Dragonfly's Poetry & Prolixity: A Birthday Poem by Ted Kooser

Thursday, April 12, 2018

A Birthday Poem by Ted Kooser




Former Rose, ashes now...







A Birthday Poem

This evening, I sat by an open window

and read till the light was gone and the book

was no more than a part of the darkness.

I could easily have switched on a lamp,

but I wanted to ride this day down into night,

to sit alone and smooth the unreadable page

with the pale gray ghost of my hand.



Ted Kooser

4 comments:

Kelly said...: I love Ted Kooser. He came to my hometown once and I have several of his books on my shelf.; April 12, 2018 at 10:38 AM
Marion said...: Kelly, I recall when you told me about that...many moons ago! LOL! I hope all is well with you & yours. It's a gorgeous day here in the swamp. I appreciate you so much! xo; April 12, 2018 at 11:52 AM
Snowbrush said...: As lovely as this is, if it had been formatted as text instead of as verse, why would it have been considered poetry as opposed to poetic verse?; April 15, 2018 at 11:51 AM
Marion said...: Snow...hell if I know! I just liked it & it was someone's birthday that day, so it fit the paradoxical paradigm that is my phantasmagorical brain. xo; April 16, 2018 at 10:41 AM

I Love Lorrie Moore!!

“You’re not a poetess, I hope,” said the English geologist next to her. “We had a poetess here last month, and things got a bit dodgy here for the rest of us.”

“Really.” After the soup, there was risotto with squid ink.

“Yes. She kept referring to insects as ‘God’s typos’ and then she kept us all after dinner one evening so she could read from her poems, which seemed to consist primarily of the repeating line ‘the hairy kiwi of his balls.’”

From: “Birds of America” by Lorrie Moore, page 266, ‘Terrific Mother’

Miranda July's Best Book:

"Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It's okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise." From: "No One Belongs Here More Than You Stories by Miranda July", Page 11

A Dreamy, Drug of a Book

"The minute you land in New Orleans, something wet and dark leaps on you and starts humping you like a swamp dog in heat, and the only way to get that aspect of New Orleans off you is to eat it off. That means beignets and crayfish bisque and jambalaya, it means shrimp remoulade, pecan pie and red beans with rice, it means elegant pompano au papillote, funky file z'herbes, and raw oysters by the dozen, it means grillades for breakfast, a po' boy with chowchow at bedtime, and tubs of gumbo in between. It is not unusual for a visitor to the city to gain fifteen pounds in a week---yet the alternative is a whole lot worse. If you don't eat night and day, if you don't constantly funnel the indigenous flavors into your bloodstream, then the mystery beast will go right on humping you, and you will feel its sordid presence rubbing against you long after you have left town." ~Tom Robbins, "Jitterbug Perfume", page 240