National Poetry Month: Sherman Alexie

Congratulations to Sherman Alexie for winning the 2010 Pen/Faulkner Fiction prize for his latest book War Dances (9780802119193, $23, Grove Press) (out in paperback in August). Always multi-faceted and multi-talented, Alexie's latest book brings his penchant for unique book design and content, began in his National Book Award-winning YA novel The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. Absolutely True was written in various formats, like diary entries and comic sketches. War Dances alternates between poetry and prose, and as with all of Alexie's writing War Dances is lyrical, to-the-point, and thought-provoking.

This poem is not from War Dances, but is one of my favorites for its commentary on people who tend to think of themselves as in the majority, assuming everyone is just like them.

On the Amtrak from Boston to New York City

The white woman across the aisle from me says 'Look,
look at all the history, that house
on the hill there is over two hundred years old, '
as she points out the window past me

into what she has been taught. I have learned
little more about American history during my few days
back East than what I expected and far less
of what we should all know of the tribal stories

whose architecture is 15,000 years older
than the corners of the house that sits
museumed on the hill. 'Walden Pond, '
the woman on the train asks, 'Did you see Walden Pond? '

and I don't have a cruel enough heart to break
her own by telling her there are five Walden Ponds
on my little reservation out West
and at least a hundred more surrounding Spokane,

the city I pretended to call my home. 'Listen, '
I could have told her. 'I don't give a shit
about Walden. I know the Indians were living stories
around that pond before Walden's grandparents were born

and before his grandparents' grandparents were born.
I'm tired of hearing about Don-fucking-Henley saving it, too,
because that's redundant. If Don Henley's brothers and sisters
and mothers and father hadn't come here in the first place

then nothing would need to be saved.'
But I didn't say a word to the woman about Walden
Pond because she smiled so much and seemed delighted
that I thought to bring her an orange juice

back from the food car. I respect elders
of every color. All I really did was eat
my tasteless sandwich, drink my Diet Pepsi
and nod my head whenever the woman pointed out

another little piece of her country's history
while I, as all Indians have done
since this war began, made plans
for what I would do and say the next time
somebody from the enemy thought I was one of their own.

To see other poetry posts, visit my personal blog.

National Poetry Month: Galway Kinnell

In honor of my co-worker, Nieves, who loves turkeys:

Turkeys
by Galway Kinnell

Sometimes we saw shadows of gods
in the trees; silenced, we went on.
Sometimes the dog would bound off
over the snow, into the forest.
Sometimes a tree had twenty
or more black turkeys in it, each
seeming the size of a small black bear.
We remember them for their care
for their kind ever since we watched the big hen
in the very top of the tree shaking
load after load of apples down to the flock.
Sometimes I felt I would never
come out of the woods, I thought
its deeper darkness might absorb me
or feed me to the black turkeys
and I would cry out for the dog
and the dog would not answer.

For more poetry posts, visit my personal blog.

National Poetry Month: Nikki Giovanni

Last year's poetry month post also included Nikki Giovanni, and in fact, this same book, though a different poem. Now in paperback, I highly recommend running out and picking up a copy of Bicycles: Love Poems (9780061726491, $11.99, Harper). Here's a taste of a new favorite:

Another Day (Revisited)

Librarians do it

but they do it by the book

Fisherman do it

'cause they have a special hook

Opticians do it

and they love to take a look

Zorro does it

'cause he's a special crook

Three-ring circuses

do it for the clows

Football players

do it on first downs

Swimmers do it

'cause they know they will not drown

Prince does it

'cause he likes to go down

Chefs do it

and they like to use the spices

Bakes do it

with all the bread that slices

Butchers never do it

on the job

Persnickety folk

never do it with a slob

Weather persons...in any clime

Poets do but only in good rhyme

I like this poem because it reminds me of one of my favorite songs sung by the great Ella Fitzgerald:
Let's Do It (Let's Fall in Love)
 







To see this on my personal blog go here.

National Poetry Month: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

As spring so often brings a little rain into our lives, I thought I'd share my favorite rain poem with you. In particular the last line is something I often repeat to myself.

The Rainy Day

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
  And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
  And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; 
(image by Marinshe)                        Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
  Some days must be dark and dreary. 

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Two children-specific, well-known Longfellow poems-turned-picturebooks are: 

The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere

illustrated by Jeffrey Thompson

9780792265580, $7.95, National Geographic Society (Random House)

and 

Hiawatha

illustrated by Susan Jeffers

9780140558821, $7.99, Penguin   

To see this on my personal blog, go here. 

National Poetry Month: B is for Bad Poetry by Pamela August Russell

How did I miss the beginning of National Poetry Month?
Maybe because April 1st is April Fool's Day and though I've never been astoundingly pranked, I always live April 1st with a nervous tension as if someone is going to play a colossal prank on me.

Regardless, it's now in full swing and I'll be sharing bits and pieces of poetry with you throughout the month.

You're Like Dolly Parton Only You're Not

You're like Dolly Parton
only you're not
in love with me
the way she loves
a hot pink electric guitar.

by Pamela August Russell in B is for Bad Poetry
Hardcover: 9781402767876, $9.95, Sterling

See this on my personal blog here.