Three Poems for August
For those of you who wish to attend poetry readings or wish to attend more poetry readings than you already have, but are hindered by time, distance and a lack thereof, here are a few poem recommendations from poets who have been published on our poetry blog.
Rebecca Weber writes:
This poem has become a personal mantra for me, words I have repeated to myself in some of the wintryest moments of my life. “Begin the song exactly where you are,” Guite writes in another poem, and this sonnet does exactly that. It begins in the winter, where hope feels frozen, and declares a persistence that will wait into spring. Guite feels free to use feminine rhymes. I have always connected deeply with the metaphors of nature and seasons, so when I was invited into a dating relationship this spring, it felt like a fulfilment of the kind of hope expressed in this poem. I know that enduring my previous seasons of cold and darkness, by the grace of God, enables me now to grow more freely into this relationship. But in line four, Guite has already acknowledged that even the glory of spring is not the ultimate: every season gains meaning only as part of the larger story of our journey–the journey home.
Lines from “Because We Hunkered Down” by Malcolm Guite
Because through all of these we held together,
Because we shunned the impulse to let go,
Because we hunkered down through our dark weather…
Read the full poem here.
Marilla Hess writes:
“This poem expresses those thoughts I have when considering a new adventure in life.. a risk, a challenge, a possibility. The thoughts of panic- “can I try something new? Do I have what it takes? Is it worth it? And then the sheer exhilaration of stepping out beyond your comfort zone and exploring new horizons. The energy that comes from facing a challenge head on.”
I Shall Sing to the Lord a New Song
Ruth H. Sohn
I stand at the sea and turn
To face the desert stretching endless and still
My eyes are dazzled the sky brilliant blue
Sunburnt sands unyielding white.
My hands turn to dove wings.
My arms reach for the sky
I want to sing the song rising in me
I stop
Where are the words?
I stop
Where the melody?
In a moment of panic my eyes go blind.
Can I take a stop without knowing a destination?
Will I falter, will I fall, will the ground sink away from under me?
The song still unformed – How can I sing?
To take the first step – to sing a new song –
Is to close one’s eyes and dive into unknown waters,
For a moment knowing nothing risking all –
But then to discover
The waters are friendly the ground is firm.
And the song – the song rises again.
Out of my mouth come words lifting the wind.
And I hear for the first time the song
That has been in my heart silent unknown even to me.
Daniel Hess writes:
I was introduced to Richard Wilbur in a First Things article by Benjamin Myers on the danger of sentimentality in poetry. Immediately, I bought a book of his poems. At first glance, I knew it was money well spent. His work demonstrates that poetry can be formally precise without being flavorless or fustian. The organization of some of his poems can be more pleasing to the eye than the ear, which seems to help bridge the gap between English metrical verse and contemporary free verse poetry. For example:
“The Catch”
From the dress box’s plashing tis-
Sue paper she pulls out her prize,
Dangling it to one side before my eye
Like a weird sort of fish.
His metaphors are fresh and vivid. His themes are widely diverse in content but unified in vision. His poetry teaches you how to see like a poet; it reveals his knack for grasping the essence of things and his perception for the fine subtleties of the human experience, as well as the ironies of human nature. E.g.,
“On Having Misidentified a Wild Flower”
A thrush, because I’d been wrong,
Burst rightly into song
In a world not vague, not lonely,
Not governed by me only.
Or this one:
“Parable”
I read how Quixote in his random ride
Came to a crossing once, and lest he lose
The purity of chance, would not decide
Whither to fare, but wished his horse to choose.
For glory lay wherever he might turn.
His head was light with pride, his horses shoes
Were heavy, and he headed for the barn.
The first poem of my own in which I consciously attempted to imitate his style was Friendly Exchange. Another one was An Empty. The way his unaffected originality and rigorous formality have flourished together has been a constant source of inspiration. In my opinion, his poetry ranks fairly with the poetry of Robert Frost.
For legal reasons, not all poems are reproduced here in their entirety.