I talked to my Dad today and wished him Happy Father's Day. He sounded a little short of breath, but he said he felt pretty good. He'd gotten a Father's Day card from someone at the nursing home, but they didn't sign their name to it. He liked the idea that someone remembered.
This is not so much a poem as song lyrics from a song Louis Armstrong sang. My Dad loved Louis Armstrong. He went to hear him in person one time, and got his autograph on a record album. I like the sentiment of these lyrics, and I'm sure my Dad did, too.
WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD
(George Weiss / Bob Thiele)
I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shakin' hands, sayin' "How do you do?"
They're really saying "I love you"
I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll ever know
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world
Oh yeah
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
A Poem for David
The other night at dinner my husband, son and I were discussing the origins of creative thought. How do mathematicians even start to think about string theory? How do writers start to write? Here is one answer.
Do You Have Any Advice For Those of Us Just Starting Out?
by Ron Koertge
Give up sitting dutifully at your desk. Leave
your house or apartment. Go out into the world.
It's all right to carry a notebook but a cheap
one is best, with pages the color of weak tea
and on the front a kitten or a space ship.
Avoid any enclosed space where more than
three people are wearing turtlenecks. Beware
any snow-covered chalet with deer tracks
across the muffled tennis courts.
Not surprisingly, libraries are a good place to write.
And the perfect place in a library is near an aisle
where a child a year or two old is playing as his
mother browses the ranks of the dead.
Often he will pull books from the bottom shelf.
The title, the author's name, the brooding photo
on the flap mean nothing. Red book on black, gray
book on brown, he builds a tower. And the higher
it gets, the wider he grins.
You who asked for advice, listen: When the tower
falls, be like that child. Laugh so loud everybody
in the world frowns and says, "Shhhh."
Then start again.
from Fever, 2006
Red Hen Press
Do You Have Any Advice For Those of Us Just Starting Out?
by Ron Koertge
Give up sitting dutifully at your desk. Leave
your house or apartment. Go out into the world.
It's all right to carry a notebook but a cheap
one is best, with pages the color of weak tea
and on the front a kitten or a space ship.
Avoid any enclosed space where more than
three people are wearing turtlenecks. Beware
any snow-covered chalet with deer tracks
across the muffled tennis courts.
Not surprisingly, libraries are a good place to write.
And the perfect place in a library is near an aisle
where a child a year or two old is playing as his
mother browses the ranks of the dead.
Often he will pull books from the bottom shelf.
The title, the author's name, the brooding photo
on the flap mean nothing. Red book on black, gray
book on brown, he builds a tower. And the higher
it gets, the wider he grins.
You who asked for advice, listen: When the tower
falls, be like that child. Laugh so loud everybody
in the world frowns and says, "Shhhh."
Then start again.
from Fever, 2006
Red Hen Press
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Redecorating
I'm having my office painted, along with my son's old room that will become my husband's new office. So, we went to the hardware store last weekend to look at paint colors. My husband took one look around, pointed at a paint sample on the shelf and said, "That's the color I want". Just like that. No agonizing. No hesitation. I, of course, brought home 8 sample cans of paint to try on the walls, and numerous little paper paint chips to hold against the furniture. I visited Home Depot to collect paint samples, too. I think I've decided on a beautiful blue that looks great with my dark wood desk and bookcase. But, I'll never really be sure.
What color did my husband pick? Something as close to white as he could get - without actually choosing white. There is a faint hint of gray-green in it. I'm sure he won't lose any sleep over whether it looks good next to the color of the hallway.
A poem to share:
Charles Harper Webb
Buyer’s Remorse
I’d hate to take a job teaching, then spend the rest of my life trying to get out of it. –Mary Oliver
No sooner do the ruck of us declare
“I do”, than we don’t anymore. Go out
for football, and we who never dared
stand up on a pair of ice skates, pout
that we can’t play pro hockey, too. The ink’s
still wet on our tickets to France, and we
wish we’d picked Japan or, come to think
of it, Kauai, New Zealand or Tahiti.
Open any one door and we’re deafened
by the roar—loud as the sea swallowing Atlantis—
as other doors slam shut, and their wind
knocks us down. The serpent didn’t hiss
to Adam and Eve, “Hide your nakedness!”
He wore his best suit and whispered, “Look at this.”
What color did my husband pick? Something as close to white as he could get - without actually choosing white. There is a faint hint of gray-green in it. I'm sure he won't lose any sleep over whether it looks good next to the color of the hallway.
A poem to share:
Charles Harper Webb
Buyer’s Remorse
I’d hate to take a job teaching, then spend the rest of my life trying to get out of it. –Mary Oliver
No sooner do the ruck of us declare
“I do”, than we don’t anymore. Go out
for football, and we who never dared
stand up on a pair of ice skates, pout
that we can’t play pro hockey, too. The ink’s
still wet on our tickets to France, and we
wish we’d picked Japan or, come to think
of it, Kauai, New Zealand or Tahiti.
Open any one door and we’re deafened
by the roar—loud as the sea swallowing Atlantis—
as other doors slam shut, and their wind
knocks us down. The serpent didn’t hiss
to Adam and Eve, “Hide your nakedness!”
He wore his best suit and whispered, “Look at this.”
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