pickYears ago, I came across the poem “The Taxi” by Amy Lowell, and its final line has lived in my brain ever since: “Why should I leave you, / To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?” I‘ve meant to read a collection of her poetry ever since, but we all know how the TBR intentions sometimes go. So when it became apparent that in spite of my best intentions in January, I definitely wasn‘t going to get around to reading any (let alone all ⤵️
pickA collection by Lakes poet, Polly Atkin (pic), which draws on the landscape of fells & water, on the diaries of Dorothy Wordsworth, on the author's chronic illnesses & (as background, not foreground), the COVID pandemic, during which the poems were written. I really enjoyed them, and she's won awards and was a writer in residence at Gladstone's Library, if other recommendation is needed 🙂
The cover is by painter and wild swimmer Nancy Farmer 👇
"Everyone everywhere is talking about the moon."
- Full Wolf Moon (Grasmere, January 2020)
#FirstLineFridays @ShyBookOwl
It was a particularly stinky week IRL but there was still joy to be found.
1. While walking in the woods, I ran into someone I knew, and we noticed this sweet little flower next to the path.
2. The library held Tolkien Reading Day event with the editor of the tagged book.
3. The PetSmart cashier and I were both singing along with Bruno Mars on the PA.
4. I had shepherd‘s pie with Impossible “meat,” and it was delicious. ⬇️
#5joysfriday
SEPTEMBER, 1918
This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box.
⤵️
And Jesus was a sailor when he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching from his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain only drowning men could see him
He said all men will be sailors then until the sea shall free them
But he himself was broken, long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human, he sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
Just a little local library love this evening. 📚☕
pickDon‘t let the serene cover fool you—nor the accessibility or beauty of Mary Oliver‘s poetry—this celebration of the beloved poet is as multifaceted, wry, sharp, and fearless of the depths as Mary Oliver was herself. The reverent, nature-loving, queer, chain smoking mystic of forest, stream, and shore is vividly remembered in this gift of an audiobook, featuring celebrated poets, Mary Oliver‘s students, stars, activists, and more.
This collection, published in 1919, is made up of two halves. The first is filled with tiny, exquisite poems that play with Chinese and Japanese forms, creating gorgeous crystal-clear images in word pictures. I had a hard time putting it down, savoring bite-sized poem after poem. ⤵️ 32m
Link to her poem “The Taxi” (which isn‘t in this collection): https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42984/the-taxi 30m