"Tired of Love Poems"

3 July 2025: 

"What we tire of is that we never tire of it.

How it guts us. How it fails, then reappears.

Because what is the bird compared to you?"

Saeed Jones read Megan Fernandes's "Tired of Love Poems" on this week's Vibe Check and I really enjoyed it. That was before the awful news about the dumb bill passing and just more and more awfulness closing in everywhere. 

I read the poem again this evening and I am thinking about it still, glad for the reminder that we never tire of love (even when it is a big risk, when it hurts, or when it ends badly), and that love feeds hope, and both keep us going and fighting. 

"Altitude"

18 June 2025:  Check out Airea D. Matthews' "Altitude," a reimagining of the Icarus story. The whole thing is great, but here's the ending: 

"My fall, well, yes,

those depths matter less.

What I learned by height—

that’s the story."

I read this poem first thing this morning, after another restless night, this time thanks to multiple astonishingly loud thunderstorms, and it--a bit like thunder--knocked me out. 

"Spring in the mischief in me"

19 March 2025: Crazy-busy day, but not a bad one. Been working non-stop with probably about an hour's more work to go before I let myself call it. At the same time, Frost's line from "Mending Wall" (in this post's title) has been in my head on and off all day. Part of the reason is that I taught the poem in ENGL 204 today. 

Beyond that, though, the idea of mischief (fueled by the transition to my favorite season) has been kind of fueling my attitude (in good ways). 

Anyway, this isn't the most thought-out or eloquent post, I know. (See above--so much more to do, "miles to go before I sleep," to borrow even more from Frost.) But it's enough to "count" for my daily post and get my butt back to work! 

"Would I burn palaces?"

8 February 2025: Re-reading the book during this last round of proofing has me stopping again and again in amazement of how strikingly relevant nineteenth-century American women's writing is for our moment. This isn't surprising, given how much of it emerged in moments of national crisis, but some of the parallels are especially poignant. Today it was "The Palace Burner," by Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt. 

Would I burn palaces? I'd like to think so, but I sure don't know for certain. 

"Love (III)"

9 January 2024: Found myself tearing up listening to a reading of George Herbert's "Love (III)" this morning. I've been such a fan of Herbert ever since I first read him, but I don't think I've thought about this poem in years. But this morning, as I drove to an appointment, filled with anxiety and so tired already, it moved me more profoundly than ever before. "You must sit," God tells us. He loves us. That is enough.

(Grateful for the magnificant In Our Time podcast for this moment of grace.)

"didn’t it give you the asking"

1 January 2025: So many smart and kind souls posting words of wisdom and commiseration at the beginning of this new year, one already marred by violence and pain. Jane Hirschfield's poem, "Counting, This New Year’s Morning, What Powers Yet Remain To Me," really speaks to me today. 

"Think not we give out yet..."

19 December 2024: Ah, Walt...

"Sounds of the Winter" 

Walt Whitman

Sounds of the winter too,

Sunshine upon the mountains—many a distant strain

From cheery railroad train—from nearer field, barn, house

The whispering air—even the mute crops, garner’d apples, corn,

Children’s and women’s tones—rhythm of many a farmer and of flail,

And old man’s garrulous lips among the rest, Think not we give out yet,

Forth from these snowy hairs we keep up yet the lilt.

Nikki Giovanni

10 December 2024:

i hope i die
warmed
by the life that i tried
to live

— Nikki Giovanni

RIP to this legendary woman. 

"I've never run out of poetry to nourish me..."

25 September 2024: 

[Catch-up post because when I got home last night, my beloved old laptop died on me, mid-message.]

What a pleasure to once again listen to Mark Harshman talk about poetry and read some of his work. 

"without tenderness..."

2 July 2024: Saw this tweet earlier today and it made me choke up. So much turmoil right now, but this strikes me as at least part of the answer. 

without tenderness, we are in hell

—Adrienne Rich

— 兔兒神 (@chenchenwrites) July 2, 2024

"The neurologist gives us permission"

21 June 2024: Haven't done a poetry post in a bit, but this one, by Seema Reza arrived in my inbox this morning and just made me sigh. I am always moved by how joy and sadness ride side-by-side or amplify each other through contrast. And my goodness--what a title! 

Here's what she says about it in the blurb with the email: "This poem is about how living on the brink of bad news heightens the experience of joy. It’s a poem about aging and falling in love and knowing it will all end. It does all end."

Section 15

31 May 2024: Thinking today about section 15 of "Song of Myself," where Whitman catalogues the people in his vision of America. A particular cluster always stands out to me:

"The bride unrumples her white dress, the minute-hand of the clock moves slowly,

The opium-eater reclines with rigid head and just-open'd lips,

The prostitute draggles her shawl, her bonnet bobs on her tipsy and pimpled neck,

The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men jeer and wink to each other,

(Miserable! I do not laugh at your oaths nor jeer you;)

The President holding a cabinet council is surrounded by the great Secretaries,

On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly with twined arms..."

In just a few words, each of these people emerges as worthy of our attention. Some of these lines (those about the bride, for instance) operate like like bits of flash fiction. Note that he gives three lines to the prostitute, for whom he feels deep compassion. Note how, even in 1855, Whitman sees the drug addict and finds him worthy of inclusion. And right after this collection--bride, drug addict, sex-worker--he moves to the President--and then moves on just as quickly to describe three older women, bonded by friendship. All are here. All are worthy. All of them (and us) matter. This is democracy rendered (aspirationally) through poetry. 

And then he explains it better than I ever could: 

"And these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them,

And such as it is to be of these more or less I am,

And of these one and all I weave the song of myself."

Happy birthday, Walt. 

"She can second-guess the sixth sense of the poem..."

27 April 2024: “She is like a receiving station picking up on each poem, unscrambling things out of word-waves, making sense of it and making sure of it. She can second-guess the sixth sense of the poem." --Seamus Heaney, quoted in this piece on Helen Vendler, who died earlier this week.

I was sad to hear that Vendler passed away, though ninety years is a lovely, long life. Her book on Dickinson is beautiful--full of riches that made me a better reader and teacher. 

"How to Triumph Like a Girl"

19 April 2024: It's "Poem in Your Pocket Day" and this one, currently in my pocket, is perfect for the day I will (eventually) be driving down to Salem to see my dear, dear friends.

"Those Who Carry Us"

18 December 2023: Finally listened to Silas House's wonderful poem, read aloud at the Kentucky Governor's inauguration. Like all things Silas writes, it's specific and universal and celebrates humanity while making us want to be even better.

"Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars"

8 November 2023: Had a Whitman moment when I got home today (another long day--not all bad, but overwhelming...). Needed to get some more steps in and headed out for a bit. Looked up, felt my breath catch at the beauty of the clear night sky. Breathed in the cool air and embraced being quiet and alive. 

Helen and Emily

27 October 2023: "I wish I knew what your portfolios, by this time, hold." --Helen Hunt Jackson in an 1885 letter to Emily Dickinson (qtd in Crumbley 752).

Really enjoyed this little piece by Paul Crumbley about Jackson and Dickinson's correspondance. It's full of great nuggets and a larger point about how differently the two women thought about the exchange and publication of poetry.

Works Cited

Crumbley, Paul. “‘As If for You to Choose’: Conflicting Textual Economies in Dickinson’s Correspondence with Helen Hunt Jackson.” Women’s Studies: An Interdisciplinary Journal, vol. 31, no. 6, Nov. 2002, pp. 743–57. EBSCOhost.

"The wind roaming outside of my childhood’s lair..."

1 May 2023: Strange emotions and vibes all around today as the semester more or less ends today. Old semester exits, new one on the horizon. Summer ahead, but chilly, rainy days still here. New month, even. The years just keep ticking by and these moments make me ponder that. Just a lot of...liminality, which can put me strange places and moods.

So today's "Poem-a-Day", "Poem," by Sandra Lim really speaks to me. Here are the opening lines:

"Whenever I feel loss or lack, I imagine 

The wind roaming outside of my childhood’s lair

—as I am a child again, with my red knapsack 

bouncing lightly on my back— 

Beckoning me to run to it, into its slurry white expanse . . ."

"Something there is that doesn't love a wall..."

27 February 2023: Robert Frost came to mind on my walk today...

"Give Me This"

2 Feburary 2023: It's really wonderful to be stopped in your tracks by a poem early in the day. This one, by Adam Limón, did it.