poetry friday roundup is here!

“The bluebird carries the sky on his back.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

WELCOME TO POETRY FRIDAY AT ALPHABET SOUP!

Please help yourself to warm blueberry muffins and green tea. 🙂

Something I look forward to every Spring is spying that first flash of blue alighting on a bare branch outside my window. Bluebird!

If the sun’s out, the bluebird’s feathers dazzle. He must know how handsome he is. Before the trees have budded, this show of color offers hope and such joy. It’s amazing how just one little bird in a natty blue coat can transform a landscape.

The bluebird has been considered a harbinger of happiness by many world cultures for thousands of years. On this Mother’s Day weekend, here are bluebird poems by Emily Dickinson and Mary Oliver. I love the shared delight of these two poets, born 105 years apart.

Wishing you the gift of sweet birdsong amid the din, a spot of beauty to light the way, and many happy moments.

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by Deidre Wicks

 

THE BLUEBIRD
by Emily Dickinson

Before you thought of spring,
Except as a surmise,
You see, God bless his suddenness,
A fellow in the skies
Of independent hues,
A little weather-worn,
Inspiriting habiliments
Of indigo and brown.

With specimens of song,
As if for you to choose,
Discretion in the interval,
With gay delays he goes
To some superior tree
Without a single leaf,
And shouts for joy to nobody
But his seraphic self!

(1896)

 

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by Suren Nursisyen

 

WHAT GORGEOUS THING
by Mary Oliver

I do not know what gorgeous thing
the bluebird keeps saying,
his voice easing out of his throat,
beak, body into the pink air
of the early morning. I like it
whatever it is. Sometimes
it seems the only thing in the world
that is without dark thoughts.
Sometimes it seems the only thing
in the world that is without
questions that can’t and probably
never will be answered, the
only thing that is entirely content
with the pink, then clear white
morning and, gratefully, says so.

~ from Blue Horses (Penguin Press, 2014)

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Now, please leave your links with the dashing Mr. Linky below. I hope you enjoy flitting from blog to blog, sampling all the poetry goodness laid out for the taking. Thank you for joining us this week!

 

 

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by EO Prints

 

“A man’s interest in a single bluebird is worth more than a complete but dry list of the fauna and flora of a town.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

 

DON’T FORGET TO THINK BLUE.

🐦 HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!! 🦋


*This post contains an Amazon Affiliate link. When you purchase something using a link on this blog, Jama’s Alphabet Soup receives a small referral fee (at no cost to you). Thank you for your continuing support!

**Copyright © 2018 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.

friday feast: “The Self-Playing Instrument of Water” by Alice Oswald (+ giveaway winner)

“If I break my leg I’ll go to a doctor, if I break my heart, or if the world breaks my spirit, I will go to a poet.” (Jeanette Winterson, 2007)

Life-giving, purifying, restorative. Here’s a moment of lyrical beauty to savor, note by note.

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THE SELF-PLAYING INSTRUMENT OF WATER
by Alice Oswald

It is the story of the falling rain
To turn into a leaf and fall again

It is the secret of a summer shower
To steal the light and hide it in a flower

And every flower a tiny tributary
That from the ground flows green and momentary

Is one of water’s wishes and this tale
hangs in a seed-head smaller than my thumbnail

If only I a passerby could pass
As clear as water through a plume of grass

To find the sunlight hidden at the tip
Turning to seed a kind of lifting raindrip

Then I might know like water how to balance
The weight of hope against the light of patience

Water which is so raw so earthy-strong
And lurks in cast-iron tanks and leaks along

Drawn under gravity towards my tongue
To cool and fill the pipe-work of this song

Which is the story of the falling rain
That rises to the light and falls again

~ Copyright © 2013 Alice Oswald.

 

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I only just discovered Alice Oswald’s poetry a few months ago. I loved this poem from the opening lines — an astute observation expressed in deceptively simple terms.

In a reading she gave at Boston University two years ago, Oswald likened the water cycle — how water returns and returns — to the roll of a pianola, an instrument she loved as a child.

As water takes the path of least resistance, so her stanzas, with their absence of punctuation, naturally flow one into another, without the impediment of cliché or predictability. Upon first reading, I was so taken with her pristine diction and following her train of thought that I wasn’t aware of the rhyming couplets! I love her skillful use of slant rhyme, too.

A former gardener who read Classics at New College, Oxford, Alice now lives on the Dartington Estate in Devon with her husband and three children. She is the recipient of the TS Eliot Prize, the Ted Hughes Award, and the Foreword Prize.

In an interview with Susannah Herbert at The Guardian, she said:

To be a poet is as serious, long-term and natural as the effort to be the best human you can be. To express something well is not a question of having a top-class education and understanding poetic forms: rather, it’s a question of paying attention.

Today’s poem, retitled “A Short Story of Falling,” appears in Oswald’s 7th poetry collection, Falling Awake (W.W. Norton, 2016).

At a time when the world feels toxic and unbearable, I was grateful for this poetic cleansing.

Here’s Alice reading her poem at BU:

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 🍭HORRIBLY HUNGRY GINGERBREAD BOY GIVEAWAY WINNER! 📘

You’ll forgive me if I’m a little out of breath. Been chasing that rascally Gingerbread Boy all week. Wanted him to pick our giveaway winner. It wasn’t easy catching up with him, let me tell you. I sprinted all over San Francisco (thankfully I was able to have lunch in Chinatown to fortify myself in the process). Though the city was beautiful and I enjoyed seeing all the wonderful landmarks mentioned in the story, to my dismay the Gingerbread Boy was nowhere to be found. Sigh.

Wise Mr Cornelius suggested I contact our dear friend M. Random Integer Generator directly. He is, after all, a robust gastronome who can sniff out gingerbread an ocean away. Some of you may remember that tracking down M. Generator can sometimes be tricky in itself. Double sigh. Thankfully M. Generator answered my telegram right away. Seems the Gingerbread Boy had already devoured the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and half the Arc de Triomphe. Mon Dieu! Quelle Catastrophe!

Mais, as soon as M. Generator told the GBB we needed him to pick a winner, he flew to the Alphabet Soup kitchen in a wink. After a little snack (34 apple pies, 54 Twix bars, 4 gallons of lemonade), our favorite Gingerbread Boy reached into the cookie jar and picked a name.

The winner of a brand new copy of THE HORRIBLY HUNGRY GINGERBREAD BOY is —

*drum roll, please*

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*trumpet fanfare*

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uh-huh

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katmaz2012!

🎈HOORAY! CONGRATULATIONS!! 🎉

Thanks to everyone for entering the giveaway!

(Best to back away before the Gingerbread Boy eats you.)

Just kidding.

Hey, one of my ears is missing.

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poetry fridayThe clever and talented witty ditty darling Michelle Barnes is hosting the Roundup at Today’s Little Ditty. Be sure to sashay on over and check out the full menu of poetic goodness being shared in the blogosphere this week!

 


Copyright © 2016 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.

poetry friday roundup is here!

Welcome Friends, Please Come In!

Why hello! What brings you here?

A poetry lover? You’re just the person I was hoping to see! Come in, make yourself at home, and help yourself to a cup of warm cider. Would you like an apple cider donut to go with that?

via heidi33

Today I’m happy to share one of my very favorite Autumn poems ever, by the one and only Barbara Crooker. She has perfectly captured the gorgeous melancholy that defines the season. Whenever I read this poem aloud, I’m amazed anew at the beauty of the English language and marvel at Barbara’s diction, phrasing, and musicality. Quite simply: a polished gem, a word painting, a heart song that takes my breath away.

THIS TIME OF YEAR,

when the light leaves early, sun slipping down
behind the beech trees as easily as a spoon
of cherry cough syrup, four deer step delicately
up our path, just at the moment when the colors
shift, to eat fallen apples in the tall grass.
Great grey ghosts. If we steal outside in the dark,
we can hear them chew. A sudden movement,
they’re gone, the whiteness of their tails
a burning afterimage. A hollow pumpkin moon rises,
turns the dried corn to chiaroscuro, shape and shadow;
the breath of the wind draws the leaves and stalks
like melancholy cellos. These days are songs, noon air
that flows like warm honey, the maple trees’ glissando
of fat buttery leaves. The sun goes straight to the gut
like a slug of brandy, an eau-de-vie. Ochre October:
the sky, a blue dazzle, the grand finale of trees,
this spontaneous applause; when darkness falls
like a curtain, the last act, the passage of time,
that blue current; October, and the light leaves early,
our radiant hungers, all these golden losses.

~ copyright © 2005 Barbara Crooker (from Radiance, published by Word Press). All rights reserved.

Show us your poems!

Please leave your links with Mr. Linky below. Don’t forget to include the title of your poem or book you’re reviewing in parentheses after your name. I will update throughout the day.

TODAY’S POETRY FRIDAY MENU (sip, savor, chew, swallow):

1. Charles Ghigna (“House of Perfection”)

2. Heidi Mordhorst (“Twenty-four Doors,” an original)

3. jama (“Apple Season”)

4. Gathering Books (Walking Free by Gemino Abad)

5. Teacher Dance (A Goodbye, original)

6. Robyn Hood Black (original wolfy poetry)

7. Amy LV (“I Love Choosing” & P*Tag!)

8. Judy (To the Grass of Autumn, W.S. Merwin)

9. Susan Taylor Brown (Proof of Life, original poem)

10. Mary Lee (Subway Poem)

11. Carol (“To Failure” by Philip Larkin)

12. Tabatha (Edward Shanks)

13. Tara (October poems by Bobbi Katz)

14. Ben @ The Small Nouns (Poetry Mix  Tape: Autumn Poems)

15. Maria Horvath’s Daily Poems (“For an Amorous Lady”)

16. Laura Salas (Dogku by Andrew Clements)

17. Laura Salas (15 Words or less poems)

18. KK’s Kwotes (quote by Paul Janeczko)

19. Kurious Kitty (Where Home Begins)

20. Diane Mayr (“Power Source”)

21. Kids of the Homefront Army (“Up Late”)

22. Julie Larios (P*Tag)

23. Greg Pincus (“My Father’s Hair”)

24. Irene Latham (Ars Poetica 5 for Friday)

25. Sara Lewis Holmes (Bad Taste)

26. Sylvia Vardell (Upcoming presentation at the IBBY Regional Conference)

27. Wild Rose Reader (Original Halloween Haiku)

28. The Write Sisters (Now Close the Windows)

29. Katie @ Secrets & Sharing Soda (Lemonade by Bob Raczka)

31. Donna (Shushing)

32. david e. (haul-o-ween)

33. Miss Rumphius (At the Sea Floor Café)

34. April @ Teaching Authors (two Thankus)

35. Janet Squires (Hallowilloween)

36. Kelly Ramsdell Fineman (Troubled Water)

37. Mandy Webster (Rules for the Dance by Mary Oliver)

38. Joyce Ray (J. Patrick Lewis poetry exercise)

39. MsMac (Robert Frost)

40. Ruth (Villain)

41. Wrung Sponge (original haiku)

42. Adrienne (Walt Whitman)

43. Polka Dot Owl (Jack Prelutsky)

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Thanks for participating and have a good weekend!

 

 

Copyright © 2011 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.