The lucky koi

We can speak without voice to the trees and the clouds and the waves of the sea. Without words they respond through the rustling of leaves and the moving of clouds and the murmuring of the sea.
~Paul Tillich

Portrait of Young Helen
by Elena © 2023

Hi folks, happy Poetry Friday! September 1st is also Elena's birthday! The picture above is one she made of her great-grandmother, who passed away in 2013 when Elena was 11.

Today's poem is by Marjorie Saiser:

For My Daughter
by Marjorie Saiser

When they laid you on my belly
and cut the cord
and wrapped you and gave you
to my arms, I looked into the face
I already loved. The cheekbones,
the nose, the deep place
the eyes opened to. I thought
then this is the one I must teach,
must shape and nurture.
I was sure I should. How was I
to know you would become
the one to show me
how kindness walks in the world?
Some days the daughter
is the mother,
is the hand that reaches
out over the pond, sprinkling
nourishment on the water.
Some days I am the lucky koi,
rising from below, opening
the circle of my mouth to take it in.

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Addendum: Elena made the portrait using ink and rubbing alcohol on Yupo heavyweight paper.

Bonus: Elyse Myers talking about loving yourself.

Pleasures from the Page has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Ramona!

Autumnal Kawase

There is a part of me that will forever want to be walking under autumn leaves, carrying a briefcase containing the works of Shakespeare and Yeats and a portable chess set.
~Roger Ebert

For Art Thursday, welcoming autumn with woodblock prints by Hasui Kawase:

Autumn in Oirase
by Hasui Kawase

The Garden in Autumn
by Hasui Kawase

Everything I need to know

Who, being loved, is poor?
~Oscar Wilde

For Music Monday, "Precious Love" by James Morrison:

Fixing pianos

Poetry isn't a profession, it's a way of life. It's an empty basket; you put your life into it and make something out of that.
~Mary Oliver

photo by Thomas Beck

Happy Poetry Friday! Hope you've been having a nice week. Today, I'm going to share a poem by Edgar Kunz and info about The 70 Poet Challenge. First, a thoughtful article Edgar wrote: Unspendable Currency: Edgar Kunz on Making Ends Meet As a Poet.

Edgar Kunz

And now, Edgar's poem:

PIANO
by Edgar Kunz

I held him together
as long as I could, she says.

He stopped working,
stopped coming upstairs.

He was like tissue paper
coming apart in water.

Like smoke in my hands.
It had nothing to do

with you, baby. You left
when you had to.

I met a woman once
who worked on pianos.

Said it was a hard job.
The tools, the leverage.

The required ear. I love it,
she said, but it’s brutal.

The second I step away
it’s already falling out of tune.

***********

If the Sealey Challenge got you in a challenge-y mood or if you missed the Sealey Challenge and you are looking for one, here you go:

To celebrate the National Poetry Library's 70th birthday they are inviting you to discover 70 poems by 70 poets from the last 70 years that are ‘new’ to you.

How does it work?

In the London Literature Festival 2023 (19-29 October) the challenge will begin. Everyone can pick up a free booklet, or download from the NPL website, and start their search for their 70 new poets.

There is also space to write your own poem of 70 lines and send it to the library.

Everyone taking part can send their completed booklet, detailing their 70 poets, to the National Poetry Library. They will organise an event in London Literature Festival 2024 of poets who featured highly in the completed lists and one person taking part in the writing challenge of a new 70 line poem will be invited to perform the poem at the event.

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TeacherDance has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Linda!

Moths

I have a little brown cocoon of an idea that may possibly expand into a magnificent moth of fulfilment.
~Lucy Maud Montgomery

A couple of years ago, I found a Pandora sphinx moth (deceased) and it was so cool-looking that it made me more interested in moths. When I was a kid, butterflies were the focus of our attention and moths were mostly discussed vis a vis sweater-eating. Moths are "hipper" now, in that they are part of some aesthetics. I'm so glad we're taking more of an interest in them because wow!

Luna Moth
Andy Reago & Chrissy McClarren

Dryocampa rubicunda – Rosy Maple Moth
Andy Reago & Chrissy McClarren

Attacus atlas
Alias 0591 from the Netherlands

The black-bodied peppered moth
Chiswick Chap

Bella Moth oOn rattlebox blossom (Crotalaria sp.)
Bob Peterson

Acherontia atropos
Didier Descouens

Antheraea polyphemus
Stephen Lody Photography

Only these wishes

Although better known as a singer-songwriter and guitarist, [Diesel] is also competent on bass guitar, drums, percussion and keyboards.
~Wikipedia

For Music Monday, Diesel with "Come To Me."



Some interesting info from Wikipedia about why Mark Lizotte is known as Diesel:

...it came about as the result of a casual joke concerning the band's bass player, John Dalzell. "John had one kid and another on the way," Mark explains. "A friend of ours used to refer to them as 'Johnny Diesel and his little injectors'; I thought it was funny. Then I got a call from the woman from the [Perth] venue where we were playing one night a week... 'You're starting to draw a few people,' she said. 'I'm going to put an ad in the paper, does this nameless band have a name?' I told her we were 'Johnny Diesel and the Injectors'. It was just a joke. I wanted it to appear in the newspaper to amuse John Dalzell but the name stuck. When we got to Sydney, our Management said, 'Everyone will think you're Johnny Diesel. Are you going to go along with it?' I wasn't going to be stuck-in-the-mud, so I said, yeah.

Songs called maps

A different language is a different vision of life.
~Federico Fellini

Happy Poetry Friday! I recently bought the anthology Poems from the Edge of Extinction: An Anthology of Poetry in Endangered Languages.

The scoop:

Each poem appears in its original form, alongside an English translation, and is accompanied by a commentary about the language, the poet and the poem - in a vibrant celebration of life, diversity, language, and the enduring power of poetry.

One language is falling silent every two weeks. Half of the 7,000 languages spoken in the world today will be lost by the end of this century. With the loss of these languages, we also lose the unique poetic traditions of their speakers and writers.

Languages included in the book: Assyrian; Belarusian; Chimiini; Irish Gaelic; Maori; Navajo; Patua; Rotuman; Saami; Scottish Gaelic; Welsh; Yiddish; Zoque...

Sandhill Crane by Brendan Lally

A poem by Diné poet Laura Tohe:

Map Songs of the Sandhill Cranes
by Laura Tohe

in Mexico
they laid open the maps again
written for them in the 2nd world
in blue light spoken with blue voices
they learned songs that would guide them through all the worlds to come
songs they placed in the spiral of their throats and called them maps
in the blue world they danced with Wind
who liked these feathered beings
so Wind molded and formed their bodies
and taught them to ride on its breath
when the fights and quarrels broke the blue world apart
the cranes gathered their songs and dances and maps
and flew towards the stars...

read the rest here (scroll down to "Featured Poems")

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I also read a poem by Albanian poet Luljeta Lleshanaku. That poem is not available online, but here is another juicy one by Ms. Lleshanaku called "Acupuncture." I'm intrigued by her concept that "The universe functions as a single body." Her poem made me think about climate crisis, and the interconnectedness of us all.

Acupuncture
By Luljeta Lleshanaku
Translated by Ani Gjika

Among the personal objects inside a 2100-year-old Chinese tomb,
archaeologists found nine acupuncture needles,
four gold and five silver.
Long before knowing why,
ancient doctors knew that pain
must be fought with pain.

It’s quite simple: an array of needles pricking your arm
for a properly functioning heart and lungs.
Needles in the feet to ease insomnia and stress.
Needles between your eyes to fight infertility.
A little pain here,
and the effect is felt elsewhere
Once, a group of explorers set out to plant a flag on the South Pole,
a needle at the heel of the globe, in the middle of nowhere.
But before the mission was completed
a new world war had begun.
The impact of the needle was felt in the world’s brain...

read the rest here

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Nix the Comfort Zone has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Molly!

Endangered Language resources

Perseids

The Perseids are a prolific meteor shower associated with the comet Swift–Tuttle. The meteors are called the Perseids because they appear from the general direction of the constellation Perseus....The cloud consists of particles ejected by the comet as it travels on its 133-year orbit.
~Wikipedia

For Art Thursday, The Perseids. They can be seen between mid-July and the beginning of September, with the peak this year being August 13th. They are primarily visible in the Northern Hemisphere, but are still enjoyable elsewhere when you have photos like these:

Perseid meteor shower above the chapel of St. Urban in Slavkov near Brno. A composition consisting of 45 images.
Michal.danes

In this 30 second exposure, a meteor streaks across the sky during the annual Perseid meteor shower, Tuesday, Aug. 10, 2021, in Spruce Knob, West Virginia.
Bill Ingalls

Taken during the Perseids 2017 meteor shower
Dheera Venkatraman from San Francisco - Borrego Springs, CA

Meteor occasional, photographed during the maximum of the Perseid swarm
Jacek Halicki

In Her Name

Time cannot devour what we will not
allow to be forgotten
~Anoushka Shankar

For Music Monday, sitar player Anoushka Shankar:



P.S. Anoushka's half-sister is Norah Jones.

Sings inside us

In a completely rational society, the best of us would be teachers and the rest of us would have to settle for something else.
~Lee Iacocca

Happy Poetry Friday! Thank you for coming to the round-up!

is that...a cat's belly?
Why, yes it is.

Hope you're having a nice week. I tried something new yesterday -- making crème brûlée. It was a larger undertaking than I expected, haha. Couldn't get the sugar crust to work but the custard was great.

Today's poem is a fun one by Geoffrey Brock:

Prof of Profs
By Geoffrey Brock

For Allison Hogge, in memory of Brian Wilkie

I was a math major—fond of all things rational.
It was the first day of my first poetry class.
The prof, with the air of a priest at Latin mass,
told us that we could “make great poetry personal,”

could own it, since poetry we memorize sings
inside us always. By way of illustration
he began reciting Shelley with real passion,
but stopped at “Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!”—

read the rest here (you don't want to miss the ending!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


(If you're on Instagram, let me know so I can follow you.)

Platybelodon

So it could well be that Platybelodon wandered around Miocene Asia, Africa, and North America, scything vegetation like some sort of peasant, only without all the pesky class struggles.
~Matt Simon

For Art Thursday, an "absurd creature": the Platybelodon. Since they are extinct, every drawing of them is an artist's rendering from skeletons that have been found. Much appreciation for paleoartists!



Platybelodon grangeri of Miocene at Inner Mongolia Museum (内蒙古博物院), in Hohhot, China. Found in Tongguer, Sonid Left Banner, Xilingol league
photo by Popolon

Worn by the weather

Your spirit sings
Though your lips never part
Singing only to me
The thief of your heart
~Bono, Friday, & Seezer

For Music Monday, Sinéad O'Connor. Have you seen In the Name of the Father? I saw it in a movie theater, many years ago, and when this song played, I was incredibly moved.



Another favorite:

Secondhand Joy

Because poetry tends to be this smaller container, where it attempts to contain the mystery of our lives, it’s the perfect vehicle for capturing a moment, holding it close to yourself, then sharing it with other people.
-James Crews

Greetings, all! I had a nice time in New Hampshire (for those of you who know NH, we were in Durham, Hebron, Bristol, and Portsmouth). For Poetry Friday, an amazing concept courtesy James Crews, who has created anthologies about kindness and hope:

When I asked myself, Who would leave their joy on the table? I pictured workaholics, people who neglect their personal relationships in favor of chasing money or power. Or someone who is too preoccupied to notice sunsets, someone who doesn't stop to smell the roses. (An anti-poet?)

Mary Lee at Another Year of Reading has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Mary Lee!

I found it! A previous post about empathetic joy.