Poetry Friday: I’m Hosting, and we're having conversations with poems (or in my case, with a poet)

I was out of town last week and missed Poetry Friday but I wouldn't dare duck out today — I'm your host!

Last month, the inimitable Tanita Davis shared the August challenge:

Poetry Peeps! You’re invited to our challenge for the month of August! Here’s the scoop: If poetry is a love letter to readers, this month, we’re writing back. Using Nikki Giovanni’s “Talk to Me, Poem, I Think I Got The Blues” as a mentor verse, we’re writing poetry directly in conversation with a poem. Whether you talk back directly to Ms. Giovanni’s work, or choose another poems to pass notes to is up to you, as is length and form. Are you in? You’ll have a month to craft your creation(s), then share your offering on August 29th in a post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals. We hope all of you will join the fun!

I cheated a little and broadened the rubric: I'm in conversation with a poet (and a smattering of her poems) rather than addressing my plea to a single selection. I couldn't wait to talk to Emily Dickinson and ask her to reveal her secrets. Even though I'm nobody, I knew she would indulge me. She hasn't written me back, but I'm a patient correspondent. 

(The lines in italics are either taken directly from Dickinson's poems, or are a rearrangement of her words.) 

Talk to Me, Emily D.  

(with thanks to Nikki Giovanni) 

"In this short life that only lasts an hour

How much—how little—is within our power."

            ~ Emily Dickinson 

I have a few questions, Miss Dickinson. 

(May I call you Emily? I’m nobody, but 

I feel like we’re friends.) 

I have questions, Emily. 

The first is the easiest 

and also impossible. 

How do you do it? 

How much—how little—do you do?

Do you dream a poem? 

Does it waft in, fully formed, 

gorgeous in its shape and complexity? Or, 

does it hover tantalizingly near you, 

a shape-shifting cloud 

informing image and imagination? 

 

Or is it baking that inspires 

the rising of precise words? 

While your hands are kneading, 

is your inscrutable mind churning? 

Cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, cloves—

Is the secret, instead, 

in the scent of gingerbread? 

You dwell in possibility but in 

the impossibility of this world too, 

its planks of reason broken. 

Still. 

Still, you conjure 

that Stop-sensation on my Soul, 

and Thunder in the Room. 

Talk to me, Emily D.

How much—how little— do you do, 

do you know? 

Dazzle me gradually with your truth. 

~ Karen Edmisten 

References: 

• "How much—how little—" (from "In this short Life that only lasts an hour," 1292)
• "I’m Nobody" (from "I'm Nobody! Who are you?" 260) 
• "I dwell in Possibility" (466)
• "planks of reason broken" (adapted from “I Felt a Funeral in My Brain," 340: "And then a Plank in Reason, broke,")
• "that Stop-sensation on my soul and thunder in the room" (from “I got so I could take his name,” 293) 
• "Dazzle me, gradually, with your truth" (adapted from “Tell all the truth but tell it slant,” (1263): "The Truth must dazzle gradually/Or every man be blind—")

Mr. Linky awaits your dazzling contributions this week. Thanks for sharing in the conversation. 

Photo courtesy of Pexels. 

Poetry Friday: "Tonight I Am In Love" by Dorianne Laux

Happy Poetry Friday! 

This lovely love poem to poetry and poets sings for itself: 

Tonight I Am In Love
by Dorianne Laux

Tonight, I am in love with poetry,
with the good words that saved me,
with the men and women who
uncapped their pens and laid the ink
on the blank canvas of the page.

I am shameless in my love; their faces
rising on the smoke and dust at the end
of day, their sullen eyes and crusty hearts,
the murky serum now turned to chalk
along the gone cords of their spines.

I’m reciting the first anonymous lines
that broke night’s thin shell: sonne under wode.

....

(Read the rest here.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

The Poetry Friday round-up is hosted this week by Heidi at My Juicy Little Universe. 

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.

Poetry Friday: "Reading to My Kids" by Kevin Carey

Reading aloud to my daughters is a part of their childhood that I remember with deep and iridescent affection. And since we homeschooled, we read aloud almost every day, almost every evening, almost all the time. I loved it, they loved it. Certainly, on days when my voice gave out, or I was tired or crabby, it wasn't perfect, but it was always there: part of our rhythm, our breath. Our bookish hearts craved it, and thanks to those days and that practice, we share a galaxy of sparkling memories. 

So, this poem by Kevin Carey not only spoke to me, it jumped up and down, waved its arms, and said, "Listen! Yes! I get it." ❤️

Reading to My Kids
by Kevin Carey

When they were little I read
to them at night until my tongue
got tired. They would poke me
when I started to nod off after twenty pages
of Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket.
I read (to them) to get them to love reading
but I was never sure if it was working
or if it was just what I was supposed to do.
But one day, my daughter (fifteen then)
was finishing Of Mice and Men in the car
on our way to basketball.
She was at the end when I heard her say,
No, in a familiar frightened voice
and I knew right away where she was.

....

(Read the rest of this short jewel here, at The Writer's Almanac.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

Head to Molly Hogan's place, Nix the Comfort Zone, for this week's poetry round-up. 

Photo courtesy of Pixabay. 

Poetry Friday: "Four Directions to the Zoo" by Lizbeth, age 10

We hit the zoo yesterday. If you've never been to the Henry Doorly Zoo and Aquarium, you must — youmustyoumustyoumust — go if you're ever anywhere near Omaha. It is consistently ranked best, best, best. Their conservation efforts are admirable, and the zoo foundation's mission is to preserve and protect wildlife all over the world. I love our zoo. 

I went looking for a zoo poem and from Poets.org comes this delightful little piece:

Four Directions to the Zoo 

by Lizbeth, 10

826 NYC 

1. Take a big train

2. Stop at a smelly subway station

3. Take the stairs to the big zoo

4. Open the smelly door and see lots of animals 

Written in Response to "Five Directions to My House" by Juan Felipe Herrara 

~~~~~~~~~~

I hope Lizbeth had a marvelous day at the zoo. I love the idea of using "Five Directions to My House" as a prompt (need to file that idea and play with it) and love Lizbeth's take on it here. 

I didn't have to take a big train to get to the zoo, but one thing is universal: it's all happening at the zoo. 

P.S. 

I must disagree with my beloved Simon and Garfunkel. I've never met an insincere giraffe and elephants are kindly, but they are not dumb. Please, boys. 

Be sure to head over to Jane Whittingham's for the Poetry Friday round-up today.