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: "Emily Dickinson's To-Do List" by Andrea Carlisle

I've shared this one before but I have such affection for it that I felt compelled to share it again. Because who doesn't want to speculate about Emily's deliciously original brain? 

What will you wear, bake, or hide today? (Oooh, I sense a poetry prompt here.)

Emily Dickinson's To-Do List
by Andrea Carlisle

Monday
Figure out what to wear—white dress?
Put hair in bun
Bake gingerbread for Sue
Peer out window at passersby
Write poem
Hide poem


Tuesday
White dress? Off-white dress?
....

(Read the rest here, and find out more about Andrea Carlisle here.) 

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Be sure to visit Laura Purdie Salas for this week's Poetry Friday round-up. 

Poetry Friday: Dear March—Come in by Emily Dickinson

I'm welcoming March with my beloved Emily because, well, isn't this simply what one does? 

Dear March—Come in

by Emily Dickinson 

Dear March—Come in—

How glad I am—

I hoped for you before—

Put down your Hat—

You must have walked—

How out of Breath you are—

Dear March, how are you, and the Rest—

Did you leave Nature well—

Oh March, Come right upstairs with me—

I have so much to tell—

I got your Letter, and the Birds—

The Maples never knew that you were coming—

I declare - how Red their Faces grew—

But March, forgive me—

And all those Hills you left for me to Hue—

There was no Purple suitable—

You took it all with you—

Who knocks? That April—

Lock the Door—

I will not be pursued—

He stayed away a Year to call

When I am occupied—

But trifles look so trivial

As soon as you have come

That blame is just as dear as Praise

And Praise as mere as Blame—

(This poem is in the public domain.)

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Kathryn Apel has the roundup (not to mention a new book — congratulations, Kat!) 

Visit her here for all the poetic goodness. 

Poetry Friday: As Imperceptibly as Grief, Emily Dickinson

Yowza, I missed two Poetry Fridays in a row! Where have I been? What have I been doing!? Let's see. Living (with caveats ... pandemic, you know), teaching, writing, baking (sans flour), prepping for the Catholic Moms' Summit, and trying to retrain my mind to really read a book. (Reading in the time of Covid ... whoosh, it's been a whole thing for me. Or rather, the lack of the thing. I have read far fewer books in the last six months than at any other time I can think of. I. Don't. Like. That.) 

Time to get back to my favorite thing to do on a Friday: share some poetry. 

And autumn is here! Autumn is here! Though we still have to deal with the torpor of a pandemic, at least the torpor of summer is folding in on itself. Yes, it's been hot here this week, but, hey, hot? Your days are numbered. 

"What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon?" cried Daisy, "and the day after that, and the next thirty years?" 

 "Don't be morbid," Jordan said. "Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall." 

 ~~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

I don't think another Poetry Friday should pass without my sharing this one from Emily Dickinson. I've loved it for forty years. Or something like that. (The years tend to lapse away, imperceptibly, and it's hard to keep track anymore.) 

As imperceptibly as grief 

by Emily Dickinson 

As imperceptibly as grief

The summer lapsed away, —

Too imperceptible, at last,

To seem like perfidy.

A quietness distilled,

As twilight long begun,

Or Nature, spending with herself

Sequestered afternoon.

The dusk drew earlier in,

The morning foreign shone, —

A courteous, yet harrowing grace,

As guest who would be gone.

And thus, without a wing,

Or service of a keel,

Our summer made her light escape

Into the beautiful.

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Jone Rush MacCulloch has the Poetry Friday round-up this week. 

Poetry Friday: I dwell in possibility

Ah, my Emily!

So appropriate for January —for looking ahead — for being open to interpretation — full of possibility!










I dwell in Possibility
by Emily Dickinson

I dwell in Possibility –
A fairer House than Prose –
More numerous of Windows –
Superior – for Doors –

(Read the entire short poem here, at The Poetry Foundation.)

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Kathryn Apel has the Poetry Friday roundup. 

Poetry Friday: Emily Dickinson

I just felt like a little bit of Emily today. 

Go here, to Poets.org, to read the five perfect lines of "To make a prairie."

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The Amazing Jama has the round up this week at Jama's Alphabet Soup.

Poetry Friday: There is No Frigate Like a Book

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away

Emily Dickinson knew what she was talking about.

For Lent, I'm reading In This House of Brede (for the first time! Where has this book been all my life? Languishing on my TBR pile, that's where, and I should be ashamed of myself for taking so long to get to it.) Clearly, however, it's not a penance. Beautiful book.

How frugal is the Chariot
That bears the Human Soul

Yes, Emily, and yes, Rumer Godden.

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For more about books, process, and poetry, visit Elizabeth Steinglass, who has the roundup today.