Friday, August 03, 2012
The poem is called "Fishing on the Susquehanna in July" and although it's August here (but it's August everywhere, isn't it?) it still feels like July, calendar divisions and page-turns being the arbitrary things that they are. Tis soupy and sultry, the days calling out for iced drinks and air conditioning and sprinklers and flopping on furniture while whining about the weather.
Seems the quintessential time to try to "manufacture the sensation of fishing on the Susquehanna" with beloved Billy Collins, while sitting in a cool, quiet room.
Fishing on the Susquehanna in July
by Billy Collins
I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.
Not in July or any month
have I had the pleasure--if it is a pleasure--
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
I am more likely to be found
in a quiet room like this one--
(Read the rest of the poem here, at Poets.org.)
The round up this week is at On the Way to Somewhere.