Amidst the latest horrifying US events, poetry—much of it fresh off the brain—whirls tirelessly through every non-existent corner of the internet. Look: In dark times, people go looking for poetry and I’m glad there is plenty to assuage, aid, comfort and even cheer, right at our fingertips, right there in our search engines and Blogs We Admire, right now, this deep into April, the month of many creative Na’s. The Dad Poet continues to record a poem a day for our listening pleasure. His selection is diverse and encouraging, especially (for me) with his selected poem by Jane Hirshfield. Go visit TDP. Listen to Jane’s poem (The Dad is a good reader). And the Larkin and the Dickinson, etc. You can’t go wrong. Visit, of course poetryfoundation.org—they’ve evolved into such a generous site. So generous, I’m almost suspicious–but of what? It’s poetry! Some of the best poetry in the country and for free. Go see. Just maybe don’t go to that tumblr site devoted to naked poets? I really wish I hadn’t visited. Way more of Whitman and HD’s a** than I ever intended to be exposed to (ummmm). But once I started looking, I couldn’t stop. Until I saw Hesse naked on a mountain ledge. This visual was SO scary I clicked out of there immediately and will never return. I don’t care who they add. (Not that Hesse’s naked self isn’t admirable, he’s just so utterly on the edge of the world that he looks as though he could fall at any moment and falling down a mountain naked? Well. I will have nightmares tonight.) There are plenty of poems to be devoured over at Poets.org , and fine information on National Poetry Writing Month. Of course PB Writes had her own NaPo going on and she did end up writing a brand new, complete poem (vs. Sapphic fragments), however not in a Starbucks, as planned, but at her coffee table, at home, without coffee standing by. She’s very happy with the poem and feels encouraged by its presence on her laptop. She may hate it tomorrow, but for now the poem is turning PB’s focus from the crazy outside world and cluttered social media back to making sense of things in her own, less-muddled-than-ever-before (possibly) life. Plus, the Starbucks (except, perhaps, that one with the endless veranda) in PB’s vicinity aren’t as poetry-inducing as she’d hoped. There’s far more poetry in her own backyard, where the lavender (bee-tended) reaches for blue sky and the mockingbirds dive-bomb the cats and the dog goes into a sphinx-position on the lawn, eyes closed, soaking up sunshine. Good boy. Gooooood boy.
Yours in coffee, 1st and 3rd persons, poetry (of course) and praise for all things good (especially if they smell like lavender or happen to be my son),