POETRY FRIDAY: MOON FEVER

Arcade Souvenir 

(I want that hat....) 

Last week I was  moon-drunk, and there's still something going on between the moon and me, so I must have moon fever. I wrote "Late Night Thoughts" (below) as a response to Tricia's Poetry Stretch over at the Miss Rumphius Effect this week.  The challenge was to write a rictameter (another counted-syllables poem - like the Zeno! Only not like the Zeno!) which is a non-rhyming nine-line poem with the following syllable count: 2/4/6/8/10/8/6/4/2. The first and last lines must be the same. (Of course, that last rule immediately makes me want to bend it - or even break it, though bending rules is much more fun.) When I write in response to a challenge, I'm not sure I produce an actual poem. But I do a few things usually that interest me. In this poem, I enjoyed turning the first two words of the poem into a complete question in the last line. I also liked coming up with line "the sun never rises" - it was like a backward curtsy to Hemingway. Putting howl and now next to each other felt good - almost like singing a Roy Orbison song - oh, I know why! - " in BLUE... BAY...-OUUUUUU!"  The rules say no rhyme, and I assume that's no end rhyme - that's usually what people mean (unfortunately?) when they talk about rhyme. There actually is quite a lot of internal rhyme in these nine lines:  Thoughts/not, might/night, howl/now, moon/soon, one/sun. The "wolf-throated chance" is an image I might actually want to save for a more serious poem. So - here's the second in my Moon Fever series (or so it seems):

Late Night Thoughts

Why not

howl at the moon?

Soon it will be sun-up --

who knows what happens after that?

This might be it: Your one wolf-throated chance.

You know, the sun never rises

at night -- what kind of friend

is that? Howl now!

Why not.?

Arcade Souvenir

(...again, the hat!) 

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The Poetry Round-Up this week is over at Gotta Book  (thank you, Greg) - You gotta go there and see the links.

Poetry Friday: Moon-Drunk

Leda's Moon

A wonderful writer and friend, Leda Schubert (author of the award-winning Ballet of the Elephants and colleague of mine at Vermont College of Fine Arts) recently sent me two photos she took of the moon over her part of the world the other night. She knows I've been a little moon drunk lately. It's true. I'm bewitched. Everywhere I look, it's the moon. And to think it doesn't really shine, it just reflects light. But I don't care - being moon drunk isn't rational.

Leda's Moon with Leaves

You need a special kind of camera to capture how big the moon feels in the night sky - with regular cameras, it looks so much smaller. But I saw this poster of phases of the moon the other day, and I thought immediately that it would make a beautiful book cover. No title, no author name, just phases of the moon. Wouldn't that be wonderful? As if the author and illustrator were the moon itself.

When my husband and I got married, we lived in Mexico for a bit - not very long really - but long enough for me to see, for the first time, the moon as it appears on the Turkish flag, with what appears to be a star almost touching the lower part of the crescent:

When we saw it, I think the star was actually a planet - Venus, or maybe it was Jupiter - but all I knew then was that the moon was making me tipsy.

For Poetry Friday, I'm going to post a poem that's really a December poem, but I'm in the mood for it now. I wrote it to my husband thirty years after the night of that first crescent moon - the mood is not as giddy, but it's deeper, more substantial, even if it is melancholy. One phase of a changing moon.

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December 21

Here we are on the long year's longest night,
with the light of this moon spreading - a nice surprise.
It rises in the sky, and we walk together hand
in hand - three decades fall like leaves to frost,
years lost. There's the North Star - low, slight but true.
It, you, me - mid-solstice. Right where we belong.
Brittle fig vines rest against the shed,
the bed of juno iris, too - their brown stalks half-asleep.
their bulbs deeply buried. It's the same old song:
Not long, you say. I answer, No, not long now.
But how it hurts to breathe. Even the wild mint
in the ditch is waiting. Even the coldest star.
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UPDATE: ELAINE MAGLIARO OVER AT WILD ROSE READER HAS GRACIOUSLY STEPPED IN TO LEAD US TO POETRY FRIDAY THIS WEEK. IGNORE CONFUSION BELOW!

I usually direct you to where the Poetry Friday round-up is, but I can't find a calendar of who's hosting and when. I've looked at CROSSOVER, Kelly Herold's site, but only see the calendar through August. And I've looked at Big A little a - but no luck! I'll update this once I find out. And if it's my turn (I volunteered for 11/6 at one point) then oh-oh....well, just leave your links in the comments. But I don't think it's my turn - I would have heard, no? More on this mystery later.

Poetry Friday: Zeno Hour!

J. Patrick Lewis has invented a new poetry form he calls the "zeno" - it's syllabic, with the following pattern for its ten lines: 8/4/2/1/4/2/1/4/2/1 (number of syllables.) All one-syllable lines rhyme (fourth, seventh and tenth lines.)

Tricia featured this over at The Miss Rumphius Effect as this week's Poetry Stretch - with great results! And I think a good time was had by all. Here are my contributions (title of the first is a tad long):

In a Nice Restaurant, I Use My Fingers to Tap Out Syllables on the Tablecloth, Which Worries the Nice Couple at the Next Table Who Appear to Be Having a Romantic Anniversary Dinner

Constantly counting syllables
alarms the shrinks.
While some
probe
tales about our
frontal
lobes,
none dare call us
zeno-
phobes.

* * * * *

A Zeno to Ze Nose

Ze nose eez nice, eet smell ze rose,
eet shine so pink
with wine.
Ooh-
la-la, ze nose
eet grows
blue -
eet drip, eet honk,
eet ah-
chooo.

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The Poetry Friday round-up this week is hosted by Jennie over at Biblio File. See what other people are up to!

Only 2 Days Left : Auction to Benefit WAR CHILD

UPDATE: THE AUCTION ENDED TODAY AND THE ART WORK SOLD
FOR
$2447 (Australian dollars) = $2241 (American dollars)

Hooray! Every dollar went to WAR CHILD.


ORIGINAL ARTWORK
BY SHAUN TAN!
Free Shipping from Australia!

Shaun Tan has donated the wonderful piece of original artwork seen above to an auction on Ebay benefiting WAR CHILD. You can see a larger picture of the drawing at the Ebay site - or at the "KIDS NIGHT IN" site sponsored by Penguin Australia. The current price as I update this is $510 Australian dollars (That's about $470 U.S. dollars.) The auction ends on October 31st - but careful, there's a dateline change, and that makes the end of the auction much earlier in the U.S. Oh, wouldn't it be a joy to own an original Shaun Tan? The drawing seems to be a preliminary design for the cover art for the book Kids Night In 3 which is currently for sale in Australia (sales of the book also benefit WAR CHILD.)

There's no problem with the winning bidder living outside Australia. Also: The item description says the size of the drawing is "A3" - that must be something Australian's understand...? I'll try to find out what that means. (Update: the measurements are 11.5 x 16.5 inches.)


WAR CHILD is "an international relief and development agency dedicated to providing immediate, effective and sustainable aid to children affected by war. " Click here to visit their website.

Anyone out there with deep pockets, a social conscience, and a love of great art? BID NOW!



Actually, here's the question I'd really like to ask: Why doesn't Penguin U.S.A. participate?

Young Girl in Afghanistan
Photo Available Online Through WAR CHILD

Poetry Friday: Eve Merriam and the Weather

Bridge in the Rain (Vincent van Gogh, 1887)

There's no doubt at all here in Seattle - absolutely none - that the "good" weather is gone until, oh, next March. Sure, there will be a few days of sunshine in January that will drive us outside in our shirtsleeves, dancing around, giddy with delight. But we can generally get up in the morning, put on heavy socks and layers of shirts and sweaters, hold our hot coffee cups in our hands as if anything warm were a magic elixir, gaze out the window and expect to see the garden wet, the sidewalks wet, the street wet, and rain coming down. In the spirit of all things wet then, here is a little poem by the wonderful Eve Merriam. I love the fact that Ms. Merriam, whose book Inner City Mother Goose (1971) was once called by its author "just about the most banned book in the country," was rewarded ten years after its publication with the NCTE's Award for Excellence in Poetry for Children.

THE WEATHER

Dot a dot dot dot a dot dot
Spotting the windowpane.

Spack a spack speck flick a flack fleck
Freckling the windowpane.

A spatter a scatter a wet cat a clatter
A splatter a rumble outside.

Umbrella umbrella umbrella umbrella
Bumbershoot barrel of rain.

Slosh a galosh slosh a galosh
Slither and slather a glide

A puddle a jump a puddle a jump
A puddle a jump puddle splosh

A juddle a pump a luddle a dump
A pudmuddle jump in and slide!

Eve Merriam 1916-1992

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THE ROUND-UP FOR POETRY FRIDAY MUST BE SOMEWHERE, BUT I
CAN'TFIND THE CURRENT LINE UP OF HOSTS. ANYONE HAVE ANY
IDEA? IF YOU CAN'T FIND IT EITHER, YOU'RE WELCOME TO
LEAVE LINKS HERE IN THE COMMENTS.

AHA - THE POETRY ROUND-UP IS AT
 KELLY HEROLD'S BIG A little a -
THANKS FOR POINTING ME THERE, FRIENDS.