The Word from the Corner - Marching Band by Brie Carter

The Word from the Corner I'm fresh from the marching band competition yesterday at North Andover High School - 16 HS and 2 college bands played and marched and performed. What a show. I love the smaller bands, but it's the biggest ones with more than 100 band and color guard performers that really amaze. Found a poem that captured one of those times, from the HS student's perspective, from the field. Enjoy. __________________________________________ Marching Band - by Brie Carter As the snare clicks My feet hit the ground Steady with the beat I can't look around To see the large crowd All eyes on us With an audience this size We better not mess up The adrenaline's pumping I'm ready to go We stand at attention Waiting to start the show The drum major counts off And the music starts We sound just fine The beat matches my heart I can smell the night air And the fresh cut grass on the field The best smells in the world To match the weapons we wield Friday night lights Go well with the band As we finish up The audience claps and then stands Mark time mark We march off to our seats My uniform is uncomfortably tight But I must say, our band is pretty sweet _________________________________________

It’s Time for Indigenous Peoples Day (poem)

It’s Time for Indigenous People's Day

First, it’s not true 
that I can only speak in rhyme.
I can’t talk that way on cue, 
and who has the time?
I can only say what I say, 
and for that, I’m not sorry.
Poets only arrange words this way 
when we want to tell a story.

Columbus explored, 
for that he’s rightly known,
But as we’ve learned some more, 
our knowledge has only grown.
In the story we all learned, 
some chapters were left out.
Other people here, they yearned
to be heard, without having to shout.

Columbus changed the world, 
and in our alma maters, 
one thing will never change,
he’ll remain known. 
But as history has unfurled, 
the distance has made things clearer.
As we get farther from that 1492 meeting,
We’re seeing a bigger picture.

That’s why we don’t want the lesson shortchanged – 
We want our kids to learn, to truly understand.

We want our kids to read from all the missing chapters.
We want our kids to heare from every voice, completely.
We want our kids to know that books can have many authors.
We want our kids to hear the story of our entire human family.

If that means we change the name, 
from time to time,
of some of our favorite holidays,
then I believe, if I may claim,
we shall be a little better, 
and in the end, 
I believe, we shall even be, ok.

North Andover Mass., September 2018

The Word from the Corner - Good Bones By Maggie Smith

The Word from the Corner Sometimes it's hard to know whether to go up or down. What is needed. Anyone who loves how words can capture a thought or a moment learns to go with what the moment says, and what is needed. And step out of the way. Sometimes down is up, you know? You gotta laugh sometimes. Or cry. Or both at the same time. Here's one by Maggie Smith that did that for me. Enjoy. I hope. Peace. _____________________________________________ Good Bones By Maggie Smith Life is short, though I keep this from my children. Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways, a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative estimate, though I keep this from my children. For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird. For every loved child, a child broken, bagged, sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world is at least half terrible, and for every kind stranger, there is one who would break you, though I keep this from my children. I am trying to sell them the world. Any decent realtor, walking you through a real shithole, chirps on about good bones: This place could be beautiful, right? You could make this place beautiful. ____________________________________________ From "The Best American Poetry 2017", edited by Natasha Tretheway and David Lehman. The Best American Poetry 2017 Find more poetry in the North Andover area here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/northandoverpoets/

The Western Canon In Haiku

The Word from the Corner September 16, 2018 A challenge for you this week. At this past Tuesday's Frost "Hoot" at Cafe Azteca, I had some some fun with haiku. I presented my take on the great books: The Western Canon in Haiku. It can be done! Here are some of mine below. Can you come up with some of yours? Email me and I'll post. Rules of this game: - Theme: Great books and ideas of the Western Canon (as expanded in recent decades, thankfully, beyond the "dead white male" authors...and beyond the Western world...) - Loose haiku form - not restricted to the 5-7-5 rule - Try for 3 lines, max of 4, limit to 16 words (try) - Can rhyme or not - Short, punchy Jim Knowles who hosts the Frost Foundation Hoot suggested these tweaks to the form. He reasons: "The Japanese rules on syllables and topics tie into their grammar and pictographics. American English is a multi-lingual festival of thievery.....and mixed metaphor. We need a short form to celebrate that!" Go for it! What can you come up with?

The Western Canon in Haiku

All those books to read

Skip the Latin, skip the Greek

Here is what you need!

Knowledge, truth, beauty!

Here’s the Canon in haiku!

Wisdom! Brevity!

A rhyming haiku!

How many sy-LAHB-els?

Against form, the purists cringe

Haiku – it must follow form!

Even I must twinge

When I don’t say the prayer

In holy five-seven-five,

That sin I must bear

But onward we go,

For the rest won’t be rhyming

Class! Let’s start the show…

The Old Testament

In the beginning

God gave his people a land

Messiah? Still waiting…

The New Testamant

Jesus was made man

He walked on water, died, rose

Paul made the franchise

Homer’s Odyssey

Odysseus sails

Ten years pass, mom has suitors!

He’s back! Tragedy!

Divine Comedy by Dante

Dante circles hell

Not much of a comedy –

It’s a hell of a world!

The Works of William Shakespeare

Will wrote sonnets, plays –

comedies and tragedies –

yes, Will wrote them all

The Adventures of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens

Orphan boy, cruel world

Please, sir, may I have some more?

Says Bumble: No more!

Walt Whitman

He wrote “Leaves of Grass”

He’s America’s poet

We don’t read poetry

Emily Dickinson

More than nobody

She would not stop for death

But I stop for her

Anna Karenina by Tolstoy

Sad anna, sad wife

Run away with your Vronsky

A train? Now we’re sad!

(spoiler alert: yes she throws herself in front of a train)

Sigmund Freud and Psychoanalysis

Oedipus complex?

Id? Ego? Super-ego?

It’s just a cigar!

Jean-Paul Sartre and Existentialism

Condemned to freedom!

To be alive, we must choose!

I still don’t get it

The Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann

Yes, one of the giants

Eventually she will be

The future knows, trust me

The dolls are the pills

Three girls seek fame, don’t find it

It sold a lot of copies

The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien

Frodo has the ring

Sauron searches with his eye

Three movies to rule them all!

(no six! Eight? Eleventeen?)

And one more – this is by my daughter Jillian:

(caution - spoiler alert!)

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince (book 6)

by J.K. Rowling

Pensieve shows the past

Horcruxes must be destroyed

Snape kills Dumbledore!

Thus ends the Western Canon

Our lesson is done

You may not know it all

But at least you know some

The Word from the Corner - Amy Lowell and Ted Kooser

The Word from the Corner

     (originally posted on Facebook "North Andover Poets Corner" 11 Aug 2018)

Two poems about travel this week. One about traveling away from one you love, the second about traveling together. Didn't want to have one without the other. Peace.
______________________________________________

The Taxi
By Amy Lowell (1874–1925)

When I go away from you
The world beats dead
Like a slackened drum.
I call out for you against the jutted stars
And shout into the ridges of the wind.
Streets coming fast,
One after the other,
Wedge you away from me,

And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
So that I can no longer see your face.
Why should I leave you,
To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?

_________________________________________________

A Map of the World
by Ted Kooser (b.1939)

One of the ancient maps of the world
is heart-shaped, carefully drawn
and once washed with bright colors,
though the colors have faded
as you might expect feelings to fade
from a fragile old heart, the brown map
of a life. But feeling is indelible,
and longing infinite, a starburst compass
pointing in all the directions
two lovers might go, a fresh breeze
swelling their sails, the future uncharted,
still far from the edge
where the sea pours into the stars.
_________________________________________________

Both are from "The Best of Poetry In Motion", edited by Alice Quinn, selections from the continuing NYC MTA program that started in 1992 and posted art and poetry in the NY subways.

The Word from the Corner - AUTUMN BY RAINER MARIA RILKE

The Word from the Corner

The weather seems to want to turn toward fall...but the temperatures haven't been cooperating, not yet anyway. But I'm ready for fall, and I found this poem by Rainer Maria Rilke. And then I found about a dozen translations from Rilke's original German! Which one is best? Since I don't speak German, it's hard to tell, but I liked this one by Margarete Münsterberg, first published 1902. I include the original German for those who do know the language. I'm not an expert on the art of translating poetry...but it's pretty clear that you don't translate a poem, you re-author it. You need to be a poet yourself, one who's darn good enough to capture the allusions and imagery in the new language. Oh yeah, and get the rhythm and rhyme while you're at it. How is that possible? But some poets out there are good enough to do it. I hope our autumn arrives soon. Enjoy. ______________________________________________ AUTUMN BY RAINER MARIA RILKE, 1875-1926 (Translated by Margarete Münsterberg) The leaves are falling, falling as from far, As if far gardens in the skies were dying; They fall, and never seem to be denying. And in the night the earth, a heavy ball, Into a starless solitude must fall. We all are falling. My own hand no less Than all things else; behold, it is in all. Yet there is One who, utter gentleness, Holds all this falling in His hands to bless. ______________________________________________ Herbst Die Blätter fallen, fallen wie von weit, als welkten in den Himmeln ferne Gärten; sie fallen mit verneinender Gebärde. Und in den Nächten fällt die schwere Erdeaus allen Sternen in die Einsamkeit. Wir allen fallen. Diese Hand da fällt. Und sieh dir andre an: es ist in allen. Und doch ist einer, welcher dieses Fallen undendlich sanft in seinen Händen hält.

The Word from the Corner - Emily Dickinson - As imperceptibly as Grief

The Word from the Corner Grief is a long emotion. The loss of someone we love leaves a mark on us, a wound. If the passing is sudden, unexpected or violent, the wound can be deep and longer lasting. Hard to overcome. We find ourselves at the bottom of a wave, suddenly underwater. But we float. Somehow we surface. The same wave and water that drowns our purpose then allows us to the surface. Ride the waves. Find yourself floating, gently, in the sea. Here's one on grief from Emily Dickinson. Peace. _____________________________________________ 1540 Emily Dickinson As imperceptibly as Grief The Summer lapsed away— Too imperceptible at last To seem like Perfidy— A Quietness distilled As Twilight long begun, Or Nature spending with herself Sequestered Afternoon— The Dusk drew earlier in— The Morning foreign shone— A courteous, yet harrowing Grace, As Guest, that would be gone— And thus, without a Wing Or service of a Keel Our Summer made her light escape Into the Beautiful. _____________________________________________ [I had to look up perfidy - "deliberate breach of faith or trust; faithlessness; treachery."] This poem was written, probably in 1865, near the end of her most creative and prolific period. It was one of 4 sent by Emily to Thomas Wentworth Higginson, an author, literary critic, radical abolitionist, and Unitarian minister. After Dickinson died, Higginson collaborated with Mabel Loomis Todd in publishing her poetry. "The Homestead" in Amherst, MA, is the house her father built, and is where she lived for her whole life. In this picture, Emily's room is on the 2nd floor, the left two windows above the long porch.

You Should Go Where You're Going (poem)

You Should Go Where You’re Going

         (A rap: all in a rush, breathless)

I met some other people –

The people that I thought were the same,

turned out to be different,

and the people that I thought were different,

turned out to be the same.

Which threw me for a loop,

‘cuz I was ready to join their troop.

But what troop was that?

The people who were the same

I wasn’t sure I liked ‘em anymore,

but the people who were different

instead of wanting to dislike ‘em,

now they were fourscore, yeah, fourscore.

They were cool. Turns out, we went to the same school.

I was all mixed up. What is this? Am I now grown-up?

Maybe it wasn’t so bad. But after all these years, I been had?

Still I wasn’t sure, so I turned to her, and if you can’t trust her

who can you trust? She said I was – that I was – 
well you know, that it was good, it was good, and besides,

you should trust what’s right, inside, outside,

listen to what’s right, don’t fight,

don’t fight what comes to you,

when you learn something new,

for you might learn something new

when you meet some other people.

 (Brakes on, full stop)

Yeah –

Yeah –

I met some other people.

North Andover  June 2018

A limerick

A limerick: A veggie or a fruit?

I once ate a veggie named “fruit”.
It was odd but also a hoot.
It was different than most,
And delicious on toast.
It was from the same planet as Groot!

Alternate finish:
It tasted like plum, berry and root!

A Good In-Land Town (poem)

A Good In-Land Town
       Read to the North Andover Selectmen on June 18, 2018

In August 1702, Judge Samuel Sewall wrote about his travels

to Andover – what is current day North Andover –  in his diary:

   “…rid with Mr. Woodhouse and Smith to Andover,

    a good In-land Town, and of a good Prospect.”

A good in-land town,

she shares her name with her British twin.

But no ruler here wears the crown,

for we are home of the citizen king.

Her citizens, now or years ago,

famous or not yet so,

share in her renown.

From strands of bell, bronze and maker,

from mother, muse and meter,

from wool and woven time,

from service made sublime,

from these we make our rhyme.

A.B. the poet, you know her name,

walked to the meetinghouse,

that first simple frame.

With words, her soul did search,

and thus made poetry her church.

Simon, the well-known man,

the Mass Bay governor, was her spouse.

Yet today, the greater fame, Anne commands.

In 1806, Revere and Son poured the bell.

Lifted high in the fourth steeple by Captains Johnson and Stevens,

in the new fifth meetinghouse soon it would dwell.

When the church was the town, it called from its tower.

These tones still carry over tree, town and common,

but for all people now, it keeps the same hours.

The 19th century mills were cut – whole cloth –

        from New England’s ingenious habit and spirit.

But it was the men of North Andover who made the Stevens mills,

        with Davis and Furber as the ratchet and sprocket.

In this yarn about wool,

        from the corner of Water and High Streets,

They sent machines to weave their twill

        to every state, and to the world.

In the rhythm and thrum of the mills,

        these men were the heartbeat.

To America and to the world,

women and men from this town went forth to serve.

Women and men heard freedom’s word.

They saw a common foe and risked their lives to fight it.

They saw a wrong and tried to right it.

And those who paid with limb or life,

their families and townspeople still observe.

What these men and women gave, may we honor it.

In a good in-land town,

history is not done,

Time offers more renown.

No final bell has rung,

her story is still young.

Those who serve the town,

in public place or private space,

serve it well if one must tell,

when History and common good are the guide.

Then we may go on to say

that in a good in-land town

and in America today,

the voice of the citizen has not died.

June 2018  North Andover, Mass.
Read at the North Andover Selectmen's meeting, June 18, 2018