THIS BLOG IS NO LONGER OPERATIONAL. PLEASE ENJOY WHAT IS HERE, AND DO LEAVE A COMMENT IF YOU WISH. NORTH CAROLINA'S NEW POET LAUREATE IS CATHY SMITH BOWERS. SHE WILL SOON HAVE HER OWN WEBSITE THROUGH THE NORTH CAROLINA ARTS COUNCIL SITE. I WILL BE SHIFTING MY ATTENTION TO HERE, WHERE I AM, (SEE SIDEBAR)USING IT TO DRAW ATTENTION TO WRITERS WHOSE WORK DESERVES ATTENTION. I INVITE YOU TO VISIT ME THERE. For a video of the installation ceremony, please go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xAk6fOzaNE.
Go to http://www.yourdailypoem.com/, managed with finesse by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer, who says, "Our intent is to make visitors to Your Daily Poem aware of the joy and diversity of poetry."
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
We should have a beautiful sunset this New Year's Eve. The sky has been completely clear, with fierce wind sending our dogs terrified onto the porch, eager to come in. Me, too, hurrying in with table cloths and other laundry from the line, having left them overnight, forgetful as always. The trees on the ridge looked about to come tumbling down. A lawn chair fled across the lawn. Branches creaked and thrashed.
Safely inside, I looked up Frank O'Hara's poems and wanted to share a couple of stanzas from "Animals." I don't plan to watch the big Times Square celebration tonight. And I don't really like champagne. What to do? Read poetry. Maybe Frank O'Hara.
"Have you forgotten what we were like then when we were still first rate and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth
it's no use worrying about Time but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves and turned some sharp corners..."
Time is the sunset fire we burn inside. That burns inside us. Around every sharp corner there it is.
I've lived in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina since 1968, though I'm a native of SW Georgia. My paternal grandmother was born in the Blue Ridge, and I grew up wanting to live here. Where I am.
I've published five collections of poetry, the most recent 4 being with LSU Press, and have published poetry in magazines ranging from The Atlantic Monthly to Appalachian Heritage. But I also hike, bang pots and pans around in my kitchen, and love several dogs who leave fur all over my carpets. I write poetry because it's my way of singing back to the world both within and without.