April is Nation Poetry Month

In Memory of
Dori Anderson
1938-2008

Willits Library National Poetry Month Poem of the Day April 4, 2008

SEAMUS HEANEY, from The Cure At Troy

Human beings suffer,

They torture one another,

They get hurt and get hard.

No poem or play or song

Can fully right a wrong

Inflicted and endured.

The innocent in gaols

Beat on their bars together.

A hunger-striker’s father

Stands in the graveyard dumb.

The police widow in veils

Faints at the funeral home.

History says, Don’t hope

On this side of the grave.

But then, once in a lifetime

The longed-for tidal wave

Of justice can rise up,

And hope and history rhyme.

So hope for a great sea-change

On the far side of revenge.

Believe that a further shore

Is reachable from here.

Believe in miracles

And cures and healing wells.

Call miracle self-healing:

The utter, self-revealing

Double-take of feeling.

If there’s fire on the mountain

Or lightning and storm

And a god speaks from the sky

That means someone is hearing

The outcry and the birth-cry

Of new life at its term.

It means once in a lifetime

That justice can rise up

And hope and history rhyme.

Ukiah Library Poem of the day for National Poetry Month, April 4th

by Emily Dickenson

Just lost, when I was saved!

Just felt the world go by!

Just girt me for the onset with Eternity

When breath blew back

And on the other side

I heard recede the disappointed tide

Therefore, as One returned, I feel

Odd secrets of the line to tell!

Some Sailor, skirting foreign shores-

Some pale Reporter, from the awful doors

Before the Seal!

Next time, to stay!

Nest time, the things to see

By Ear unheard,

Unscrutinized by Eye

Next time, to tarry,

While the Ages steal

Slow tramp the centuries

And the Cycles wheel!

April is National Poetry Month

In Memory of Dori Anderson
1938-2008

Willits Library National Poetry Month Poem of the Day – April 3, 2008

Prose Poem by the Empress of American Poetry – MARY OLIVER

A Settlement

Look, it’s spring. And last year’s loose dust has turned

into this soft willingness. The wind-flowers have come

up trembling, slowly the brackens are up-lifting their

curvaceous and pale bodies. The thrushes have come

home, none less than filled with mystery, sorrow,

happiness, music, ambition.

And I am walking out into all of this with nowhere to

go and no task undertaken but to turn the pages of

this beautiful world over and over, in the world of my

mind.

***

Therefore, dark past,

I’m about to do it.

I’m about to forgive you

for everything.

Ukiah Library's Poem of the day for National Poetry Month- April 3rd

White-Eyes

Mary Oliver

In winter
all the singing is in
the tops of the trees
where the wind-bird

with its white eyes
shoves and pushes
among the branches.
Like any of us

he wants to go to sleep,
but he's restless—
he has an idea,
and slowly it unfolds

from under his beating wings
as long as he stays awake
But his big, round music, after all,
is too breathy to last.

So, it's over.
In the pine-crown
he makes his nest,
he's done all he can.

I don't know the name of this bird,
I only imagine his glittering beak
tucked in a white wing
while the clouds—

which he has summoned
from the north—
which he has taught
to be mild, and silent—

thicken, and begin to fall
into the world below
like stars, or the feathers
of some unimaginable bird

that loves us,
that is asleep now, and silent—
that has turned itself
into snow.

April is Poetry Month

In memory of Dori Anderson
1938-2008

Ukiah Library's National Month of Poetry: Poem of the day

ALL-PURPOSE APOLOGY POEM

Austin Strauss

As a responsible adult, I must admit my guilt.

I did it.

Not the weather, not

my wife, not some “mood”

that mysteriously entered as I slept.

I did it.

“Guilt” may be too strong a word

but, in fact, I did the thing.

I made it happen.

No outside cause. No god, no devil.

No accident of fate, no drug or drink

or pill.

I did it.

I used my mind, I moved my hands

And arms and legs, ‘twas me who

dood it.

I broke the_____, I ruined the_____

I said the thing not said,

I was insentive, I was at fault.

I did it.

I drove the car, I dropped the dish,

I lost the key, I swung my fist,

I tore the page, I spilled the beer

I did it.

I was mean. I was stupid.

I was petty. I was cold.

Check one.

I did it.

Not you, not ten other guys,

not my parents, teachers, political

leaders, not even the capitalists or Russians.

Not my stars. Nor the moon

Or sun or winds or tides.

not my dog or my cat

Or my bird.

It was me. Me Me.

Willits Library National Poetry Month Poem(s) of the Day – April 2, 2008

Two by the High Priestess of American Poetry – EMILY DICKINSON

Wild Nights – Wild Nights!

Wild Nights – Wild Nights!

Were I with thee

Wild Nights should be

Our luxury!

Futile – the Winds –

To a Heart in port –

Done with the Compass –

Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden –

Ah, the Sea!

Might I but moor – Tonight –

In Thee!

“Hope” is the thing with feathers

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul –

And sings the tune without the words –

And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –

And sore must be the storm –

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chilliest land –

And on the strangest Sea –

Yet, never, in Extremity,

It asked a crumb – of Me.

April is Poetry Month

In memory of Dori Anderson
1938-2008

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

April is Poetry Month--Celebrate with us!

Donna Kerr, Branch Manager at the Willits Library and Eliza Wingate, Reference at the Ukiah Library have a joyful time each day in April that the Libraries are open, presenting you with poems, online or there will be take outs at each branch.

April 1st

Willits Library National Poetry Month Poem of the Day – April 1, 2008

Celebrating APRIL FOOL’S DAY with Lewis Carroll

JABBERWOCKY

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

Long time the manxome foe he sought –

So rested he by the Tumtum tre,

And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in he wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

Ukiah celebrates National Poetry Month

Eating Poetry
Mark Strand

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
i have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand,
when I get on my knees and lick her hand.
She screams.

I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.