • Anything you’re interested in will do, as long as you don’t feel obligated to finish it if it doesn’t suit you.
    • It may take a couple tries to find the right fit. (Write me if you want suggestions ;-))
    • This is where Books-on-tape are so essential to me now– with the three little ones I frequently feel I’m stealing from them to sit and read a whole novel.
  • Read “Good Poems” or Poem a Day V. 1.
    • Both of those are great for finding concise (no pages-long), interesting poems.
    • I’ve found the right poems to be tonic to me, because they were a sort of deep-thought pizza: Delivering filling new ideas and ways of looking at things, sparing me the effort of looking (cooking) for myself.
    • Very good for when I’m tired and can’t focus on longer or “more meaningful” works.
  • Do mindless research about something that interests you but you can’t act on.
      • I read about new-born and toddler care while I was pregnant the first time.
      • Last fall (after Grandma died) I started reading a lot about dogs. Still do, occasionally– though I won’t be able to get one until the end of April. Or later.
    • I found this activity helpful because engaged my mind without the obligation to do more. I couldn’t/can’t do more at the time of the research.

These probably won’t pull you out of a funk (If you can get the energy to clean, the activity and the result very frequently can), but they will help you tread water while you’re there. Sort of help keep you afloat.

There are those times when that’s all you’re looking for.

First Fig

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My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But, ah, my foes, and oh, my friends
It gives a lovely light!

Edna St. Vincent Millay

This summarizes quite well the lunacy being enacted as I write now. I am stretched beyond words (physically, that is), but I can’t want to go to bed. After I post this I will be working on my novel until I can’t see straight or until Jay comes in from the garage. Which ever happens first.

Currently he is disassembling his baptized snowmachine. Snowmobile, for you non-Alaskans. (Though he did get a nice picture of the freshly changed headlight fluid first.) He says he wants to get the engine to turn over before he comes to bed. I have prayed. And now my thoughts are too thick.

I learned in November I can still write in this mind-state though.

My Use for Poetry

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Poetry, the right poetry, is like a cold glass of milk– refreshing and familiar, even if you haven’t had that *exact* one yet.

~~~

Jay and I are both stressed by our current house project, and yesterday he asked me to pick up some more chocolate for him while I was grocery shopping. He’s been though quite a bit already during this project.

I got him a big bag of mini-bars.

~~~

Today, as soon as the boy was down and Jay was reading to the girls, I left the house and returned to our closing bookstore. 25%-off sometimes beats the Amazon prices, and the times it doesn’t, the instant gratification of a fresh book in-hand is worth the extra $2.

I came home with Snow for Natasha’s Birthday, Inkspell, and Poem a Day. This last was the thing I didn’t know I would buy before I went. I was just browsing, enjoying my hour to myself, and came across this title. I didn’t even look at it much before I wanted to bring it home. The experience was very like how I felt on the way home from New Mexico, 3 years ago, when I bought Good Poems in an airport’s bookstore.

When I was showing/explaining the purchases to Jay, I said, “Gift, sequel, *my* chocolate.”

That instant was the first connection I made between our coping mechanisms. “Come to think of it…” I was feeling pretty crummy in that airport too– with a tired 1-year-old, and me being pregnant, tired, and annoyed with somebody– and the book of the hour was one of poems. Continue reading »

Poems and Grandma

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She died yesterday.

It is interesting to me that I found her poem right before my brother called to say the end was really near, and he was coming to bring me back to the hospital (playing musical cars has been one of the challenges of this time).

Here’s what we’re printing in the program, as a description of her. You must read by the punctuation, not the line breaks, to sound the best.

One Year to Live
Mary Davis Reed

If I had but one year to live;
One year to help; one year to give;
One year to love; one year to bless;
One year of better things to stress;
One year to sing; one year to smile;
To brighten earth a little while;
I think that I would live each day
In just the very self-same way
That I do now. For from afar
The call may come to cross the bar
At any time, and I must be
Prepared to meet eternity.
So if I have a year to live,
Or just one day in which to give
A pleasant smile, a helping hand,
A mind that tries to understand
A fellow-creature when in need,
‘Tis one with me, –I take no heed;
But try to live each day He sends
To serve my gracious Master’s ends. Continue reading »