Tag Archives: poetry

“This Is Just To Say” – William Carlos Williams

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

Question Sunday – Can Poetry Be a Visual Medium?

sheepwithasword:

sheepwithasword:

Bit of a continuation of last week’s question:

Can poetry be a visual medium? Is it always a visual medium, never a visual medium, or sometimes a visual medium?

My answer: It is a visual medium as long as it is being read on the page. The way words look will always…

Got this response in my ask box from one of my first followers (and one of the first I followed), snake-oil-lullaby. I thought it was a great response, and I learned some things, so I’m sharing it!

“In response to the Sunday question, I think poetry can be extremely visual. There’s three examples I can use from my background as a U.S. Marine, a graphic designer, and a newspaper editor.

1: In many Islamic countries, iconography is forbidden. To get around this, they will use Arabic Calligraphy to make art. Some of the most beautiful verses of the Quran are made far more poetic by the flowing strokes of a master calligraphist.

2: Typography is the arrangement of the letters on the page.  The fonts used and even the spaces between individual letters (tracking and kerning) can give a message more meaning and stress or enforce certain words. A prime example would be Tristen Tzara’s use of typesetting in his Dadaist Manifestos.

3: They’ve done studies on the size of type in newspaper print to determine the impact it has on the reader’s comprehension and how they react to certain variations (and even if their moods can be changed by the font and weight selected.)  I was gonna get more into that, but I didn’t.

So I would say that, yes. Poetry is a very visual medium, but like any art it goes beyond that, and channels something that we can’t really see.

Sorry if that was a bit lengthy, but that’s what I think.”

Question Sunday

“Love (III)” – George Herbert

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,

Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning

If I lacked anything.

“A guest,” I answered, “worthy to be here”:

Love said, “You shall be he.”

“I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,

I cannot look on thee.”

Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, 

“Who made the eyes but I?”

“Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame

Go where it doth deserve.”

“And know you not,” says Love, “who bore the blame?”

“My dear, then I will serve.”

“You must sit down,” says Love, “and taste my meat.”

So I did sit and eat.

Poet-to-Poet – National Poetry Month 2014

poetsorg:

For National Poetry Month 2014, we introduce Poet-to-Poet, a multimedia educational project that invites young students in grades 3-12 to write poems in response to those shared by award-winning poets who serve on the Academy of American Poets Board of Chancellors.

STUDENTS: To participate, watch the videos then write your own response poem. (Follow the directions on the site.)

TEACHERS: If you are interested in using Poet-to-Poet in the classroom, we worked with a curriculum specialist to design a series of activities, aligned with the Common Core, especially for you. Click the link to the Lesson Plans.

Ashbery Talks of Jane – Poetry, Jan 2014

poetrysince1912:

“I met Jane Freilicher the day I arrived in New York in the summer of 1949, just after I graduated from college and decided to move here on the advice of my friend Kenneth Koch.”

John Ashbery talks about his friend, the painter Jane Freilicher, in the January 2014 issue of Poetry.

“The Snowman on the Moor” – Sylvia Plath

poetrysince1912:

—Sylvia Plath, Poetry, July 1957

Read the rest of the poem. Subscribe to Poetry.

“Cold Reading” – Brendan Constantine

It’s really cold in here now,

easily forty below something,

and half the class is asleep.

Snow dazzles in the windows,

makes a cake of each desk.

It’s really cold in here now.

I’ve been lecturing on the same

poem for twenty six hours

and half the class is asleep.

I want them to get it. I start

to talk about death again

and it’s really cold in here now.

One student has frozen solid,

her hair snapping off in the wind

and half the class is asleep.

“See that” I say, “Lisa gets it.”

But it’s so cold in here now

half the class are white dunes

shifting to the sea.