Poetry Friday -- Living is a Form of Not Being Sure

Living is a form of not being sure, 

not knowing what next or how.

The moment you know how, you begin to die a little.

The artist never entirely knows.

We guess.

We may be wrong, 

but we take leap after leap into the dark.

--Agnes de Mille

Living is a Form of Not Being Sure

There are all kinds of dark.

You close your eyes in fear, exhaustion, or prayer

and dark is there.

The sun sets, the clouds roll in, you step into shade

and dark is there.

Your mind fills with unmarked roads, closed doors, gaping chasms

and dark is there.

There are all kinds of light.

You open your eyes in hope, anticipation, or gratitude

and light is there.

The sun rises, the clouds roll on, you step into sunshine

and light is there.

Your mind takes leap after leap into the dark, guessing, risking

and light is always there.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020 (with help from Agnes de Mille)

Amy has this week's Poetry Friday Roundup at The Poem Farm.

Poetry Friday -- Uncertainty

photo via Unsplash

Twenty Questions in Three Voices With No Answers

Can I sleep in every day?
Can I play video games all day?
Who will take care of me?

How will I feed my children?
Who will care for them?
What if I lose my job?

Who will feed and care for my students?
How will we fill this gap in their learning?
How can we help?

Why are they taking away all the fun things?
How come we can't have our carnival?
Why is this happening?

How will I feed my children?
Who will care for them?
What if I lose my job?

How will we fill this gap in their learning?

Will testing season be cancelled?

How can we help?

How can we help?

How can we help?

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020

At this point, I know as much as you do. Ohio schools are closed for three weeks starting Monday. It will be relatively easy for me -- no child care, internet access, lots of books to read, a garden to tend, a sorely neglected house to clean, art supplies, writer's notebook, April Poetry Month project to concoct. But for our families...

There's nothing we can do right now except wait and see. Will we be required to provide distance learning? Will our students have the support to do any of the activities we send home? How will our free/reduced lunch children be fed? How can we help?

I've missed the Poetry Friday community for the past few weeks. I cleared the last of my big hurdles this week with the publishing of the Casting for Recovery Ohio online auction. Check it out and bid, if you're so moved!

This week's Poetry Friday Roundup is at Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme. Thanks, Matt! And good luck with Madness!Poetry.

Poetry Friday

New Again

The world is layered.
Just when you think you understand
a split appears
a layer pulls back
is shrugged off
and the world is new again.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2018



Molly has this week's Poetry Friday Roundup at Nix the Comfort Zone.

Poetry Friday -- Pain and Glory

Life is Full of Pain and Glory

Like a single leaf
spiraling lazily down
through a china blue sky.

Like a hangnail
which, in careless irritation,
is yanked and bleeds.

Like a fragile, confused iris
blooming in October
one block from the hospital.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016




It's good to be back. Mom survived cellulitis and unintentional poisoning by two different antibiotics, my class survived two weeks without me (the sub and my grade level team survived two weeks without any plans because it was a "drop everything and go" situation), and I not only survived, but was profoundly changed by the entire experience.


Laura has the Poetry Friday roundup this week at Writing the World for Kids.

Poetry Friday: Poems for a Book Character

Photo by Mary Lee Hahn. May be used with attribution.

I still haven't quite recovered from reading The Goldfinch. (My gobstopped review is here.)

This is a poem the main character, Theo, would appreciate. It fits with his world view. Mine, too, on the days when I choose not to think about the truth of our existence here.

Fire
by Wyatt Townley

It's only the body
It's only a hip joint
It's just a bulging disc
It's only weather
It's only your heart
It's a shoulder who needs it
This happens all the time
It's very common
It's unusual
For people your age
For people your age
You're in great shape
Remarkable shape
It's nothing you did
The main thing is
It's temporary
It's only a doll
In a house that's burning

But Theo would also like this one, knowing, as he did, the power of art to change our lives.

Archaic Torso of Apollo

by Rainer Maria Rilke
translated by Stephen Mitchell

We cannot know his legendary head 

with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso 

is still suffused with brilliance from inside, 

like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low, 

gleams in all its power. Otherwise 

the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could 

a smile run through the placid hips and thighs 

to that dark center where procreation flared. 

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced 

beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders 

and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur: 

would not, from all the borders of itself, 

burst like a star: for here there is no place 

that does not see you. You must change your life.

Anastasia has the Poetry Friday Roundup this week via Poet! Poet!, but on Pinterest HERE.

I Wish I Had Written This Book

You Are My Wonders
by Maryann Cusimano Love
illustrated by Satomi Ichikawa
Philomel Books, 2012
this book was a gift from a former student

My love of 5th graders is a little on-again off-again these days. You know how they get; what it's like to try to keep their focus. But you also know about their razor-sharp wit and their amazing insights.

I need to read this book every day so that I can remember that they are truly my wonders.

"I am your teacher;
you are my school child.

I am your welcome;
you are my running wild.

I am your bell;
you are my ring.

I am your notes;
you are my sing.
.
.
.
I am your story;
you are my wide eyes.

I am your lesson;
you are my surprise.

I am your stillness;
you are my jiggle.

I am your straight line;
you are my wiggle."


Really. I need to read it every day.

And did I mention how much I wish I had written this book?

"There's an article in that!"

My laptop's brain is on the brink of being so full it explodes.

I won't be able to download the pictures that are on my camera and make my monthly mosaic until I get a new hard drive with about a hundred spare acres so my creativity can once again roam freely.

Until then, I'm catching up on my reading, doodling with my colored pencils in my sketchbook, and taking mini field trips to the front and back gardens to visit the two plants I bought at the Clintonville Farmers' Market yesterday -- a female Jack-in-the-Pulpit that is "with seeds," and a Butterfly Milkweed that is purported to be "crack cocaine for butterflies."

Poetry Friday -- O Me! O Life!

O Me! O Life! By Walt Whitman O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the           foolish; Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish           than I, and who more faithless?) Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--           of the struggle ever renew'd; Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds           I see around me; Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest           me intertwined; The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these,           O me, O life?                                   Answer. That you are here--that life exists, and identity; That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute           a verse. *    *    * Yes, that powerful play is going on, and we are careening hurtling rushing through these last days, through this last act, through this last verse of the song we've been singing since last August. Almost time for the curtains to close, for the conductor's baton to lower. What tracks will we leave in these children's lives? On these children's hearts? Irene has the Poetry Friday roundup today at Live Your Poem...

Poetry Friday -- Riveted

RIVETED
by Robyn Sarah from A Day's Grace: Poems 1997-2002.

It is possible that things will not get better
than they are now, or have been known to be.
*
*
*
...But it is probable
that we will stay seated in our narrow seats
all through the tedious dénouement
to the unsurprising end — riveted, as it were;
spellbound by our own imperfect lives
because they are lives,
and because they are ours.


Read the whole poem here.


It's been awhile since one of Garrison Keillor's poems on The Writer's Almanac spoke directly to my heart. It happened yesterday. I read those first two lines and they said so much:

• Age happens.
  
• Bodies fall apart.
• Public education.
• Global warming.

The middle of the poem made me slump down in my chair. But then the ending. The truth of the ending. The glory that makes us cling to life even when our bodies betray us. Even when current events seem to be going somewhere in a hand basket.

I'm listening to The Amber Spyglass by Phillip Pullman right now. Lyra and Will are in the Land of the Dead. I dedicate this poem to them, to the force of life, to all of the amazing things we each will do with our lives.



Kelly Fineman has the roundup today.

Jeremy Fink Fan Club

Is there room for one more member?

I haven't read a book this good...this SATISFYING for I don't know how long! Thank you, Wendy Mass for Jeremy and Lizzy and for reminding me of all those things I already knew (especially the story about the two wolves), and thank you, Franki, for being so rabid about this book. It wouldn't have made it to the top of my to-read pile so fast if it weren't for your enthusiasm. What WERE the Newbery Committee members THINKing when they passed THIS one BY?!?!

One more thank you -- to the universe, for this snow day in which I have done nothing but lay about in my pj's and read. Quite a contrast to the person I was yesterday, all full of my important lesson plans and all the work we need to accomplish before the end of the trimester. Just goes to show...well, I'm not sure what it goes to show, but in case any of my students (or more likely, their parents) are reading this, I promise that I'll do some school work after we take dog and XC skis and snowshoes over to the OSU golf course Griggs Reservoir for a snowy romp. (A POX on OSU for closing the golf course to sledders and skiers! How unsporting of them! Afraid we'd mess up the precious greens? Grrrrr...) And in the extremely unlikely event that my back surgeon is reading this, no, I am not going to ski before I've even been cleared for PT. I'm going to WALK. You didn't tell me I couldn't walk with snowshoes on my feet.