Because I truly believe that people who think they hate poetry have just never crossed paths with the right poem, I took on the [possibly idiotic, ridiculously time-consuming, but] truly enjoyable task, two and a half months ago, of sharing a poem a day with the world at large. www.YourDailyPoem.com exists only to illustrate the vast diversity of the poetry genre. If you like poetry, check out the site to read both classic and contemporary work. If you don't like poetry, sign up for a month and see if you don't come across something that you like at least a little.
Getting in touch with poets to get permission to use their work is challenging. (Note to poets: you need a website!) Tracking down who owns the copyright to poems published 5-50 years ago is a nightmare. But connecting with poets, and talking with them about their work, is pure joy. And the biggest names have been some of the nicest to work with (isn't that so often the case?). Perhaps because the poets I feature write wonderful poetry--"reality" poetry that makes me laugh, makes me cry, touches my heart, fires up my brain--they are wonderful people to start with. I try to convince them to share a bit of themselves in their bio instead of giving me a laundry list of awards. Not that Pushcarts and NEA fellowships are anything to ignore, but I think it's much more interesting to know something about the poet than about his/her pedigree.
So, if you're a poet, I'd love to consider your work. Send your submission in the body of an e-mail to info@yourdailypoem.com, along with copyright information, publication details if applicable, and an author bio of a hundred words or so.
And if you're a poetry lover--or, even better, a poetry hater--give www.YourDailyPoem.com a try, then let me know what you think.
Showing posts with label inspirational poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inspirational poetry. Show all posts
Oh, the Excitement! It's Poetry Month!
I do believe the anticipation of National Poetry Month is almost as thrilling as Christmas Eve--for me, at least. If you're not a lover of poetry, you might fail to appreciate the thought of thirty days of intense exposure to an art form that's been around since Hector was a pup, to borrow an old Southern expression. I read poetry all the time anyway. I write it for a living. (Well, sort of. The number of poets since the beginning of time who've made a living at it can likely be counted on one hand.) But in April, I read LOTS of poetry. I go in search of new poets. I look up old favorites I've ignored. I go off on poetry treasure hunts, tracking down sources of snippets that sound enticing. I even write more poetry; this year, I'm hoping to rise to the challenge of Robert Brewer's poem-a-day taunt. (Care to join me?)
I poet a lot more than I blog, because if I manage to find time to write, it seems logical to me to spend it on that which brings me the most pleasure (not to mention, occasional income). But this month, I can blog about poetry--with no remorse and to my heart's content--so you'll find more from me in this space for the next thirty days. Drop in often. Share your thoughts. Leave a favorite poem. Sing the praises of your favorite poet. And if you don't have a favorite poet, this is the month to find one--and I'll be happy to help. Stay tuned!
I poet a lot more than I blog, because if I manage to find time to write, it seems logical to me to spend it on that which brings me the most pleasure (not to mention, occasional income). But this month, I can blog about poetry--with no remorse and to my heart's content--so you'll find more from me in this space for the next thirty days. Drop in often. Share your thoughts. Leave a favorite poem. Sing the praises of your favorite poet. And if you don't have a favorite poet, this is the month to find one--and I'll be happy to help. Stay tuned!
Continuing the Debate...
Many have commented, both here and via e-mail, on my blog about inaugural poet Elizabeth Alexander. Several expressed an interest in reading the poem she created for Obama's big day; thanks to Poets.org, now you can. Here is "Praise Song for the Day."
To me, Alexander's poem has a sort of Sandburg-ish air--a simple, everyman (everywoman?) accounting of our diversity that slowly leads us, line by line, toward unification--much like the new president's professed goal for our country. And in keeping with this administration's sunny attitude (Obama's "pick yourself up, dust yourself off..." speech cracks me up every time I hear it replayed; am I the only person who wants to jump in with "...and start all over agaaaaaaain!" a la the Jerome Kern golden oldie?), Alexander's happy ending sits well. Critics don't like happy endings, and the
y don't like simplicity, which is, I'm sure, part of the reason this inaugural poet rankled. Too bad; in my opinion, her words fit the moment. Sometimes, passion matters more than posterity.
y don't like simplicity, which is, I'm sure, part of the reason this inaugural poet rankled. Too bad; in my opinion, her words fit the moment. Sometimes, passion matters more than posterity.My favorite line in the poem is "we encounter each other in words...spiny or smooth." When I talk to young writers, I stress the importance--and joy!--in poetry of finding the exact, absolute, best choice among a word's sundry synonyms. Of all the possibilities Alexander could have used to reference the ugly invectives* and taunts we humans hurl at one another, "spiny" is an intriguing choice--not an adjective typically applied to verbal assaults, but quite apropos, don't you think?
One hopes Ms. Alexander's hide is thick enough to ward off the many spiny words that have come her way these recent weeks, and that she has gotten wind of the smooth ones sent forth from those who found her contribution quite cogent.
*Invective? Invectives? What's your opinion?
Hail to the Poetry
I don't do politics, but Obama won points with me a few weeks back when he announced that his friend, Elizabeth Alexander, would be reading a poem at his inauguration. I was unfamiliar with Alexander, so I did some research and tracked down a bit of her work. A Yale professor, Alexander is hardly a household name, but one of her five books of poetry was a Pulitzer Prize finalist, and she has earned both NEA and Guggenheim fellowships. More significantly, she is a personal friend of our new commander-in-chief. My reaction to news of her commission was, "How neat for Obama to have a poet friend who can share in his celebration," along with my general delight that he chose to make poetry a part of this always (and, especially, this one) auspicious occasion.
Pickier powers than I, however, were not impressed. Staff writer George Packer voiced his disdain for Obama's choice in a recent online issue of the New Yorker. His dismissal of Alexander's work as "general," "self-consciously academic," and unlikely to "read well before an audience of millions" invoked the ire of Minneapolis poet and writer Terri Ford, who is the daughter of a good friend of my sister's. Had Terri's indignant response not been published, I would never have seen Packer's original comments; with my limited discretionary time, I choose to read poetry rather than the New Yorker. But because Terri's mother shared her daughter's fifteen minutes of fame with my sister, and because my sister sends all poetry-related things she encounters my way (bless her), I'm now annoyed with the guy myself.
According to Mr. Packer (who is not a poet, by the way), American poetry is "written by few people...read by few people...and lacking the language, rhythm, emotion, and thought that could move large numbers of people in large public settings." Wow, tell us how you really feel. It's true enough that the audience for poetry is small; it is, however, significantly larger than it has been in many years. There is renewed, growing interest in poetry and, on any given day in major cities, one can very probably find at least one poetry event. The assertion that poetry is written by few people is blatantly false. Half the planet writes poetry--most of it bad. One is often, in fact, reluctant to admit to being a published poet because of the likelihood of being assaulted by unpublished (and justifiably so) poets in search of validation and encouragement.
But it is Packer's declaration that, on the rare occasion when poetry has been included in an inaugural celebration, it is because "the incoming President seemed to be claiming more for his arrival than he deserved, and to be doing it by pretending that poetry means more in American life than, alas, it does," that really peeved my participles. Perhaps those presidents who choose to include an inaugural poem have more culture than the rest--or greater grasp of decorum, or a better feel for posterity, or perhaps they simply had a fabulous English teacher who taught them to enjoy and appreciate poetry! The suggestion that an inaugural poem represents pomposity and is insignificant is both fatuous and insulting. Surely after the hours upon HOURS of campaign rhetoric we have endured, even a marginally entertaining poem is a welcome change and a fair reward for those of us who revere the power and beauty of the English language.
Packer has apologized for his remarks about Ms. Alexander, but his labeling of multiple generations of American poets as unskilled and uninspiring still stands. Gee, Packer, maybe you should broaden your reading material, because there's actually a fair amount of superb and stirring poetry out there. Could be that most poets have stopped wasting their time submitting to the New Yorker; onslaught, anyone?
Pickier powers than I, however, were not impressed. Staff writer George Packer voiced his disdain for Obama's choice in a recent online issue of the New Yorker. His dismissal of Alexander's work as "general," "self-consciously academic," and unlikely to "read well before an audience of millions" invoked the ire of Minneapolis poet and writer Terri Ford, who is the daughter of a good friend of my sister's. Had Terri's indignant response not been published, I would never have seen Packer's original comments; with my limited discretionary time, I choose to read poetry rather than the New Yorker. But because Terri's mother shared her daughter's fifteen minutes of fame with my sister, and because my sister sends all poetry-related things she encounters my way (bless her), I'm now annoyed with the guy myself.
According to Mr. Packer (who is not a poet, by the way), American poetry is "written by few people...read by few people...and lacking the language, rhythm, emotion, and thought that could move large numbers of people in large public settings." Wow, tell us how you really feel. It's true enough that the audience for poetry is small; it is, however, significantly larger than it has been in many years. There is renewed, growing interest in poetry and, on any given day in major cities, one can very probably find at least one poetry event. The assertion that poetry is written by few people is blatantly false. Half the planet writes poetry--most of it bad. One is often, in fact, reluctant to admit to being a published poet because of the likelihood of being assaulted by unpublished (and justifiably so) poets in search of validation and encouragement.
But it is Packer's declaration that, on the rare occasion when poetry has been included in an inaugural celebration, it is because "the incoming President seemed to be claiming more for his arrival than he deserved, and to be doing it by pretending that poetry means more in American life than, alas, it does," that really peeved my participles. Perhaps those presidents who choose to include an inaugural poem have more culture than the rest--or greater grasp of decorum, or a better feel for posterity, or perhaps they simply had a fabulous English teacher who taught them to enjoy and appreciate poetry! The suggestion that an inaugural poem represents pomposity and is insignificant is both fatuous and insulting. Surely after the hours upon HOURS of campaign rhetoric we have endured, even a marginally entertaining poem is a welcome change and a fair reward for those of us who revere the power and beauty of the English language.
Packer has apologized for his remarks about Ms. Alexander, but his labeling of multiple generations of American poets as unskilled and uninspiring still stands. Gee, Packer, maybe you should broaden your reading material, because there's actually a fair amount of superb and stirring poetry out there. Could be that most poets have stopped wasting their time submitting to the New Yorker; onslaught, anyone?
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