November 2011
4 posts
American Life in Poetry: Column 349
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
Here’s a fine poem about a cricket by Catherine Tufariello, who lives in Indiana. I especially admire the way in which she uses rhyme without it ever taking control of the poetry, the way rhyme can.
The Cricket in the Sump
He falls abruptly silent when we fling A basket down or bang the dryer shut, But soon takes up again where he left off. Swept...
American Life in Poetry: Column 348
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
When we’re on all fours in a garden, planting or weeding, we’re as close to our ancient ancestors as we’re going to get. Here, while he works in the dirt, Richard Levine feels the sacred looking over his shoulder.
Believe This
All morning, doing the hard, root-wrestling work of turning a yard from the wild to a gardener’s will, I heard a bird...
American Life in Poetry: Column 347
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
My mother and her sisters were experts at using faint praise, and “Bless her heart” was a very useful tool for them. Richard Newman, of St. Louis, does a great job here of showing us how far that praise can be stretched.
Bless Their Hearts
At Steak ‘n Shake I learned that if you add “Bless their hearts” after their names, you can say whatever you...
American Life in Poetry: Column 346
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
It seems to me that most poems are set in spring or summer, and I was pleased to discover this one by Molly Fisk, a Californian, set in cold midwinter.
Winter Sun
How valuable it is in these short days, threading through empty maple branches, the lacy-needled sugar pines. Its glint off sheets of ice tells the story of Death’s brightness, her...