The Poet Speaks of Art. Harry Rusche, English Department, Emory University.
This project is designed for the students of English 205, "Introduction to Poetry. " Introductory Remarks Additional Readings. The Poet Speaks of Art. Conjunctions. It's National Poetry Day today.
The theme is stars. Here's one by me, for you... Conjunctions. Outlook - manamargaret. Sylvia Plath’s poem “Daddy” is about her mother. Photo by © Bettmann/CORBIS.
On the 50th anniversary of the day Sylvia Plath left milk on a tray for her two sleeping children and put her head into an oven, the cultural fascination with her shows no signs of abating. Though one might think that Janet Malcolm’s sublime study The Silent Woman, would be the last word on Plath, there is a spate of new books feeding the myth: Mad Girl’s Love Song: Sylvia Plath and Life Before Ted; An American Isis:The Life and Art of Sylvia Plath; Pain, Parties, Work: Sylvia Plath in New York, Summer 1953; and a new edition of The Bell Jar. Quite sensibly biographers and critics have always thought that Plath’s most famous poem, “Daddy,” was about her father. I would like to float out the theory that it is really about her mother.
It is crudely reductionistic to do biographical readings of poems, of course, and it goes without saying that a poem of any accomplishment rises above the particular psychological alchemy of its making. Youth by W. S. Merwin Good Night by W. S. Merwin. Share Tweet Through all of youth I was looking for you without knowing what I was looking for or what to call you I think I did not even know I was looking how would I have known you when I saw you as I did.
Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front. Any Morning by William Stafford. Share Just lying on the couch and being happy.
Only humming a little, the quiet sound in the head. Trouble is busy elsewhere at the moment, it has so much to do in the world. People who might judge are mostly asleep; they can't monitor you all the time, and sometimes they forget. When dawn flows over the hedge you can get up and act busy. Little corners like this, pieces of Heaven left lying around, can be picked up and saved. People won't even see that you have them, they are so light and easy to hide. Later in the day you can act like the others. You can shake your head. It's the birthday of novelist ( books by this author ), born in Sandpoint, Idaho (1943). Robinson got a teaching fellowship at the University of Kent in England. She went back to teaching at the University of Iowa Writers' Workshop, and she immersed herself in reading.
In she wrote: "Sometimes I have loved the peacefulness of an ordinary Sunday. Charles Schulz said: "My whole life has been one of rejection. Taking the Hands by Robert Bly. Share Taking the hands of someone you love, You see they are delicate cages . . .
Tiny birds are singing. Sunday Poetry BrocanteHome. “The Day The Saucers Came” by Neil Gaiman « Al Gravitar Rodando. That Day, the saucers landed.
Hundreds of them, golden, Silent, coming down from the sky like great snowflakes, And the people of Earth stood and stared as they descended, Waiting, dry-mouthed, to find out what waited inside for us And none of us knowing if we would be here tomorrow But you didn’t notice because That day, the day the saucers came, by some some coincidence, Was the day that the graves gave up their dead And the zombies pushed up through soft earth or erupted, shambling and dull-eyed, unstoppable, Came towards us, the living, and we screamed and ran, But you did not notice this because On the saucer day, which was zombie day, it was Ragnarok also, and the television screens showed us A ship built of dead-men’s nails, a serpent, a wolf, All bigger than the mind could hold, and the cameraman could Not get far enough away, and then the Gods came out But you did not see them coming because Like this: Like Loading...