Poetry Friday: "A bird’s cry, at daylight or before, In the early March wind...."

When I muse aloud, "What should I post for Poetry Friday?" I can usually count on Atticus to suggest some Wallace Stevens. I've actually posted a fair amount about Stevens, as I find him pretty fascinating, so when Atticus said, "How about 'Not Ideas About the Thing but the Thing Itself'?" I said, "You're a genius."

Without further ado, here is the genius of my husband, Wallace Stevens, and spring:

Not Ideas About the Thing but the Thing Itself 
by Wallace Stevens

At the earliest ending of winter,
In March, a scrawny cry from outside
Seemed like a sound in his mind.

He knew that he heard it,
A bird’s cry, at daylight or before,
In the early March wind.

(Read the whole thing here, at The Poetry Foundation.)

~~~~~

The wonderful Amy Ludwig VanDerwater has the round up today at The Poem Farm.

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

Whoosh! Where does the time go?

I've been AWOL for a number of reasons, most of which have to do with simply being busy, busy, busy. Some of the busyness was dull and dreadful. (Taxes are done! And I cooked dinner on the same day I finished the taxes! I feel like a superhero!) Some of the busyness was welcome brain exercise, such as an online class of sorts, which kept me busy for a couple of weeks. One other new thing I'm doing is handling the monthly "Celebrate" column for Catholic Digest. It involves the delight of some quote-gathering, and I'm all about that.

~~~~~

Ramona and I are reading L.M. Montgomery's Emily of New Moon and we are loving it. I'm annoyed with myself that I've lived this long without having read this book. At least Ramona won't have to say the same. 

Can I love a heroine as much as I love Anne-with-an-e? An emphatic yes. Ramona agrees. 

~~~~~

Instagram snaps: 

Ramona is still helpless for Hamilton. (So am I.) 

When a future Kindergarten teacher lives at your house, you find things like Origami Yoda on your dining room table. 

When your other daughter works at the library, and said library is weeding its collection and selling off old books to get ready for the library renovation, you find things like bunches of new, old books in your living room. 

I'm not complaining. 

What a perfectly lovely book

"Reason, beauty, poetry, and excellent conversation were his preferred tools for settling disputes." 

-- The Girl Who Drank the Moon, by Kelly Barnhill 

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

Late last month, Betsy, Ramona and I went to see the filmed version of the Broadway show Newsies. They're big fans of the movie (which I've never seen) and they couldn't wait to see the stage version (on film, that is.) It reallly was a lot of fun, and we had a great evening. 

For more than a week I couldn't get some of the songs out of my head. On Ash Wednesday, "Seize the Day" was still pulsing through my brain but as I fasted that day, my hungry, addled brain kept changing the lyric to "Feed the Day." 

~~~~~

I took my writing group girls to a coffee place last week. Our Brave Writer freewrite prompt was:

Imagine that the different kinds of food on your plate are angry at each other. Write a scene with dialogue so we can hear them fight!

Ramona wrote about the drinks we had all just ordered. Addressing the peach and cherry Italian sodas, 

Mom's coffee scoffed. 

"I will not trouble myself with such petty disagreements. I am the most mature, most robust, most sophisticated drink out there." 

Cherry Soda guffawed. "Yeah, right. You're bitter, and you stain teeth." 

I had no idea my coffee was so snooty.

She said she was channeling Jane Austen as my coffee wouldn't trouble itself with petty disagreements.

I love our writing group.

~~~~~

I finished A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Discussion, anyone? (Tamara, I'm looking at you. Expect to be brought into an email loop for discussion.) Anyone else who wants to discuss it here? Leave a comment. 

Billy Friday

Photo courtesy of: Marcelo Noah, of D.G. Wills Books, 
and WikiMedia Commons. 

Heidi Mordhorst, this week's Poetry Friday host, is having an all-Billy Birthday Extravaganza. It's a Collins-fest, an All-Billy-All-The-Time post, a Billy Collins Friday...Huzzah!

Heidi encouraged everyone to post a favorite Collins poem. Of course, it's impossible to choose just one favorite Collins poem. I am practically paralyzed by the proposal. I was going to share that painfully cute little boy reciting "Litany" because that's definitely one of my favorites. But Heidi had the same great idea (do go listen to him), so I am on to something else. Should I choose "Marginalia"? "Passengers"? "Today"? What about "Aimless Love"? Or maybe "Books." What about "Morning"? I love that one so much.

(Don't make me choose!)

Deep breath.

Okay, so, this one is not necessarily my favorite Billy Collins poem. Really, naming a favorite would be akin to saying I have a favorite child, just impossible. But I love this poem almost as much as I love my three favorite children. (That's hyperbole, by the way, for anyone scandalized by the idea that I love a poem as much as I love my offspring. Hyperbole is one of my favorite words -- don't ask me, though, to choose just one favorite word.)

I think I forgot what the point of this post was.

What was it? Oh, yes.

"Forgetfulness."

I had forgotten how much I love it.

Forgetfulness
by Billy Collins

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
....

(Read the whole thing here, at Poets.org.)

~~~~~

Visit Heidi for loads of Collinsesque goodness.