April is National Poetry Month

Willits Library National Poetry Month Poem of the Day April 25, 2008

Sonnet Week!

PABLO NERUDA (tr. by Ben Belitt)

XC

I dreamed that I died: that I felt the cold close to me;

and all that was left of my life was contained in your presence:

your mouth was the daylight and dark of my world,

your skin, the republic I shaped for myself with my kisses.

Straightway, the books of the world were all ended,

all friendships, all treasures restlessly cramming the vaults,

the diaphanous house that we built for a lifetime together –

all ceased to exist, till nothing remained but your eyes.

So long as we live, or as long as a lifetime’s vexation,

love is a breaker thrown high on the breakers’ successions;

but when death in its time chooses to pummel the doors –

there is only your face to fill up the vacancy,

only your clarity pressing back on the whole of non-being,

only your love, where the dark of the world closes in.

XC

Pensé morir, sentí de cerca el frío,

y de cuanto viví sólo a ti te dejaba:

tu boca era mi día y mi noche terrestres

y tu piel la república fundada por mis besos.

En ese instante se terminaron los libros,

la amistad, los tesoros sin tregua acumulados,

la casa transparente que tú y yo construímos:

todo dejó de ser, menos tus ojos.

Porque el amor, mientras la vida nos acosa,

es simplemente una ola alta sobre las olas,

pero ay cuando la muere viene a local la puerta

hay sólo tu mirada para tanto vacío,

sólo tu claridad para no seguir siendo,

sólo tu amor para cerrar la sombra.

Ukiah Library National Poetry Month Poem of the Day
April 25, 2008

WILD GEESE

Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things

April is National Poetry Month

In Memory of Dori Anderson

1938-2008

Ukiah Library National Poetry Month- Poem of the day April 11, 2008

THE DROWNED WOMAN OF THE SKY

Woven butterfly, garment

hung from the trees,

drowned in sky, derived

amid squalls and rains, alone, alone, compact,

with clothes and tresses born to shreds

and centers corroded by the air.

Motionless, if you withstand

the racous needle of winter,

the river of angry water that harasses you. Celestial

shadow, dove branch

broken by night among the dead flowers:

I stop and suffer

When like a slow and cold-filled sound

you spread your red glow beaten by the water.

LA AHOGADA DEL CIELO

Tejida mariposa, vestidura

Colgada de los árboles,

Ahogada en cielo, derivada

Entre rachas y iluvias, sola, sola compacta,

Con rops y cabellera hecha jirones
Y centros corroí́dos por el aire.

Inmõvil, si resistes

La ronca aguja del invierno,

El rio de agua airada que te acosa. Celeste

Sombra, ramo de palomas

Roto de noche entre las flores muertas:

yo me detengo y sufro

cuando como un sonido lento y lleno de frio

propagas tu arrebol golpeado por el agua.

Willits Library National Library Month Poem of the Day April 11, 2008

AUDRE LORDE

The Day They Eulogized Mahalia

The day they eulogized Mahalia

the echoes of her big voice were stilled

and the mourners found her

singing out from their sisters mouths

from their mothers toughness

from the funky dust in the corners

of sunday church pews

sweet and dry and simple

and that hated sunday morning fussed over feeling

the songs

singing out from their mothers toughness

would never threaten the lord’s retribution

any more.

Now she was safe

acceptable

that big Mahalia

Chicago turned all out

to show her that they cared

but her eyes were closed

And although Mahalia loved our music

nobody sang her favorite song

and while we talked about

what a hard life she had known

and wasn’t it too bad Sister Mahalia

didn’t have it easier

earlier

Six Black children

burned to death in a day care center

on the South Side

kept in a condemned house

for lack of funds

firemen found their bodies

like huddled lumps of charcoal

with silent mouths and eyes wide open.

Small and without song

six black children found a voice in flame

the day the city eulogized Mahalia.