The Coming of Light
Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light.
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows,
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine
and tomorrow’s dust flares into breath.
I had never heard of this poem by Mark Strand until late December when The Closet Professor (NSFW) posted it on his website.
Mark Strand was a Canadian-born American poet, essayist and translator. He was born on Prince Edward Island in a secular Jewish family. He received a Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1999 for Blizzard of One. You can purchase some of his works including The Coming of Light on Amazon.com, here.
Wild Nights – Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Futile – the winds –
To a heart in port –
Done with the compass –
Done with the chart!
Rowing in Eden –
Ah, the sea!
Might I moor – Tonight –
By Emily Dickinson
Lake Winnipesaukee – New Hampshire
It has become a tradition that each winter I post this poem by Robert Frost. The poem was written nearly 100 years ago in 1922 and published a year later in his Pulitzer-Prize winning “New Hampshire” volume of poetry.
As with past years, I’m including a photo taken of me while walking back to my parent’s house at Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire during a snow storm. You’ll note the street hadn’t even been plowed and it felt like we were the only ones around. The photo (much like Frost’s poem) remains a favorite.
STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I really enjoy poetry even though a lot of times I don’t always appreciate or understand what I’m reading. Last year Matt from boy culture blog referenced this tumblr site which includes the work from the handsome guy shown above. Apologies, but I don’t know his name. However, a few months ago I started following him and placed his website on my blogroll in the right margin. –>
ORIGINAL CONTENT REQUIRED
Note that both his poetry and many of the images he has on his tumblr site are not safe for work so be careful who you share this with and where you are if you choose to visit his site. Below is a work in progress that he shared earlier this week which I really like. I’m curious to read the finished work.
Source: Decodollop blog
Each October I post this poem on my blog. It is one of my favorite poems of all time and is by the famous 20th century New England poet, Robert Frost, and is entitled, Nothing gold can stay.
It is obvious that Frost was inspired by the fall foliage in New England when he wrote this poem back in 1923.
Nature’s first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Following yesterday’s somber reflections, I thought I’d share And Still I Rise from Maya Angelou. While I understand the poem has nothing to do with the tragedy of September 11th I find it inspiring and full of hope.
I love poetry and The Closet Professor is a southern blogger who now resides in Vermont who regularly shares poems like the one below.
I had never heard of A.E. Housman but according to his Wikipedia page, he was a celebrated poet (and much to my surprise) apparently fell in love with a long time friend / roommate but unfortunately the feelings were never reciprocated as Moses Jackson was heterosexual. Makes you wonder if Housman had Jackson in mind when he wrote this brief but beautiful poem.
He would not stay for me, and who can wonder
A. E. Housman, 1859 – 1936
He would not stay for me, and who can wonder?
He would not stay for me to stand and gaze.
I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder,
And went with half my life about my ways.
If you like what you read, check out The Closet Professor blog, but beware it is not safe to read while at work.