Oct 31, 2008

Party Time - Random Acts of Poetry

L.L. here. I am SO loving Random Acts of Poetry. Because poetry publishing has too often resembled a back room party. A private club. Or, like my eldest daughter recently explained to my youngest daughter, regarding some kids who developed a secret group, “They’re just inviting select people, and we weren’t selected.”

To my mind, poetry shouldn’t be like that. It should belong to people. It should be a communal celebration, a dialog in pictures and sound. I think about early poetry, how it was a memorable communication in song or story—a way to share, to frame community life with its joys and sorrows.

Then poets like T.S. Eliot (God bless him) made poetry complicated. You practically had to be a rocket scientist to figure out The Four Quartets . Don’t get me wrong. Eliot was a genius. And I’ve always adored The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock . I’m a good former English major. I like symbols, adore metaphor.

But I like simplicity too. I love celebration. And I think everybody should be invited to the party (even if some send regrets). My idea of a good time would be to have you all over for tea— coffee for you sleepy types— and just read good poetry around the table, without a lot of fuss regarding the meaning and the form. All kinds of poetry would be welcome: happy, sad, or the kind that simply leaves you speechless because it’s just darn’d beautiful.

So for today, maybe you could think of this as L.L’s living room. Tea, coffee, scones (my husband is famous for his scone-making abilities, which he often showcases at my various book club gatherings). And happy poetry.

Why happy poetry today? I still remember Erica’s question from our first Random Acts of Poetry. She said, “Maybe I could learn to write poetry in Joy after all?” Poetry, we learned later from Erica, had often been related to sadness in her life.

Anyway, grab a scone and the hot drink of your choice. Then kick up your feet and enjoy this playful poem from Marcus Goodyear . He wrote it after a crazy bit of play with his son, when they pretended that love bugs were snow, ‘cause after all “there’s never snow in South Texas.”

Yes, Erica, I’m thinking we can write poetry in joy.

Welcoming Summer

Two love bugs mate on my leg
Until I draw them off with this
#2 pencil. The pair crawls past
my thumb as I write--then up
to the pink eraser which must taste
funny to tongue buds on their feet.
They fly away, black-legged snow-
flakes. We think of Christmas specials
where painted children catch snow
on tongues to welcome winter.
“Open wide, kids,” I say. “There’s
never snow in South Texas.”
My son plays along and we run
up and down the blacktop lot--
heat rising in waves around us--
we must look a pair of Baptist Johns,
prophesying protein in the desert.
A voice of two calling between
parked cars: “Prepare the way
for summer bugs. Make straight
your tongues for them.” Push that
play too far and bugs become God.
All mankind finds salvation in bugs.
And why not? God can raise up
children from rocks and bugs,
even cars with bug-splattered bumpers.

Welcoming Summer was first published by Marcus Goodyear as a response to a Robert Hruzek writing project. Special thanks to everyone who’s already joined the RAP party, by commenting or posting a companion Random Acts of Poetry (great idea Erica!). Here are your equivalents to a signed thank you note (just a little link love)… Billy Coffey , Merrie Destefano , Laure , Lorrie , nAncY , me (I thought I’d thank myself too, because it amused me to do so), Megan , Prairie Chick , and Yvette Massey . Oh, and I guess you count too, Marcus .