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Tag Archives: American Poets
Happiness is the uncle you never knew about
Happiness By Jane Kenyon There’s just no accounting for happiness, or the way it turns up like a prodigal who comes back to the dust at your feet having squandered a fortune far away. And how can you not forgive? You … Continue reading
Or so the story goes.
When the light goes out, and the book is set down by the bedside, it all comes flooding in: the story you are reading; the story of the day; the understanding that it is a story, the day now past, … Continue reading
Oh Summer’s Day
Emily Dickinson, “The Bee is not afraid of me”
August arrives in the dark…etc.
“But most urgent on my list of appreciation are those of you who have welcomed my tunes into your lives, into your kitchens when you’re doing the dishes, in your bedrooms, in your courting and conceiving, into those nights of … Continue reading
The house was quiet and the world was calm
The House Was Quiet and The World Was Calm By Wallace Stevens The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book; and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book. The house was quiet … Continue reading
The hardest season
I was saddened yesterday to read of the passing of the American poet Andrea Gibson at the young age of 49. Here is A lovely, beautiful, and uplifting obituary of poet and activist Andrea Gibson. “One of the last things … Continue reading
Pity the Nation
PITY THE NATION by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, 2007 (After Khalil Gibran) Pity the nation whose people are sheep And whose shepherds mislead them Pity the nation whose leaders are liars Whose sages are silenced And whose bigots haunt the airwaves Pity … Continue reading
“What Kind of Times Are These”
“What Kind of Times Are These” by Adrienne Rich There’s a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted who disappeared … Continue reading
My First Bookstore
My First Bookstore by Edward Hirsch 1. Another Family My grandfather liked to hang around Moishe Cheshinsky’s bookstore on Lawrence Avenue. We were usually the only ones in the stacks. The back room was dusty. Most of the books were written … Continue reading
Travel Between The Pages 