George Herbert's "Easter"

One of the most famous poems by George Herbert (1593-1633) is "Easter."  I admire the vocabulary and rhyming in the poem, among other things.

Easter

by George Herbert

    RISE heart ;  thy Lord is risen.  Sing his praise
                                        Without delayes,
    Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
                                        With him mayst rise :
    That, as his death calcined thee to dust,
    His life may make thee gold, and much more just.

    Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
                                        With all thy art.
    The crosse taught all wood to resound his name
                                        Who bore the same.
    His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key
    Is best to celebrate this most high day.

    Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song
                                        Pleasant and long :
    Or since all music is but three parts vied,
                                        And multiplied ;
    O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,
    And make up our defects with his sweet art.

I got me flowers to straw thy way ;
 I got me boughs off many a tree :
 But thou wast up by break of day,
 And brought’st thy sweets along with thee.

The Sunne arising in the East,

 Though he give light, and th’ East perfume ;

 If they should offer to contest

 With thy arising   they presume.

  Can there be any day but this,
  Though many sunnes to shine endeavour ?
  We count three hundred, but we misse :
  There is but one, and that one ever.

The Complete English Poems (Penguin Classics), George Herbert

Tom Meschery's Poem About Charlie Rose

From the Oregon Lit. Review site, here is a poem by Tom Meschery, former National Basketball Association player and current published poet, about PBS talk-show host Charlie Rose--and other topics:

The Charlie Rose Show

The way he says “young men” sounds dangerous,

so I stop channel surfing and listen:  Charlie

leaning forward, hand on his chin, asking

some old guy, what his book’s about

and the old dude answering:  among humans

and in the animal kingdom as well,

young males cause trouble.  Nature intends it,

and we’re just now starting the long path

of remembrance, how they make us feel—

meaning mostly older males—threatened

and anxious.  A generational battle,

so to speak, which, from the point of view

of young men, makes all the sense

in the world according to Charlie’s guest,

author of The Decline of Males;

as in the case of some species in the world

and even in captivity, one or two

knock down, drag-outs with dad,

and the winner takes the prize:  females

and family felicity.  Which can’t, Charlie argues,

be analogous to today’s young men,

meaning the sons of his generation,

the baby boomers, to their random violence

Woodstock ‘99 being a case in point.

And I’m thinking Charlie Rose seems

a little ruptured, evoking images

from Clockwork Orange and Lord of the Flies—

boys prancing naked around fires,

pig’s head on a stick, Paleolithic shadows.

So I ask my friend watching the show

with me “How does Charlie get off

being that fucking self righteous?”

But my friend points to the full moon

outside the window, smiles, and points

to the one rising over my belly button

just below the three green eagles flying

across my chest.  “Is that it, dude?” I ask

as Charlie Rose praises his guest for shedding

some light on such a difficult subject.

“Is that it?” and suddenly I feel better

knowing I’ve been given a license

to get back to the natural order of things;

say, if my old man gives me trouble,

which I’m telling my friend he did, last night

and in spades, I can simply arm wrestle

him into submission.  At least, that’s how

I’m seeing it, my eyes opening onto wide screens:

retreating glaciers, savannahs, jungles of primates,

tribes of hunters and gatherers, competing

for each bone of meat and feeling fine about it,

feeling just fine because God made us

this way, in his image—fathers and sons.

 Copyright Tom Meschery

A  link to one of Meschery's books:

Nothing We Lose Can Be Replaced

Fashion Models

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Fashion Models


The vacancy in eyes is neither feline
nor fishy. It's royal. Crowned by current
fashion with approved beauty, models
walk or stand ritually while gazes and lenses
pledge fealty. This slenderness

is a cousin of gaunt. Is the frame bones
haunted by flesh or vice versa? A fashion
model's an illusion, an unreal estate, an
expensive trick played on eyes, desire,
and retail markets. One need only focus

on an ear or an elbow, though,
and the game is up. The model is
human, the fashion is woven fibers
or tanned hide, and the pageant
is but a bright pretty bore.


Copyright 2010  Hans Ostrom

An Interview About Ogden Nash

Here's a link to a 2005 interview between Ben Wattenberg (Public Broadcasting Service, USA) and Douglas Parker concerning Parker's biography of Ogden Nash, master of humorous light verse, and writer of fiction.

Ogden Nash: The Life and Work of America's Laureate of Light Verse by Douglas M. Parker

The Best of Ogden Nash

Ogden Nash's Zoo

Illinois' Poet Laureate

Kevin Stein is Illinois' Poet Laureate, and he teaches at Bradley University.  Here is a link to his site.

One of his books: Sufficiency of the Actual (Illinois Poetry Series).

a cummings poem

It seems like a good day to post a poem by e.e. cummings, one that appears elsewhere online:

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Peter Viereck

On another blog, I just posted something about Peter Viereck (1916-2006), poet and historian.

Viereck's books include  New and Selected Poems, 1932-1967   and  Door.

Arkansas' Poet Laureate

Peggy Vining is Arkansas' Poet Laureate.

Louisiana's Poet Laureate

Louisiana's current Poet Laureate is Darrell Bourque. His books include  Plainsongs, The Blue Boat, Burnt Water Suite (nice title), and Call and Response.

West Virginia's Poet Laureate

West Virginia's Poet Laureate is Irene McKinney. 

Her books include Unthinkable: Selected Poems 1976-2004 and Six O'Clock Mine Report.  She also edited a collection of West Virginian writing, Back Country.

Colorado's Poet Laureate

Mary Crow is Colorado's Poet Laureate, and here is a link to her site.

And here is a link to one of her books:

I Have Tasted the Apple (American Poets Continuum)

Derbyshire's Poet Laureate

Here is a link to the site of Ann Atkinson, Poet Laureate of Derbyshire.

Good Weather Inside

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Good Weather Inside

I'm fond of interior fogs, thick mists
in which to disappear when the world
gets especially giddy, unambiguous,
and annoying.  Invisible geese mutter
to themselves. A creek is to be heard
but not seen. The sun ceases to be
a celebrity.  As Auden wrote, "Thank
you, fog."  At other times, the good
weather inside invites.  When muck
and slush of human interaction dispirits,
a walk in the mind's bright meadow beckons.


Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom

Thank You, Fog: Last Poems.