#npm15: Yehuda Amichai

I Know A Man

I know a man who photographed the view he saw from the window of the room where he made love and not the face of the woman he loved there. Yehuda Amichai Translated by Chana Bloch

#npm15: Stop all the clocks

My buddy Maureen suggested Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden for our National Poetry Month observance, describing it as possibly the most beautiful love poem.

It is absolutely heart-rending. Poem below; video online.

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

#npm15: Shel Silverstein wishes Eva a happy birthday!

My baby sister Eva is celebrating her birthday today! And, she doesn't have a card in the mail from me because I lost it. That's right. Spent the typical 30 minutes wandering around the Hallmark store reading every sister card, chose the perfect one, bought it.

Lost it.

So, for now, here's your birthday card, Eva! Happy birthday from me via the wonderful Shel Silverstein:

For Sale
One sister for sale!
One sister for sale!
One crying and spying young sister for sale!
I'm really not kidding.
So who'll start the bidding?
Do I hear a dollar?
A nickel?
A penny?
Oh, isn't there, isn't there, isn't there any
One kid who will buy this old sister for sale,
This crying and spying young sister for sale?

If you think it was easy growing up with me, think again. Eva and I shared a bedroom until I left for MU. I would lock her out frequently, even though there was no lock on the door. I walked over her bed, whether she was in it or not. I took her with me sometimes when I went out with friends, but grudgingly. Very grudgingly. On the other hand, I adored her completely and still do.  Happy birthday, Eva! I promise I'll find the real card eventually ... 

Lovely photo by the lovely Leslie Adams

#npm15: Ogden Nash

Happy Monday! To start the week off, I'm going to sneak in two short poems by one fascinating poet, Ogden Nash. The first is an example of the humorous poetry often associated with Nash:

A Word to Husbands
To keep your marriage brimming
With love in the loving cup,
Whenever you’re wrong, admit it; 
Whenever you’re right, shut up. 

The second contains a closing line that has stayed with me over the years, a line I reflexively remember whenever someone says, Well, he had a good long life ... 

Old Men
People expect old men to die, 
They do not really mourn old men. 
Old men are different. People look 
At them with eyes that wonder when… 
People watch with unshocked eyes; 
But the old men know when an old man dies.

#npm15: Pablo Neruda

Thanks to all the CI readers who suggested poems for inclusion in our National Poetry Month celebration! First up, my buddy Karol and her buddy Jessica, who both suggested poems by Pablo Neruda.

Karol's choice? Tonight I Can Write (The Saddest Lines). And Jessica pointed us toward:

One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII

BY PABLO NERUDA

TRANSLATED BY MARK EISNER

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,   

or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:   

I love you as one loves certain obscure things,   

secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries   

the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,   

and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose   

from the earth lives dimly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,   

I love you directly without problems or pride:

I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,

except in this form in which I am not nor are you,   

so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,   

so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

Pablo Neruda, “One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII” from The  Essential Neruda: Selected Poems, edited by Mark Eisner. Copyright © 2004 City Lights Books.

#npm15: Dorothy Parker

What can I say about Dorothy Parker? I've loved her poetry, short stories and reviews since I was a teenager. She hung out with the guys. She defined wit. She defied expectations.

Bottom poetic line? She makes me laugh:

Observation
If I don't drive around the park,
I'm pretty sure to make my mark.
If I'm in bed each night by ten,
I may get back my looks again.
If I abstain from fun and such,
I'll probably amount to much.
But I shall stay the way I am,
Because I do not give a damn.

#npm15: Cascando by Samuel Beckett

National Poetry Month is here! Whoo hoo!!! As promised, I intend to post a poem every day this month, including the ones you suggested. Thanks so much to all of you who sent poems my way.

I'm going to start the celebration with a long-time favorite. Some poems leave a mark. I first read Cascando by Samuel Beckett when I was in college. Not long after, my grandmother died. Maybe that's why the phrase, "there is a last even of last times" stayed with me. There is a last hug, a last look, a last smile -- and we rarely know when the last of last times will be.

Another plus for this poem? For a writer, it's hard to find a line or word more accurate and descriptive than wordshed.

Cascando

     1
why not merely the despaired of
occasion of
wordshed

is it not better abort than be barren

the hours after you are gone are so leaden
they will always start dragging too soon
the grapples clawing blindly the bed of want
bringing up the bones the old loves
sockets filled once with eyes like yours
all always is it better too soon than never
the black want splashing their faces
saying again nine days never floated the loved
nor nine months
nor nine lives

     2
saying again
if you do not teach me I shall not learn
saying again there is a last
even of last times
last times of begging
last times of loving
of knowing not knowing pretending
a last even of last times of saying
if you do not love me I shall not be loved
if I do not love you I shall not love

the churn of stale words in the heart again
love love love thud of the old plunger
pestling the unalterable
whey of words
terrified again
of not loving
of loving and not you
of being loved and not by you
of knowing not knowing pretending
pretending
I and all the others that will love you
if they love you

     3
unless they love you