Poetry Friday: Taylor Mali's "Undivided Attention"

It's time for some Taylor Mali. 

Because it's time for another ode to teachers. (If you missed the last one, by Pat Mora, it's here.) 

Because teachers are to the world what oxygen is to the lungs. 

And, if you need an additional Mali poem today (and anyone who is a teacher, loves a teacher, was a teacher, wants to be a teacher, or benefitted, ever, from a teacher, should read it), here is "What Teachers Make." 

And yes, may I always teach "like the first snow, falling." 

Undivided Attention 

by Taylor Mali 

A grand piano wrapped in quilted pads by movers,
tied up with canvas straps—like classical music’s
birthday gift to the criminally insane—
is gently nudged without its legs
out an eighth‐floor window on 62nd street.

(Read the rest here, at Taylor Mali's website.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

Join the always delightful Laura Purdie Salas today for the Poetry Friday round-up. 

                                                                                 (Image by dietcheese from Pixabay) 

Partly Cloudy, by Tanita Davis, is here!

 

I love Tanita and love her writing. 

This is her latest; my copy just arrived. I'm so excited! 

For a rundown of Tanita's upcoming book launch activities and events, visit her website here. 

Poetry Friday: Ode to Teachers by Pat Mora

Atticus and Betsy Ray have been back in their classrooms for a month. (Can I still call her Betsy Ray now that she's grown up, married, moved away?) As of last week, I'm back in the Brave Writer classroom, too, currently teaching "Passion for Fiction." And Ramona has been meeting new teachers now that she's started college. 

Obviously, it's time for an ode to teachers. 

This one, from Pat Mora, is so touching. The teacher in this poem is the teacher who made a difference — who listened, encouraged, and said, "Come on!/Join our conversation/let us hear your neon certainties/thorny doubts, tangled angers....”

As Clint Smith once put it, "I’ve said this before, but one of the only reasons I’m a writer is because I had a teacher in 3rd grade who looked at my poem about clouds & said 'You can be a writer when you grow up.' It stayed w/me forever. Teachers, don’t underestimate what your words can do for your students." 

Ode to Teachers 

by Pat Mora 

 I remember

the first day, 

how I looked down, 

hoping you wouldn't see 

me,

....

(Read the rest here, at The Poetry Foundation.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

The round-up is being hosted today by Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect. 

Poetry Friday: September 2 by Wendell Berry

 

 

It's a Wendell Berry kind of week. I'm reading Jayber Crow, which I'm liking and expect to love, as I adored Hannah Coulter. 

This week, I'm sharing Berry's "September 2." It's an observation of the season, but also a poignant meditation on the inevitability of time and change, and the value of what we've invested. He has such a deft hand, wielding precise words in all the right places and ways: 

"... there grew an acceptance of decline." 

I read him, I nod, I exhale, I scribble his words in my journal. 

September 2 

by Wendell Berry 

In the evening there were flocks of nighthawks

passing southward over the valley. The tall 

sunflowers stood, burning on their stalks

....

(Read the rest here, at The Poetry Foundation.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

Heidi Mordhorst has has the round-up this week at My Juicy Little Universe.