“Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.” ― Corrie Ten Boom
Dear, Dear Readers,
Today, we lost one of the great Author / Illustrators of all time, Maurice Sendak. He wrote many books, the most famous was, of course, Where The Wild Things Are.
I have to say that as a child, I was greatly inspired and influenced by the amazing imagination of Mr. Sendak. When I was little, my mom bought me a book called Pierre: A Cautionary Tale in Five Chapters and a Prologue that had an accompanying record of Carole King singing the words. I read and listened to this for hours on end. It was yet another moment of absolute childhood wonder for me crafted by Mr. Sendak (and Ms. King!).
I will forever be grateful to Mr. Sendak for not only fostering my imagination but inspiring me as a child to become the writer I am today!
Rest In Peace, Mr. Sendak
Jamy
Thanks to Eddie, just wanted to claim my post for Technorati…Here’s the code!
YZT8MGHEHCMT
Fun!
Jamy <:o)
Now that National Poetry Month is over, and I was able to post something for (ALMOST) every day for the month of April, A Rhythm Runs Through It can get back to its usual “Rhythms”…
This week’s new favorite poet struck me with her beautiful series of three poems from the beginning of the April 2012 issue of Poetry magazine. They remind me of my “Disease Chronicles” (some of which I have posted on the blog). Read the following poems in order and you’ll see how they flow from one to the other (BRILLIANT!):
Each poem by itself is a glorious thing, but together, they are truly divine!
Her bio can be found by clicking her name below:
;oD
Jamy
For my National Poetry Month: Epilogue and May Day post, I would like to share a poet whom I have always admired and who had an excellent entry in Column 371 of the American Life in Poetry. Dana Gioia, who served as Chair of the National Endowment for the Arts, is an amazing poet and the below verse definitely proves that!
“Pity the Beautiful“
Pity the beautiful,
the dolls, and the dishes,
the babes with big daddies
granting their wishes.
Pity the pretty boys,
the hunks, and Apollos,
the golden lads whom
success always follows.
The hotties, the knock-outs,
the tens out of ten,
the drop-dead gorgeous,
the great leading men.
Pity the faded,
the bloated, the blowsy,
the paunchy Adonis
whose luck’s gone lousy.
Pity the gods,
no longer divine.
Pity the night
the stars lose their shine.
It’s so telling, especially in the “looksist” society we live in…Enjoy!
The full article can be found here.
;oD
Jamy
For my final National Poetry Month post, to catch up (because I got WAY behind, and wanted to end on the last day) and because it was such fun to hear from all of you on the artistic inspiration question from my previous post, I have put seven questions below (one for each day)…the last two are polls and the others are to be answered in the comments, please! Answer as many as you like…Thanks for participating and HAPPY NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!!
<:o)
Jamy
For my 23rd National Poetry Month post, I wanted to share a piece of my verse that was inspired by the above George Wesley Bellows painting (I am very fond of the The Ashcan School of artists, of which Bellows was a founding member), “Criehaven Large”. Please enjoy!
Are there artists who inspire your poetry? Let me know in the comments!
The night is coming, slowly,
as long as a parson’s speech.
The fields are reticent and cling
to the fading sun like addicts.
It’s too soon to give it up.
The trees shake,
a breeze whispers some gossip
about the dark to them, girlish anticipation quakes
through their leaves.
The sheep raise their coin slot eyes to the sky,
seeing, but not seeing,
knowing enough to disapprove of the field’s actions.
The daytime sky has given up,
shackled and shuffling
toward its inevitable conclusion.
The night may be a blanket, though,
not a chloroform-soaked rag.
If the fields can kick the habit,
the trees can get their facts straight,
the sheep can share their knowledge, and if
the daytime sky gets off for good behavior,
darkness’ half nelson just might turn out to be
a warm embrace.
The night a time for flights of fancy, until
the bright dawn arrives young and fresh
to kiss her dark brother on the cheek, and
kick start the day’s engine once again.
© Jamy Sweet 2010-04-11
<:o)
Jamy
For my 22nd National Poetry Month post, I would like to share a poet who got my attention when she just recently won the 2012 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry (Congrats Tracy!)…Here’s a sample of her fine work:
“I Don’t Miss It“
But sometimes I forget where I am,
Imagine myself inside that life again.
Recalcitrant mornings. Sun perhaps,
Or more likely colorless light
Filtering its way through shapeless cloud.
And when I begin to believe I haven’t left,
The rest comes back. Our couch. My smoke
Climbing the walls while the hours fall.
Straining against the noise of traffic, music,
Anything alive, to catch your key in the door.
And that scamper of feeling in my chest,
As if the day, the night, wherever it is
I am by then, has been only a whir
Of something other than waiting.
We hear so much about what love feels like.
Right now, today, with the rain outside,
And leaves that want as much as I do to believe
In May, in seasons that come when called,
It’s impossible not to want
To walk into the next room and let you
Run your hands down the sides of my legs,
Knowing perfectly well what they know.
© Tracy K. Smith
from Duende (Graywolf Press), 2007
The images in this poem are absolutely pitch-perfect, especially “And leaves that want as much as I do to believe/In May, in seasons that come when called,”
Here’s her Biography at the Poetry Foundation,
A list of her poems at the Poetry Foundation, and
The entry on the Pulitzer website regarding her award.
;oD
Jamy
For my 21st National Poetry Month post, I want to share another of my “Disease Chronicles” (My heart IS free now, Thank the Gods! )…Please enjoy!
My Heart Incarceration
My heart is forced into
An Iron Box
On an almost daily basis
(wait)
On a daily basis.
Disease attempts to jail my spirit
And I must
Work,
Work,
Work,
To prevent my
Joie de vivre
becoming
Jeanne d’Arc.
My affections, too,
Are young and not ready to
Be burned and beatified.
This constant inquisition of worry and fret
Tries,
Tries,
Tries,
To convert my soul to a
Dark reckoning,
But I refuse.
No matter the temporary vacuum
Left behind (I stress the temporary).
Malady shall be the dragon, and
I, St. George,
I, Prince Phillip,
I, Beowulf,
Will be the victor, and
My heart will be free.
© Jamy Sweet 2008-07-11
<:o)
Jamy
For my 20th National Poetry Month post (and 65th total post!), this is a free verse rhyming poem I wrote one early evening as I looked up at a crazy sunset wondering what the night might bring. 
Night’s Questions
Jackson Pollock is the sky
To let me know what my
Night might bring
As its shadowy bells begin to ring.
A dinner chime? A long repose?
Or maybe not a one of those?
Stars like glitter, moon like ice?
A chance to indulge some secret vice?
A circle of loved ones around a table
The air filled with laughter as soft as sable?
I won’t have answers to Night’s questions until
The dark has left and Day’s sweet swill
Pours through my window to remind
What I accepted and declined.
© Jamy Sweet 2012-04-25
<:o)
Jamy
