Poetry Friday: Self-publishing

In an attempt to be all centered and Zen yesterday, I brought along my well-worn copy of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass to read on the subway. I opened to random pages, reading whatever, and then I tripped upon this one:

SHUT NOT YOUR DOORS

Shut not your doors to me proud libraries,

For that which was lacking on all your well-fill'd shelves, yet needed most, I bring,

Forth from the war emerging, a book I have made,

The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing,

A book separate, not link'd with the rest nor felt by the intellect,

But you ye untold latencies will thrill to every page.

I'll admit that I'm awful at deconstructing poetry - I get too lost in the language to take it apart piece by piece to figure out what it means. And deconstructing it just seems to take away the beauty and romanticism of it all, you know?

So I thought that this was a poem about libraries.

THEN I re-read it. Wait...wait...just...one...second. Is he a self-published author trying to get a library to stock his book?! Is that what this poem is about? Yeah, I think it might be. Do you know how often this happened to me when I worked at Queens Library?! Self-published authors contacting me directly to put their book on their shelves. Wow.

Well, I would hate to be the collection development specialist who said no, no thank you, Mr. Whitman. I think your poetry is crap. Yeah, I'd hate to be that librarian.

Help me out, poetry aficionados. Is he an aggressive self-pubbed poet, selling his collection to whoever will stock it?

Poetry Friday: A Special Edition

I hope you all enjoy this because I'm sacrificing my dignity for posterity.

My mom sent me a box yesterday of stuff she found in the attic. Among so many wonderful relics of my youth, was a large stack of writing I had done. It included short stories I wrote in elementary school and poems I wrote in high school. It's so god-awful and embarrassing - truly, there are no words.

So here's a little ditty I wrote. It's undated, but I signed it "Lealia Anne"...which puts it in early high school when I desperately wanted any name but Laura. I present to you a poem by yours truly:

Out of Place

by Lealia Anne

Out of place

Out of love

That is what I've always been.

Expressing my loves,

Passions,

And my most heartfelt emotions

The way I want

Is a difficult obstacle.

Even my most intimate companions

Cannot apprehend

The certain things I am thinking,

When I'm thinking them,

And why.

I truly hope with all my heart

That one day I can

Tell them all that I am feeling

And have them understand.

First, I really used "apprehend". Second, you're welcome. See how much I like all of you?

Eat, drink, and thank goodness for moms who are the caretakers of your life's history!

NOTE: That was my 7th grade photo. Would you believe I actually felt awesomely rad in that outfit?

Poetry Friday

I don't normally take part in Poetry Friday - other than Walt Whitman, I'm just not a fan - but I'm just feelin' it after the week I've had. Here's my contribution:

A Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore--

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over--

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

~ Langston Hughes

I first read this poem in high school and, while I loved it then, I didn't "get it". Because most of what high school students are forced to read won't connect with them until later in life.

For the past two weeks, in particular, I have encountered the term "deferred dreams" many times and this poem kept drifting through my mind. And when something is speaking to you like that, you have to share it, right?

Poetry Friday

Surprise! I'm actually participating in Poetry Friday, which I think I've only done once in my two years of blogging. But I don't know - I'm just feeling it today. Even with the 83 degrees of predicted warmth today, there's still a nip in the air that prompted me to wrap my pale pink pashmina around my neck this morning. I sit with some green tea, sipping and hoping that my stomach will soon be ready for more Pumpkin Spice Lattes...or perhaps a Grazin' Angus burger with prosciutto and Gorgonzola (Wednesday night's dinner this week)... The time just seems right to share some of my favorite poetry.

I'm sure I've mentioned at some point that I'm a passionate fan of anything Walt Whitman put on paper. I discovered him at that impressionable age of 14, thanks to Dead Poets Society, and I've never been the same since. As you know his poems can be rather long so I've excerpted only the first three stanzas of "A Song of Joys":

Song of Joys

by Walt Whitman

O to make the most jubilant song!

Full of music — full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!

Full of common employments — full of grain and trees.

O for the voices of animals —

O for the swiftness and balance of fishes!

O for the dropping of raindrops in a song!

O for the sunshine and motion of waves in a song!

O the joy of my spirit — it is uncaged — it darts like lightning!

It is not enough to have this globe or a certain time,

I will have thousands of globes and all time.

I love that. My spirit is uncaged.

Eat, drink, and have lovely long weekend!

Poetry Friday: the wine edition

I'm inspired by this article in the NY Times about Napa's Cabernets. It made me long to be home, lounging on my balcony, drinking an "elegant" and "graceful" glass of wine. I've never participated in a Poetry Friday before, but I'll do lots of things in the name of wine:

A DRINKING SONG

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

~ W.B. Yeats (found here)

Eat, drink, and read wine-related poetry

On the Outskirts of the Kidlitosphere

I’m okay with missing the Kidlitosphere conference. Mostly because I’m too new to feel like part of the Kidlitosphere - I’ve only been posting for a couple of months now. But I do have to extend a huge thanks to MotherReader for putting up a summary of her session on blog promotion. This is exactly the sort of information I need, being a newbie and all. The problem, of course, is that I don’t know if I have anything important enough to say about children’s literature and food. At least, nothing important enough to warrant blog creation. So the jury is still out on that. Nevertheless, I found MotherReader’s stuff enormously helpful.

One question, though: will I be completely ostracized for not taking part in Poetry Friday? I really don’t like poetry, for the most part. Shel Silverstein, Pablo Neruda, and Walt Whitman are about it. And everybody likes them, right? And I’m not posting Whitman every week – his poems can be damn long. Is posting only excerpts from his poems completely blasphemous? Hmmm…I’ll have to think more on this.

COMING UP: I swear, I really am going to post reviews of Miss Spitfire and 100 Cupboards. Seriously. I will.