If T. S. Eliot had known that April was poetry month, he definitely wouldn’t have called it cruel. As usual, I’m sponsoring a little contest. I’m going to post a poem every day. Leave a comment on the poem, and you get a chance at a winning a deeeelightful book of poetry to be determined once I know who’s won (one entry per comment, provided you don’t that annoying thing of leaving a series of one word comments or other stuff like that). Now maybe you’re thinking, “Susan, a book of poetry is a punishment, not a prize!” in which case I say, you are reading the wrong blog. No comments for you, troll! But seriously– if you’re not a fan of poetry, come by the blog anyway. Maybe I can change your mind. Maybe THE ART will change your mind.
If you leave a comment mentioning your favorite poems, or poems you’d like to see featured here, you get an extra entry in the contest plus a chance of seeing poetry you love on the blog you love. (I know you love it here. Don’t try to lie.)
Let’s start with a poem from Mary Oliver, who I fall in love with every time I read her work. It’s a little unsettling, in a good way. Enjoy!
The Soul at Last
by Mary Oliver
The Lord’s terrifying kindness has come to
It was only a small silvery thing–say a piece
of silver cloth, or a thousand spider webs
woven together, or a handful of aspen
leaves, with their silver backs shimmering.
And it came leaping out of the closed coffin;
it flew into the air, it danced snappingly
around the church rafters, it vanished through
I spoke there, briefly, of the loved one gone. I
gazed at the people in the pews, some of them
weeping. I knew I must, someday, write this
From Why I Wake Early: New Poems by Mary Oliver. Why don’t you own that book already? You really should.