Poetry Thursday

A poster from last year's Poetry Month hangs proudly on my cube wall. It has snippets of lots of different poems. Here's one my favorites--and one that is particularly relevent on this dark, dreary, and snowy morning here in Boston:

I wake to sleep and take my waking slow
~Roethke

Yawn!


And in other literary news, here's a reading that I may try to go to next week, though I'll have to be late because of my French class:


A Reading by Grace Paley
with Robert Pinsky and Samantha Mineo Myers

Wednesday, April 18
7:30 p.m.
Boston University Photonics Center
8 Saint Mary’s Street, Room 206

Reception and Book Signing to Follow

GRACE PALEY is one of the most celebrated and widely read short-story writers in the United States. Her most recent book, The Collected Stories, gathers short fiction from earlier collections, including The Little Disturbances of Man and Later the Same Day. Paley’s many awards include grants from the Guggenheim Foundation and the National Endowment for the Arts. She lives in Vermont.

Poetry Thursday

This is my first foray into Poetry Thursday. I thought one had to write a poem to participate, and since I am not a poet, I bowed out. But then poetmom told me how wrong I was! All one needs to do is talk about poetry. What fun! And luckily, FC just told me about a wonderful poetry resource: American Life in Poetry.

At this web site, former poet laureate Ten Kooser picks a poem each week and comments on it. He allows publications to reproduce the column for free because he wants to see poems reach more people via newspapers and blogs. I love any idea that creates writerly community, and this one does just that.

Here's this week's column:


American Life in Poetry: Column 106

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

By describing the relocation of the moles which ravaged her yard, Washington poet Judith Kitchen presents an experience that resonates beyond the simple details, and suggests that children can learn important lessons through observation of the natural world.

Catching the Moles

First we tamp down the ridges
that criss-cross the yard

then wait for the ground
to move again.

I hold the shoe box,
you, the trowel.

When I give you the signal
you dig in behind

and flip forward.
Out he pops into daylight,

blind velvet.

We nudge him into the box,
carry him down the hill.

Four times we've done it.
The children worry.

Have we let them all go
at the very same spot?

Will they find each other?
We can't be sure ourselves,

only just beginning to learn
the fragile rules of uprooting.

Poem copyright © 1986 by Judith Kitchen, whose most recent book is the novel, "The House on Eccles Road," Graywolf Press, 2004. Reprinted from "Perennials," Anhinga Press, 1986, with permission of the author. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.


I love the way the end of the poem opens up to be about so much more than just moles. It brought to mind the children the poem mentions, and how much of parenting is learning how to root and unroot children as they grow. I also like the line "blind velvet." It lent sympathy to these creatures who are ruining the garden.