Poetry Friday: Hiatus Time

I've been avoiding making it official although it's been unofficial for about 3 weeks now, so now I'm making it official (got all that?)--The Small Nouns is taking a hiatus. A little side project I'm working on is taking too much of my time, it seems, to get any poetry blogging done. So I think I'll step back for a bit, continue collecting poems, and return rejuvenated and with plenty of new material sometime later this summer.

Until that time, be sure to peruse The Small Nouns archive. There's plenty of posts to keep you going that you probably haven't seen. Here's one last poem I found that I just love. I hope you feel the same. Seemed like a good "beginning of hiatus" poem and also a good one to mark the unofficial start of spring, which I think just recently happened here in the Great Wet Midwest:

"Onset"
by Kim Addonizio

Watching that frenzy of insects above the bush of white flowers,   

bush I see everywhere on hill after hill, all I can think of   

is how terrifying spring is, in its tireless, mindless replications.   

Everywhere emergence: seed case, chrysalis, uterus, endless manufacturing.

And the wrapped stacks of Styrofoam cups in the grocery, lately

I can’t stand them, the shelves of canned beans and soups, freezers   

of identical dinners; then the snowflake-diamond-snowflake of the rug

beneath my chair, rows of books turning their backs,

even my two feet, how they mirror each other oppresses me,

the way they fit so perfectly together, how I can nestle one big toe into the other

like little continents that have drifted; my God the unity of everything,

my hands and eyes, yours; doesn’t that frighten you sometimes

Read the rest of "Onset" here. And even without The Small Nouns around, there's plenty of poetry to be enjoyed, especially on Poetry Fridays. Today's round up is hosted at The Drift Record. Be sure to check it out. See you soon.

Poetry Friday: A Poet to Enjoy

Do you ever read a poem by a poet that you really, really love and then spend the next few days, weeks, or months reading all the poems by that person that you can? Like most poetry fiends, I have favorite poets, but I also enjoy discovering writers that are new to me.

That happened this past week when I read New Year's Day by Kim Addonizio.  I blogged about it Sunday and since then, I've found myself somewhat entranced by Ms. Addonizio's work. Granted, I haven't explored everything or gotten my hands on any of her books, but what I've found I've liked. A lot.

The language or her poems is so rich with imagery and emotion. There's also sensuality, which I'm often not drawn to in poetry, but Addonizio makes it work. Her poems operate on many levels and they have such depth that they make me realize what a poetry novice I am--I just know there's more to them that I'm not totally "getting," and trying to write about them probably just makes me seem like a doofus--but I really enjoy reading and re-reading them. Kim Addonizio is a poet to know and one I'll be reading more and more of in the future.

So on this first Poetry Friday of 2011, I wanted to share this poem:


THE NUMBERS
How many nights have I lain here like this, feverish with plans,
with fears, with the last sentence someone spoke, still trying to finish
a conversation already over? How many nights were wasted
in not sleeping, how many in sleep--I don’t know
how many hungers there are, how much radiance or salt, how many times
the world breaks apart, disintegrates to nothing and starts up again
in the course of an ordinary hour. I don’t know how God can bear
seeing everything at once: the falling bodies, the monuments and burnings,
the lovers pacing the floors of how many locked hearts. I want to close
my eyes and find a quiet field in fog, a few sheep moving toward a fence.
I want to count them, I want them to end. I don’t want to wonder
how many people are sitting in restaurants about to close down,
which of them will wander the sidewalks all night
while the pies revolve in the refrigerated dark.


You can read the rest here via Poetry Magazine.

And since I had a really hard time picking just one Kim Addonizio poem to share, you might also want to read this one:

My Heart
by Kim Addonizio
That Mississippi chicken shack. That initial-scarred tabletop, that tiny little dance floor to the left of the band. That kiosk at the mall selling caramels and kitsch. That tollbooth with its white-plastic-gloved worker handing you your change. That phone booth with the receiver ripped out. That dressing room in the fetish boutique, those curtains and mirrors. That funhouse, that horror, that soundtrack of screams. That putti-filled heaven raining gilt from the ceiling. That haven for truckers, that bottomless cup. That biome. That wilderness preserve.

Read the conclusion at Poets.org.

And if you're like me and you've become a new fan of hers, here are some links to some others you might like:

• "Onset"
• "Eating Together"
• "Quantum"
• "Mermaid Song"

Poetry Friday, which will be hosted HERE March 4, is located this week at Live. Love. Explore! Be sure to check it out.

Enter the New Year: Part One

Resolutions--can't live with them, can't live without them. I can see their value. Change is good. I fully support change: weight loss, smoking cessation, cardiovascular fitness, kindness to animals, returning control of the House to the Democrats...

My only beef with resolutions, I suppose, is that January 1 is such an arbitrary day to set them. Why can't I make a resolution on March 5th? Or any other day of the year for that matter. Why the pressure of the first of this month? All you people setting your goals--why let the calendar be your master? A calendar that some white dude long ago created, randomly declaring January 1 as the beginning of a new year. What did they do before calendars, huh? Maybe their resolutions never failed.

Which brings me to another problem I have...failing. Unless you're some sort of robot you have to know that an astronomical percentage of New Year's resolutions fail within weeks, if not days. Why set yourself up for that sort of letdown? 

Now's the part where I tell you I want nothing to do with resolutions and that my life's journey is one of continual, not just annual, self-improvement...well not quite. I've got resolutions of my own, both personal and professional. I'll spare you the details of the personal goals, which mainly involve trying to not be such a fat boy. There are some relevant professional resolutions I've set, though, including an old one--"write more"--and a new one--"blog more." Part One begins my attempt at the latter.

Here are a couple New Year's poems that I came across at the Poetry Foundation and felt compelled to share:

New Year’s Day

BY KIM ADDONIZIO

The rain this morning falls   

on the last of the snow

and will wash it away. I can smell   

the grass again, and the torn leaves

being eased down into the mud.   

The few loves I’ve been allowed

to keep are still sleeping

on the West Coast. Here in Virginia

I walk across the fields with only   

a few young cows for company.

Big-boned and shy,

they are like girls I remember

from junior high, who never   

spoke, who kept their heads

lowered and their arms crossed against   

their new breasts. Those girls

are nearly forty now. Like me,   

they must sometimes stand

at a window late at night, looking out   

on a silent backyard, at one

rusting lawn chair and the sheer walls   

of other people’s houses.

Read the rest at the Poetry Foundation. And please enjoy this one by the incomparable Naomi Shihab Nye, whom I resolve to feature more often at The Small Nouns during 2011:

Burning the Old Year

BY NAOMI SHIHAB NYE

Letters swallow themselves in seconds.   

Notes friends tied to the doorknob,   

transparent scarlet paper,

sizzle like moth wings,

marry the air.

So much of any year is flammable,   

lists of vegetables, partial poems.   

Orange swirling flame of days,   

so little is a stone.

Please enjoy the conclusion here. And be sure to check out Part Two!

May your 2011 be safe, happy, and poetry-filled.