Friday, October 05, 2012

Poetry Friday: Carl Dennis


This isn't a long poem, and though I would never wish away copyright laws, I do wish I could just reproduce the whole thing here. But, copyright wisdom being what it is, I shan't, and I'll be ultimately happier for it.

But I will tell you that the poem is worth at least seventy-seven clicks over, for the whole thing, but especially for these three lines:

I hope she stays like this,
Her windows open on all sides to a breeze
Pungent with sea spray or meadow pollen.

So, read my teaser  below, or click over right now to read the whole poem at The Writer's Almanac.)

At Becky's Piano Recital
by Carl Dennis

She screws her face up as she nears the hard parts,
Then beams with relief as she makes it through,
Just as she did listening on the edge of her chair
To the children who played before her,
Wincing and smiling for them
As if she doesn't regard them as competitors....

~~~~~~~

(Go. Click. Now.)

Laura Purdie Salas has the round up this week.

5 comments:

  1. That's a keeper. Thanks, Karen.

    ReplyDelete
  2. The poem reminds me of the ending of Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey":

    Therefore let the moon
    Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
    And let the misty mountain-winds be free
    To blow against thee: and, in after years,
    When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
    Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
    Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
    Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
    For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
    If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
    Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
    Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
    And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance--
    If I should be where I no more can hear
    Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
    Of past existence--wilt thou then forget
    That on the banks of this delightful stream
    We stood together; and that I, so long
    A worshipper of Nature, hither came
    Unwearied in that service: rather say
    With warmer love--oh! with far deeper zeal
    Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
    That after many wanderings, many years
    Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
    And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
    More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Tabatha, so glad you liked it!
    Atticus ... good call, as always.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Karen, this is my favorite poem shared today so far. Wow. This is going into my folder of poems I love. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete