Poets answer another age-old question
How many poets does it take to change a light bulb?
6. william Shakespeare
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun.
Could you please change this light bulb for me, hon?
Poets Answer Another Age-Old Question: How Many Poets Does It Take to Change a Light Bulb? 5. Dylan Thomas
Do not go idle into that dark room.
There’s light bulbs in the closet, by the broom.
Poets Answer Another Age-Old Question: How Many Poets Does It Take to Change a Light Bulb? 4. T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound
Continuing our coverage of the question how many poets it takes to change a light bulb. This week: T.S. Eliot (with the help of Ezra Pound) gives you a bit of Ash Wednesday on Holy Tuesday..
ELIOT: Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn…
Seriously, my wrist is cramping.
POUND: Maybe drop that last line, Tom.
Poets Answer Another Age-Old Question: How Many Poets Does It Take to Change a Light Bulb? 3. Robert Frost
This month we will be addressing the question of how many poets it takes to change a light bulb. This week: Robert Frost.
FROST: My little horse must harbor doubt.
HORSE: Why change a light that isn’t out?
FROST: But if I wait for it to die
Then I can’t find a bulb–that’s why.
Poets Answer another Age-Old Question: How Many Poets Does It Take to Change a Light Bulb? 2: Elizabeth Bishop
Poets Answer another Age-Old Question
How Many Poets Does It Take to Change a Light Bulb?
Elizabeth bishop
The art of changing isn’t hard to master
unless you lose the bulb, it ends up smashed, or
some other problem leads to light disaster.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson calls the Poetry Crisis Line
PATIENCE (counselor): Poetry Crisis Line, what is your emergency?
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON (caller): Theirs not to make reply,
PATIENCE: If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help.
TENNYSON: Theirs not to reason why,
PATIENCE: So you don’t want me to figure out what’s wrong?
TENNYSON: Theirs but to do and die.
PATIENCE: If someone’s in danger I can send help if you share your location.
TENNYSON: Into the valley of death
PATIENCE: Death Valley? The national park?
TENNYSON: rode the six hundred.
PATIENCE: Right. I can request a specific ambulance but you’ll probably get whatever’s closest.
Poets answer an age-old question: Why did the chicken cross the road? 11. Seamus Heaney
Poets answer an age-old question: Why did the chicken cross the road?
Seamus Heaney:
Husbandry says “Stay safe
on this side of the street.”
But once in a while
a chicken will rise to her feet
(if she’s not met defeat)
and see that the other side
is reachable from here.
Now she comes near.
[Click here to read an excerpt from The Cure at Troy by Seamus Heaney]
put these seeds in your pockets. they will bloom when you lie down.
In honor of the women and all the brave people of Ukraine, who stand up to the invading army not just with weapons but with seeds, pickled tomatoes, and the power of their voice.
Perhaps the world ends here, so I’ll talk about it. An imaginary conversation between Serhiy Zhadan and Joy Harjo
Perhaps the World Ends Here, So I’ll Talk About It
JOY HARJO: The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
SERHIY ZHADAN: Everything started with music, with scars left by songs
HARJO: The gifts of earth are brought and prepared,
ZHADAN: heard at fall weddings with other kids my age.
HARJO: set on the table.
ZHADAN: The adults who made music. Adulthood defined by this–the ability to play music. As if some new note, responsible for happiness, appears in the voice.
HARJO: So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
From “Perhaps the World Ends Here” by Joy Harjo and “So I’ll Talk About It” by Serhiy Zhadan.
Maya Angelou calls the Poetry Crisis Line–conclusion (for now)
KIM (counselor): Poetry Crisis Line, what can I do for you?
DR. MAYA ANGELOU (caller): You may write me down in history
KIM: I’m sorry, that’s not a service we offer. Have you tried the Library of Congress?
ANGELOU: With your bitter, twisted lies
KIM: No, ma’am, I said the Library of Congress.
ANGELOU: You may tread me in the very dirt
KIM: We don’t offer that service either. You might try a dominatrix. Or a literary critic.
ANGELOU: But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
KIM: Like dust? Have you considered rising like bread? Bread rises.
ANGELOU: Does my sassiness upset you?
KIM: No. But you could rise like a cake. Cakes rise.
ANGELOU: Why are you beset with gloom?
KIM: I’m not. But parfaits–no, parfaits don’t rise. But balloons do. Why not rise like a balloon?
ANGELOU: ‘Cause I walk–
KIM: True. Balloons don’t walk. So are you going uphill? Upstairs? If you’re walking, how do you rise?
ANGELOU: Like I’ve got oil wells pumping in my living room
KIM: That must be tough on your carpets.
ANGELOU: Just like moons and like suns
KIM: Yes, the sun also rises. And it can fade your carpets.
ANGELOU: with the certainty of tides
KIM: There’s flood damage? You might consider replacing the carpet altogether.
ANGELOU: Just like hopes springing high
KIM: I’m glad you’re still hopeful, but–
ANGELOU: still I rise.
KIM: Glad to hear it. But is the carpet worth keeping?