https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/30/books/joy-harjo-poet-laureate-second-term.html
Ode to Joy
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/30/books/joy-harjo-poet-laureate-second-term.html
Tag Archives: Poetry
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/30/books/joy-harjo-poet-laureate-second-term.html
ONCE MORE ROUND THE MAYPOLE
ONCE MORE ROUND THE MAYPOLE
In leisure he revisits
things seen but never noticed in his youth
though they lay but a short arms length away
Cow with ingrown horn
then a saw-wire from repair
now metaphor for defense gone wrong
The deep snow forts of play
two Fahrenheit degrees away
from smother and a crying mother
Frost on a winter window
a forest of trees of finest lace
meant too cold to go outside today
now the music of the spheres in form
Best not to be a poet young
very little would get done
WEDDING RECEPTION IN WINNIPEG
WEDDING RECEPTION IN WINNIPEG
The house was old and beautiful
the guests were rich and mingly
A boy from the farm leans against the mantle
leather-bound Leaves of Grass open in his hand
Anyone bothering to notice might have thought
“Why doesn’t he try to make some friends”
He and Walt smile
SONNET 43 REVISITED
SONNET 43 REVISITED
How do I love thee
let me not count the ways
Lists are for laundry
and for going to the store
One item more or less
I would not love you less or more
WRITING THE AUSTRALIA TRIP
WRITING THE AUSTRALIAN TRIP
We went to teach, we went to learn
we did a lot of both and more of some
We met amazing people – they met us
perhaps none will be the same again
Details I leave for further poems
which I hurry to hurry to write
before the ripples rippling out
are lost
clockwise and counter clock
down the toilet bowl of time
PATRICIA AT NINETY
PATRICIA AT NINETY
Patricia Fiske
has just passed ninety
on the way to a hundred with her foot still on the gas
sometimes
with a little help
from some premium ninety octane in a glass
let’s all raise one to her today
WRITING ON STONE
WRITING ON STONE
Pop Bukowski in his coffin
dead as hell
but reaching for one last beer
and almost making it.
Al Purdy
On the stone on my grave
I have asked them to write
I’LL TRY TO WRITE
And I will
Seeking still
some simile or metaphor
What is it like, or most unlike
Am I below or above
does it taste like dust or love
If I can’t write about it
how will I know I’m dead
How will you know
I’m still alive
FEEDING AMELIA
FEEDING AMELIA
I knew you’d come
was the first thing that she said
as she lay
cancer hollowed on her bed
On the second visit
Robin and I read her the poem
the one you usually get to read
only after they are dead
On the third visit
I brought mushroom soup
from the good restaurant across town
and fed it to her, spoon by gentle spoon
A last meal in three courses
9-11 2007
9-11 2007
It is the anniversary of the attack
seems like they have one every year
Wreathes are laid, videos are released
spin doctors spin, dead in graves spin
Deaths in reaction dwarf deaths in the action
I mean in numbers, others decide on value
I am grateful when a friend sends me
a poem by Hafiz
BARBARIANS 2003 AD
BARBARIANS 2003 AD
“We thought of ourselves as people of culture.
How long will it be till others see us that way again? “
Iraqi friend of poet Naomi Nye
The collected works of Hafiz
still outsell the Koran in Iran
Today in Baghdad bombs and fear
scattered lovers of Rumi and Kabir
Museum of modern man’s cradle
lost eighty centuries in a day
Book starved minds, educated thumbs
video game cowboys blew it all away
We thought ourselves people of culture
how long before we can look
at ourselves that way again