[in Just-], by e.e. cummings

 e.e. cummings does a delightful reading of his poem, "in just spring." 

 

All month, I have been emphasizing poetry as a spoken art form, celebrating the age-old oral aspect of the genre. I was glad to find this recording of e.e. cummings' poem, yet one of cummiings' trademarks is the visual aspect of the written poem upon the paper. For that reason, I have included here the print form of the poem we just heard.

[in Just-]

by E. E. CUMMINGS

in Just-

spring          when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

 

whistles          far          and wee

 

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it's

spring

 

when the world is puddle-wonderful

 

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far          and             wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

 

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

 

it's

spring

and

 

         the

 

                  goat-footed

 

balloonMan          whistles

far

and

wee

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"Wait" by Galway Kinnell

 Galway Kinnell reads his poem, "Wait," a poem he wrote as advice to a troubled student. Found on the Poets.org YouTube channel. 

 

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April Is National Poetry Month

  

  National Poetry Month

The poet often taps into what Jung called our collective unconscious, giving voice to our humanity and meaning to our struggles.  A good poem, therefore, tells us something we already know. When we read it or hear it we say, “Ah, yes.” An exceptional poem tells us something we are on the verge of knowing. When we read it or hear it, we say, “Oh my!”                                               

                                                                                                        ~ Charles Kinnaird

 

National Poetry Month is upon us once again! This month on my blog, I will be celebrating the spoken word from a variety of poets. In some cases, we will hear the poets reciting their own work, in other cases, we will hear others reciting poetry from well-known poets. I hope you will take some time to listen, perhaps to say, “Ah, yes,” or maybe even to exclaim, “Oh my!”

Be thinking about poems that you remember, or poetry that has had an impact upon you. If you could pick one poem that is a favorite, what would it be?

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April is Poetry Month

The poet often taps into what Jung called our collective unconscious, giving voice to our humanity and meaning to our struggles.  A good poem, therefore, tells us something we already know. When we read it or hear it we say, “Ah, yes.” An exceptional poem tells us something we are on the verge of knowing. When we read it or hear it, we say, “Oh my!”        

                                             

                                                                ~ Charles Kinnaird

April is National Poetry Month. Throughout the month on this blog space I will be emphasizing how poetry spills into our lives in the reading, the writing, and the hearing of poetry.

• Poetry Prompt
• Prince Charming, Etc
• Rumi and the Play of Poetry (Coleman Barks)
• Poetry Is Where You Find It 
• Writing Haiku
• Poetry at the Movies: Il Postino 
• Poetry at the Movies: Paterson
• Poetry at the Movies: Dead Poets Society
• Mastering the Ghazal

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Celebrating the Spoken Word in Poetry

Because April is National Poetry Month, I use this time each year to highlight poetry in some way. Poetry began as an oral art form, the spoken word delivered to an audience. The speaking and the hearing of poetry have always been central to its beauty and its effect upon people.

In literary circles, poetry will often be confined to the printed page of a book or a magazine. I will often post poems on my blog to be read by visitors to the site. This month, however, I will be emphasizing the spoken word as we celebrate poetry. It is a call to get back to the original intent of poetry: beautiful and powerful words, delivered out loud and in public with the intent to inspire, to transform, to amuse, to delight, to challenge, to lift the soul.

Below are examples of this celebration of the spoken word that will be featured this month. As each one is posted, a hyperlink will be attached to the title.

Coleman Barks Presents Works by Persian Poet, Rumi

Helen Mirren Reads “Ulysses” by Alfred Lord Tennyson

“My Mama’s So Black,” by Michael Harriot

“The Lanyard,” by Billy Collins

“And Still I Rise,” by Maya Angelou

"Nearly Unbearable Grace," the poetry of Joy Harjo, Native American Poet

Bill Murray Reads “What the Mirror Said,” by Lucille Clifton

“Digging,” by Seamus Heaney

Charles Kinnaird Reads “Conscientious Objector,” by Edna St. Vincent Millay

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Incidental poetry

April is National Poetry Month, and writers are always interested in finding writing prompts to stimulate their craft. Here is a bit of "incidental poetry" in which I took a Facebook status from a friend, "What could possibly be more sad than an empty teacup," as an immediate prompt:

An Empty Teacup

What could possibly be more sad than an empty teacup?

Ah, but an empty teacup is full of promise!

What will it yet hold?

Oolong?  

Chamomile?

Earl Grey?  

Rooibos?

Darjeeling?

Rosehips?

And this cup could welcome a guest –

a traveler,

a special friend,

an aunt or grandma.

It may allow that visitor to sit at your table

and bless your house.

There is an old man yet to visit, with a staff and a cape –  

Except for the briar pipe in his mouth you might mistake him for Elijah,

But the empty cup may beckon that moment.

Oh, the possibilities of an empty teacup!

*    *    *

Be on the lookout for writing prompts this month during the course of your ordinary day.

______________________

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

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April Is Poetry Month: She Sat in Autumn

During the month of April, in honor of National Poetry Month, I am re-posting poems that I have written and shared on this blog. This one is from September 22, 2012.

She Sat in Autumn

My grandmother sat in autumn

Shelling pecans at the kitchen table.

At mid afternoon

The children were at play in the yard;

Parents, at work.

She made herself useful

Preparing a sack of pecans

That would go to candies and pies

Destined for holiday enjoyment.

Her fingers remained nimble

Though hands were darkened

By age spots;

Skin wrinkled by

Time and duty.

She thinks back to younger days 

(My childhood heart knew nothing of her sorrow).

So many years a widow,

She wonders what might have been

If that fiery Irishman, ten years her senior,

Had only had a stronger heart.

She hurts for her son –

The favored one –

Whose life spiraled into alcohol and bitterness.

“How did you keep yourself whole

And loving,” I asked, as the observer

In this autumn-tinted memory,

“So that all I ever saw as a child

Was gladness and light?”

“I had to welcome what life brought,”

Her thin fingers grasped the nutcracker

To loose another autumn kernel,

“I had to be here to shell pecans.”

                                   ~ Charles Kinnaird

____________________

Image: "Grandmother Michaud in Silhouette"

Artist: Edouard Vuillard – 1890 

Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden – Washington DC
Medium:Oil on cardboard

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Poetry of Perception - "Smell," by William Carlos Williams

Part 4 of 8 in the Poetry of Perception series from HarvardX Neuroscience. For the rest of the features in the series, go to the Vimeo site here.

April Is Poetry Month: Shakespeare's Horse

During the month of April, in honor of National Poetry Month, I am re-posting poems that I have written and shared on this blog. This one is from October 18, 2011. It is appropriate to honor Shakespeare this month because tomorrow, April 23, is the 400th anniversary of the Bard's death in 1616. He was born somewhere around this date in 1564. The only documentation we have of his birth is his baptism day, April 26, 1564.

The following poem was written a few years ago after reading Shakespeare's Sonnet 50 which you may read for yourself here.

Shakespeare's Horse

(In response to Sonnet 50)

Magnificent was the beast

Who carried our noblest poet,

The one who gave voice to humanity's woes and triumphs;

Whose song would be heard for ages to come

And whose words would set the standard

For a new era.

Perhaps it was a country lane,

Or it may have been a London side street

That they traveled that day.

"Beast of burden" is too trite a term

For the equine essence

Who collaborated in the Bard's journey.

The man bore within his heart

All the joys and sorrows of a people,

And enough dreams of love and despair

   to fill the world.

It was not the first time

That a four-legged creature

Carried humanity's hopes

Along an earthly road.

Which is why one is jolted

Disappointed

And dismayed

To hear of the poet thoughtlessly kicking

A bloody spur

Into the side

Of his creature companion.

            How unlike a god.

But here is that redeeming moment seen

Which covers many doubts that might have been:

The horse's groan

Resonated with the poet's own grief

And gave voice to his unutterable heart-felt emotion.

It brought the man to himself

To live in the moment

On the road,

On the journey,

Bearing his own burden.

And the groan shared by man and beast

Spoke more than all the words that would come

From the acclaimed poet's pen.

Charles Kinnaird

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Poetry of Perception - "Split the Lark and You'll Find the Music" (Emily Dickinson)

From the Vimeo site: An eight-part series (vimeo.com/channels/972301) on representations of perception and sensation made for fundamentalsofneuroscience.org. "I haven't understood a bar of music in my life, but I've felt it." Igor Stravinski

Part 3/8: Poetry of Perception from HarvardX Neuroscience on Vimeo.

April is Poetry Month: Slowly God Arises

During the month of April, in honor of National Poetry Month, I am re-posting poems that I have written and shared on this blog. This one is from January 29, 2010.


I wrote the poem below back in 2002 after being troubled by the increasing reports of sexual abuse of children by clergy. My consolation then was, at least now we are aware of the problem and are calling people to account. In many ways, we are progressing in areas of ethics, enlightenment and compassion.

Recently, the airwaves have been so full of myopic shouting that I am thinking we take one step forward and two steps back. One thing is for sure, decisions made out of fear will not tend to lead us forward.

I am optimistic that our trend will continue to be upward, though we have witnessed some backward steps of late. I present this poem from eight years ago in affirmation of that upward trend.

Slowly God Arises

And slowly God arises

Arising, God turns

Pulling up tent stakes,

Cracking the foundation

And loosening the ties

Of a stagnant civilization.

One turn showed us not to enslave.

Another turn gave honor to women.

Yet another turn showed us

Not to send our children to factories and fields,

forfeiting their lives for illicit capital gain.

Now the turn shows us

To respect our children

And to protect them from harm.

And slowly God arises

Until a new awareness comes;

An awareness that children have been crippled

By the abusive actions of people we trusted.

No longer can we tolerate such abuse.

Slowly God arises.

Arising, God turns;

Cracking the foundation of tradition,

Breaking the bonds that held us.

With each turn

We are astounded.

Why did we not see this before?

How could we have let this happen?

Yet with each turn

We see that we cannot go back.

Astounded by sight

Loosed by light,

We walk at a new level

As slowly God arises

And rising, God turns.

The church did not show us.

Governments never called for justice

Until sight came upon the people

And scattered throughout the land,

"Just as the lightening comes from the east

and flashes into the west..."

But none can stop the rising

And the turning of a new day.

And slowly God arises.

Arising, God turns

Carrying the pain and the hope

Of broken bonds and shattered illusions.

Arising, God turns

To present us with the challenge of a new day,

To walk on a different level.

We are astounded by sight

And loosed by light

As slowly God arises.

                                                       ~ CK

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Poetry of Perception - "We Grow Accustomed to the Dark" (Emily Dickinson)

Part 2 of the Poetry of Perception by HarvardX.

From the Vimeo site: How do we perceive the world? It's a question that neuroscience has sought to tackle, but which poets and artists have pursued for even longer. The Fundamentals of Neuroscience, a MOOC from Harvard University, is presenting a series of artistic ruminations on the nature of sensation called Poetry of Perception. In this short animation by Hannah Jacobs, Emily Dickinson's classic poem "We Grow Accustomed to the Dark," is put in motion.

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April is Poetry Month: On the Buddha's Belly

During the month of April, in honor of National Poetry Month, I am re-posting poems that I have written and shared on this blog. This one is from June 26, 2010. 

On the Buddha’s Belly

The terracotta laughing Buddha

Sits beneath the red bud tree

As is his custom.

He casts a knowing glance across the yard

To St. Francis

Who stands beside the juniper.

A lizard crawls upon the Buddha’s belly

And rests in the sun

While a hummingbird gathers nectar nearby.

St. Francis declares that creation rejoices

As the Buddha allows

The humblest of creatures

To rest in the stillness of the day.

Chaos threatens confused rulers of the world

While order and peace reside

In my backyard.

                                                    ~ CK

_____________________

Upper photo: Forest Buddha by Marianne Williams (Getty Images)

Lower photo: Backyard Buddha by Charles Kinnaird

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April Is Poetry Month

 To celebrate National Poetry Month, I am doing two different things on my blog during the month of April. One, I will be re-posting an original poem each week, choosing some from my Poetry Page (see tab at the upper banner of this blog). Two, I will sharing some posts from Poetry of Perception from HarvardX Neuroscience which combines spoken word poetry with animated graphics. I discovered the series online, and thought it would be a good thing to share during National Poetry Month.

Original Poetry

• This is Where I'm From (4-1-16)
• On the Buddha's Belly (4-8-16)
• Slowly God Arises (4-15-16)
• Shakespeare's Horse (4-22-16)
• She Sat in Autumn (4-29-16)

Poetry of Perception

• Song of Myself (Walt Whitman) (4-6-16)
• We Grow Accustomed to the Dark (Emily Dickinson) (4-13-16)
• Split the Lark and You'll Find the Music (Emily Dickinson) (4-20-16)
• Smell (William Carlos Williams) (4-27-16)

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Poetry of Perception - Song of Myself (Walt Whitman)

I discovered this series, Poetry of Perception from HarvardX Neuroscience which combines spoken word poetry with animated graphics. I thought I would share one each week during National Poetry Month.

From the Poetry of Perception Vimeo site:  How do we perceive the world? This is a question that neuroscience has long sought to tackle, but which poets and artists have pursued even longer. HarvardX's Fundamentals of Neuroscience (fundamentalsofneuroscience.org) presents 8 artistic ruminations.

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April is Poetry Month: Where Do You Come From?

During the month of April, in honor of National Poetry Month, I am re-posting poems that I have written and shared on this blog. This one is from October 2, 2013 

Going home 
by Tom Roberts

Last week I saw an interesting post by Chrystal at "Life After Church." She was taking part in a syncblog with She Loves Magazine in which participants followed a template to write out a poem about their personal heritage. I thought it looked like a good exercise in personal reflection. Looking closely at the site, it seemed to be a project for women so I did not try to link up with the project. I did decide to download the template, however, and by filling in the blanks (then adding a little bit) I came up with a snapshot of things I remember from a formative period in my childhood. I chose to look at a window of time when I was about six years old. If I had done this on another day, or picked a different time in my life,  it would have come out differently, but this was a helpful reminiscence.

I recommend the activity for anyone. Taking a look at where you came from and examining the influential forces in your life - good or bad - can be informative, liberating, and empowering. Besides all of that, it is always good for us to remember where we came from.  If any of you want to try this yourself, you can download the template here.

This Is Where I'm From

By Charles Kinnaird

I am from an old wrought iron floor lamp that I used to stand on

       and pretend I was a koala bear sitting in a eucalyptus tree;

From white bread and peanut butter.

I am from the little light green asbestos-siding house on top of the hill just up the road        

       from the fish pond where train comes through.

I am from the grassy field and woodland stream,

And the water oak whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.

I’m from church every Sunday and hand cranked ice cream in the summer. 

From picking wild plums that grow along dirt roads

And harvesting vegetables from the family garden plot.

I’m from the small town Baptist preacher and the high school English teacher,

From Sunday afternoon naps and sitting around the kitchen table,

And from trips to the library.

I’m from “haste makes waste” and “keep your elbows off the table”

And “Climb, Climb up Sunshine Mountain” that we sang in Sunday school.

I’m from hanging stockings on Christmas Eve. 
I'm from birthday parties and Easter egg hunts.

I’m from the foothills of Alabama just below Appalachia

And Scots-Irish immigrants of years past whose descendants

       farmed

          preached
             midwifed

                taught school
                   canned tomatoes

                      did the early shift down at the saw mill

                         stocked shelves over at the general store

                            and worked for Western Union.

I’m from cotton mill country and field peas with corn bread.

I’m from seeing ducks on the pond

And sparrows in the garage.

From watching over the dog when he was sick,

And the cat when she got hurt.

From seeing pets die

No matter how hard we tried.
I'm from living with loss 
Then finding that space to love pets again.

From the Depression-era mechanic who answered a higher call

       and went off to college,

       not knowing if he would be able to afford the next year’s tuition

       – but by George, he did it!

From the elephant bell in the corner of the room that was a wedding gift

And the old wicker-backed wooden rocker where the grandma I never knew

Combed out her hair in the evening

So they say.

I am from a long line of folks who knew how to keep a good name.

Some were tough as nails

Some were quiet, some were ornery

Some a bit odd

But they were all good folks

So they say.

                                                                        ~ CK

__________

Picture: Going Home oil on wood panel

             painting by Tom Roberts, 1889
             Public Domain
             Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

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