Poetry Countdown: Women's History Month--#1

A Man may make a Remark -

In itself - a quiet thing

That may furnish the Fuse unto a Spark

In dormant nature - lain -

Let us divide - with skill -

Let us discourse - with care -

Powder exists in Charcoal - 

Before it exists in Fire -

I couldn't do it. I was all set to place Emily Dickinson #2 in my Poetry Countdown in honor of Women's History Month. But then I typed that poem and realized that there was no way that Dickinson could be any place but #1.

Let me be upfront...I don't find pleasure in every Dickinson poem. However, I am awed by the complexities and intricacies of nearly every one of them. Fear not--there are plenty that I really do love, though. Like this one...

Fame is a bee.
It has a song--
It has a sting--
Ah, too, it has a wing.

The fact that this was written in the mid-19th century always strikes me. 150 years later, fame is still a bee, to say the least. Would you call her before her time? It seems from what I know of her biography, that she wasn't the perfect fit in her time period. At least that's my take. Maybe she wouldn't have fit in anywhere.

On to another gem...

They shut me up in Prose –

As when a little Girl

They put me in the Closet –

Because they liked me “still”   –

Still! Could themself have peeped –

And seen my Brain – go round –

They might as wise have lodged a Bird

For Treason – in the Pound –

Himself has but to will

And easy as a Star

Look down opon Captivity –

And laugh – No more have I –

I wish she was still around today because I'd love to hear her explain her dashes and capitalization (as if she'd tell me). I'd also love to hear her take on 21st century life. Although, again, a lot of her work is timeless. And I do especially enjoy the poems where she acts very un-Emily-like:

Wild nights - Wild nights!

Were I with thee

Wild nights should be

Our luxury!

Futile - the winds -

To a Heart in port -

Done with the Compass -

Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden -

Ah - the Sea!

Might I but moor - tonight -

In thee!

There are so many Dickinson poems. It's impossible to choose a few to leave you with. So here are her pages at the Poetry Foundation and at Poets.org. Each has a bio and links to numerous poems. Dive in. Enjoy. Bask in her genius.

Poetry Mix Tape: Poems of Autumn

Is it trite to say that autumn is my favorite season? It seems to be a lot of people's favorite season. Granted, all of these people are awesome, so maybe it's not trite at all. Maybe it's brilliant.

Anyway, I wanted to revive the mix tape concept for some autumn poems before it gets to late. Here in Michigan, autumn can often seem like it last's about 3 weeks. Before we know it, the leaves are all on the ground waiting to be raked or, even worse, those leaves are blanketed by a layer of snow.

There's just something about a crisp autumn day or taking a walk and kicking up clouds of fallen leaves as you go that just seems perfect. It seems I'm not the only one to think so, because there is no shortage of poems about autumn. I tried to pick a few you might not have heard before...

Autumn Movement by Carl Sandburg
The name--of it--is "autumn" by Emily Dickinson
To Autumn by John Keats (I set aside my Romantic bias for this one. It's a really good poem.)
Echoing Light by W.S. Merwin
Sonnet 73 by William Shakespeare
When Autumn Came by Faiz Ahmed Faiz

And then there's this one by Lucy Maud Montgomery called "An Autumn Evening:"

Dark hills against a hollow crocus sky
Scarfed with its crimson pennons, and below
The dome of sunset long, hushed valleys lie
Cradling the twilight, where the lone winds blow
And wake among the harps of leafless trees
Fantastic runes and mournful melodies.

The chilly purple air is threaded through
With silver from the rising moon afar,
And from a gulf of clear, unfathomed blue
In the southwest glimmers a great gold star
Above the darkening druid glens of fir
Where beckoning boughs and elfin voices stir. 


Read the final stanza here. I love the imagery and word choice in this poem: "crocus sky" and "purple air." Words that don't go together but somehow here make perfect sense.

Got an autumn poem or two to share? Add them in the comments below, please. And happy falling.