Poetry Friday: Genius, by George Bilgere

George Bilgere today, just because he's so much fun. 

Genius

by George Bilgere

It was nice being a genius

worth nearly half-a-million dollars

for the two or three minutes it took me

to walk back to my house from the mailbox

....

(Read the whole thing here, at The Writer's Almanac.) 

~~~~~

The round up is at A Teaching Life.

Poetry Friday: George Bilgere Ruminates on Unwise Purchases

George Bilgere, oh, how I love you. For lines like this:

a woman who has always dreamed of becoming
the kind of woman the man I've always dreamed of becoming 
has always dreamed of meeting.

That's from "Unwise Purchases." It looks like a longish poem for Poetry Friday, but you'll zip through it because it's so personable, as a Bilgere poem is and should be.

Read it here, at The Writer's Almanac.

~~~~~~~~~~

The round up is being hosted today by the blithesome Jama Rattigan at Jama's Alphabet Soup.

Poetry Friday: More Bilgere Brilliance

It's another George Bilgere day here. There have been several of them.

Today's poem is pure genius.

Genius
by George Bilgere

It was nice being a genius
worth nearly half-a-million dollars
for the two or three minutes it took me
to walk back to my house from the mailbox
with the letter from the Foundation
trembling in my hand. Frankly,

for the first minute
I was somewhat surprised at being a genius.
....
(Read the whole thing here, at The Writer's Almanac.)

~~~~~~~~~~

The Poetry Friday round up is at Live Your Poem.  

Poetry Friday: Atticus, Grading Essays, and George Bilgere

School has started.

I've lost not only an excellent cook, but a beloved evening companion.

When one is married to an English teacher, one measures out one's life not in coffee spoons but in the number of hours one will actually get to spend with one's husband once school and essay-grading have begun.

Is there a Mrs. Bilgere? Does she feel as I do about those stacks of essays? Is she, too, guilty of being the voice of temptation, the one who whispers lies about how those wretched stacks can wait?

Robert Frost 
by George Bilgere

Over there on the dining room table
are just twenty-five of the thousands of essays
on the poetry of Robert Frost
produced this week alone in the USA,
the world leader in essays on Robert Frost.

The essays are about ambiguity...

...And yet two days have passed, an entire weekend,
and it's Sunday evening and I am having a glass of wine
and the essays on ambiguity in the poetry of Robert Frost
remain unassessed by me, and this is getting very serious.

(Read the whole poem here, at The Writer's Almanac.)

The Poetry Friday round up is at Steps and Staircases today.

It's "Love George Bilgere Day" at the Blog With the Shockingly Clever Title

Yeah, I know.  I've had this day before. A Bilgerian day is one in which I want to linger endlessly at a coffee shop, make wise, witty and insightful observations about the people around me, inventory my dreams, ponder which of them have been realized, scrutinize my shortcomings, and imagine that I can still wear that one pair of jeans.

So, yeah, I love George Bilgere. But who doesn't? Who wouldn't love a poet who writes frequently about coffee and books, and about the shops in which coffee is consumed while bad novels are written, who knows what it is to want to murder someone who's on a cell phone, and who grasps the inner life and hidden meanings wrapped in unwise purchases?

He deserves a day, don't you think?

The Ineffable
by George Bilgere

I'm sitting here reading the paper,
feeling warm and satisfied, basically content
with my life and all I have achieved.
Then I go up for a refill and suddenly realize
...

(Read the rest of it here, at The Writer's Almanac.)

~~~~~~~~~~

Myra is hosting the round up this weekend at Gathering Books.

Poetry Friday: Why I Love George Bilgere

I loved him here, when he failed to read an important novel, because I knew he would understand my relationship with Moby Dick.

And I loved him here, because even though I am a woman and I am expected to love and plan such things as bridal showers, in truth I despise them (in all their "astonishing detail") unless they consist of a.) much wine and b.) no silly games. No games at all. On top of that, I am the person to whom his ode is addressed ("O person like me/phoneless in your distant cafe....")

And I really love him here today, in this droll comparison:

The Return of Odysseus
by George Bilgere

... With the help
of his son Telemachus he slaughters roughly
one hundred and ten suitors
and quite a number of young ladies,
although in view of their behavior
I use the term loosely. Rivers of blood
course across the palace floor.

I too have come home in a bad mood.

Please promise me you'll go read the whole thing which, while it made me laugh, also acted as a bit of poetic melatonin, producing an elevated level of contentment as I rest in the knowledge that I, too, have someone who will listen to me with "epic patience."

The Poetry Friday round-up is at Carol's Corner.

Poetry Friday: Once Again I Fail to Read an Important Novel

I love this poem.
I don't even have to tell you why, do I?
It speaks for itself.




Once Again I Fail to Read an Important Novel
by George Bilgere

Instead, we sit together beside the fountain,
the important novel and I.

We are having coffee together
in that quiet first hour of the morning,
respecting each other's silences
in the shadow of an important old building
in this small but significant European city.

All the characters can relax.
I'm giving them the day off.
....

(Read the entire poem here.)

And now, I'm off to spend my entire day avoiding important novels.

Kyle at The Boy Reader is hosting Poetry Friday.