Poetry Friday: "Books" by Billy Collins

I'm in the middle of a buddy read. Well, to be more precise, I'm a third of the way into a buddy read. My daughters and I are reading this trilogy (a reread for three of us, a new read for Ramona): 

Ramona has never read this series. What?? 

But she decided this was the summer to dive in. So Anne-with-an-e, Betsy, and I decided to jump in and reread them, too. Not that we need an incentive to stay in close to touch with the now-married-and-living-elsewhere Betsy, but we all decided that buddy reads would be a fun aspect of our in-touch-staying. And we're just about ready for our discussion of the first book. I can't wait! 

The Hunger Games series has a long history in our house. Some of my thoughts on the entire series are here. 

And then there was the time that Betsy finished Mockingjay and woke me up at 2:30 a.m. to discuss it. Which I happily did. 

And in this discussion of Mockingjay, then-8-yr.-old Ramona left this comment on the blog: 

Ramona here, dictating to Betsy:

I personally have never read The Hunger Games, but, I don't want to have anything to do with it. At all. Whatsoever. Because I do not want to have anything to do with it, I very much loathe Karen Edmisten. So I say farewell to all of you, and I love you very much.

Dramatization. I really actually love Karen Edmisten.

Obviously, she was not allowed to read them at that age, so she greatly disliked how much everyone else was talking about them. I can't blame her for feeling like she wasn't part of the club. But now, she's in the club. She's almost finished with the first book and can't wait to get to Catching Fire. And I can't wait to have all sorts of rich discussion again. 

As Stephen King said, "Books are a uniquely portable magic." 

Billy Collins captures the magic, too, in his practically-perfect-in-every-way poem, "Books." 

Books 

by Billy Collins 

From the heart of this dark, evacuated campus

I can hear the library humming in the night, 

an immense choir of authors muttering inside their books 

....

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

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Be sure to visit Kat Apel for the Poetry Friday round-up. 

Poetry Friday: My daughter got married!

The bride at age ten. 

This global pandemic brought lots of "firsts" into our lives. Anyone on board for planning a wedding?

From the masked gown-shopping last fall ... 

From the moment she put it on, she
knew this was the dress.

... to the wedding day, it's been another experience of being "a new mom."  No, no, it's not about me, of course, but a mother can't remove herself from these equations entirely, nor should she. I did not, as Janice Mirikitani's perfect poem mentions, weave my daughter's wedding slippers, but my girl is woven into my life and I into hers. 

My daughter's wedding slippers (along with her bridesmaids) were pink Converse: 

No weaving required. But I did pack an emergency sewing kit, just in case, and I helped with all those tiny, silky buttons: 

I was indebted to the seamstress for suggesting
I bring a tiny crochet hook with us. Also? I 
was really glad I didn't change into my heels 
until later. 

My sister-in-law caught this moment at the reception: 

I did a lot of gazing, marveling, enjoying, talking, and living the day,
but pictures? Not so much. I mostly forgot to take any, but I know
the photographer had it all in hand.  

The same sister-in-law caught this moment for me:

Atticus and our Betsy Ray (whose real
name is Lizzy) dancing to "My Girl." 

And here's the beaming couple later, watching a fireworks show (a fringe benefit of getting married over the 4th of July weekend): 

It's time for Atticus and me to let go of the little girl we raised, but we will never stop embracing the wonderful woman she's become. 

Zech, welcome to the family. You joined us too late for me to assign you a blog name. Can I just call you son? 

For a Daughter Who Leaves

by Janice Mirikitani 

"More than gems in my comb box shaped by the

God of the Sea, I prize you, my daughter. . ."

 ~ Lady Otomo, 8th century, Japan

A woman weaves 

her daughter's wedding 

slippers that will carry 

her steps into a new life. 

... 

[I'm skipping to the end of the poem, but you absolutely must read it in its entirety, especially if you are a mother, a daughter, or just a human being with a heart and soul and tear ducts. The next line will wreck you, in a good way.]

... 

Now she captures all eyes 

with her hair combed smooth 

and her hips gently 

swaying like bamboo. 

The woman

spins her thread 

from the spool of her heart, 

knotted to her daughter's 

departing

wedding slippers.

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

~~~~~~~~~~

The Poetry Friday round-up is being hosted by Margaret at Reflections on the Teche.