The Cure at Troy call the Poetry Crisis Line

JERRY (counselor): Poetry Crisis Line, what is your emergency?
THE CURE (chorus): Human beings suffer
JERRY: Philosophers have written a great deal on the question of why people suffer.
THE CURE: They torture one another
JERRY: That is one reason.

Excerpted from The Cure at Troy by Seamus Heaney.

 

Emily Dickinson calls the Poetry Crisis Line

Happy birthday to Emily Dickinson, who is 190 today!

Also, happy Chanukah.

KIM (counselor): Poetry Crisis Line, what is your emergency?
EMILY DICKINSON (caller): There’s a certain slant of light
KIM: Is it in your eyes?
DICKINSON: Winter afternoons—
KIM: So how is it a problem?
DICKINSON: That oppresses
KIM: Uh…how?
DICKINSON: like the heft of cathedral tunes.
KIM: That sounds heavy.

Dana Gioia calls the Poetry Crisis Line

Happy Thanksgiving!

From “Poem 048: Thanks for Remembering Us” by Dana Gioia

KIM (counselor): Poetry Crisis Line, what is your emergency?
DANA GIOIA (caller): The flowers sent here by mistake, Signed with a name that no one knew, Are turning bad. What shall we do?
KIM: Have you tried plant food?
GIOIA: Our neighbor says they’re not for her
KIM: Not for her—for the flowers. What about cutting the stems?
GIOIA: And no one has a birthday near.
KIM: You don’t need an occasion to get a trim.
GIOIA: We should thank someone for the blunder.
KIM: If you want to.
GIOIA: Is one of us having an affair?
KIM: I couldn’t answer that if I knew.
GIOIA: At first we laugh—and then we wonder.
KIM: Confidentiality, you understand.

Diane di Prima calls the Poetry Crisis Line

Rest in peace, Diane di Prima (1934-2020), who passed while we were distracted by the election.

NEF (counselor): Poetry Crisis Line, what is your emergency?
DIANE DI PRIMA (caller): My friend wears my scarf at his waist.
NEF: Is your neck cold?
DI PRIMA: I give him moonstones.
NEF: Did he give your scarf back?
DI PRIMA: He gives me shell & seaweeds.
NEF: That’s no good. If they’re dry enough to keep you warm, they’ll be too brittle to wear.

Read “An Exercise in Love” by Diane di Prima here.

If all poems were limericks: “The Pope’s Penis” by Sharon Olds

If all poems were limericks:
“The Pope’s Penis” by Sharon Olds

It hangs in his vestments so well
like a clapper inside of a bell.
It goes where he guides,
and at night, like the tides,
it stands up in praise, which is swell.

Read the original here.

Happy 78th birthday to Sharon Olds!

[Note that the choice of material for today’s post has nothing to do with this recent news story.]

Chinua Achebe calls the Literary Fiction Crisis Line

 

Happy birthday to Chinua Achebe, who would have been 90 years old today.

COUNSELOR: Literary Fiction Crisis Line, what is your emergency?
CHINUA ACHEBE (caller): An Umiofa man does not refuse a call.
COUNSELOR: Neither do I.
ACHEBE: He may refuse to do what is asked
COUNSELOR: Why? What are you going to ask me?
ACHEBE: But he does not refuse to be asked.
COUNSELOR: If it’s bad, you may not get to ask me twice.
ACHEBE: But the times have changed, and we must be fully prepared.
COUNSELOR: Wait–you think that’s why the polls were off? People refusing to be asked?