Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

 

When I asked Library staff members to share their favorite poems, I got submissions from two Robert Frost fans. Perhaps that shouldn’t be surprising; he is one of the truly quintessentially American poets. This poem was written in 1922 and first published in 1923. Do you remember this poem from school?

 

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond

 

Another love poem today!  Cheryl Paganelli,  Assistant Cataloger, contributes this incredibly lovely poem by e.e. cummings:  somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond .  Can’t you just feel the poet’s love for his beloved?

Cheryl reads widely and enthusiastically and can almost always recommend a good book to suit your taste.  She has a good ear for poetry too.

Eric

 

Today’s poem was written by Alina Wirtz, eighth grade daughter of Simona Wirtz, Associate Librarian in our Children’s Department.

 

Eric

Two bright sapphires underneath two honeysuckle eyebrows,

Hair kissed by the sun and combed by a storm.

A heart of fire, yet a soul as peaceful as a dove.

Ears as porous as a sponge, yet attentive enough to hear the ice cream truck.

 

 

A love as pure as just fallen snow, gentle and soft.

A spirit as free as the wind.

An imagination as colorful as a sunset and as wild as the jungle.

A brave lion, yet somewhere, a timid mouse sneaking to nibble on the joys of life.

 

 

A mind full to the brim, excited to overflow with knowledge.

A smile as warm as a summer afternoon, and as sweet as the lollypops he loves.

His eyes twinkle like stars when surrounded by friends and family.

 

 

The smallest of four will soon touch the branches of a sycamore tree.

Salvaging for memories of pleasure and exhilaration, locked up for safe-keeping.

Five of his cards have been tossed out of his deck, only to become kindling for the fire to come.

 

Alina’s an awfully good writer, isn’t she?  She wrote this poem about her little brother.  I hope she keeps writing! Alina attends St. Joseph’s School here in Avon Lake.

Joy and Sorrow

 

In our poem-a-day marathon for April, I missed yesterday.  40 lashes with a wet noodle for me and two poems today for you.

 

The first comes from Adult Services librarian Deb Switzer.  Deb is creative enough to spout original poetry at the Reference desk while selecting materials and running statistic reports.  Don’t be alarmed at this poem.  Deb was having a bit of a stressful day, but she really is just fine. Her good sense of humor seems to bring her through just about everything.

Half Asleep

half asleep

 

half awake

 

in the water

 

drowning.

 

Today’s second poem comes from Lebanese-American poet Kahlil Gibran, most famous for his book The Prophet.  HIs cousin, the American born artist and inventor of the same name, died just a few days ago in Brooklyn, NY. This poem, from The Prophet, was published in 1923, just out of the reach of copyright.

 Joy and Sorrow

Then a woman said, “Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.”

And he answered:

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”

But I say unto you, they are inseparable.

Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.

Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.

When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

 

Reader, do you agree with Gibran?

MP3 Day at ALPL

Today, at ALPL, we put out our new Books on MP3-CD collection. They are on display together right now, and will be interfiled with the regular Books on CD when they get older. They are well-labelled.

What’s the big deal? MP3 vs. WAV means fewer discs, lower cost, less things to damage or lose. You can play them in any PC, any DVD player, most new vehicles’ in-dash CD players, most newer portable CD players — and from your PC you could transfer files to your portable device INCLUDING THE iPOD.

Yes, the iPOD.

So, you don’t have a portable MP3 player to enjoy downloadable material from Overdrive on? Or copy stuff from an MP3 CD to? Borrow one from us.

We have EIGHT players at the reference desk for you to check out for three weeks, with renewal if nobody is waiting. they are Creative ZEN STONE models. Each bag includes the player, a USB cable, instructions and an adapter to play through cassette decks.

Two Roads

 

Associate Librarian Sue Hurbanek remembers memorizing this poem while in school and still recalls it fondly.

 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

 

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

 

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -

I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost wrote this poem in 1915, and readers have been debating its meaning ever since. Is this a hymn to individualism, a call to take the harder, virtuous path through life or was Frost merely ribbing an indecisive walking companion? Would the well-trod road have been a mistake or just different?

I envy Sue her experience of memorizing poetry for school.  It was out of fashion when I went through, and I think I missed something.  Those generations that memorized poetry have an internal soundtrack of beautiful words and inspiring thoughts.  My generation got advertising jingles.

Lost

 

Adrienne Carver, 16, is a sophmore at Avon Lake High School and a future English major.  She enjoys English class, lunch and hanging out at the Library when she’s not writing poetry.

Lost

Have you ever felt afraid?

Have you ever felt lonely?

Have you ever felt an emptiness you can’t explain?

 

You wonder if you’ll ever be whole again

You want to be saved

If you truly love once more

And follow what your heart is saying

Then your worries shall fade away

 

I will be your shoulder to cry on

I’ll be there when you need me most

I will listen when you speak

If you speak I will listen

 

Me, I will always be yours

 

Adrienne says this poem is a “collaboration of being confused and wanting to be loved.”  Yes, I remember being 16; I’ll bet you do too.

Sonnet 29

Now for a return to something more classic in our Poetry Month Series:

Sonnet 29

When in disgrace with Fortune and men’s eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon my self and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least,

Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

(Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate,

For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Shakespeare’s Sonnet 29 is a favorite of Library Director Mary Crehore.

Of course, nobody does it better than the Bard of Avon, though Kit Rohrbach makes a great try with Les Vieux Amants , a sonnet on mature love, in a contest on the Prairie Home Companion show. What is a sonnet, you ask? Wikipedia gives a perfectly good definition.

Poems from Guantanamo Bay

 

Connie Shultz of the Plain Dealer has a column out today with and about the poetry of detainees at Guantanamo Bay.  Not all poetry is pretty.

Great New Reads

 

Just about every week, a few shelf-fulls of new books come into the Library.  Here are several titles that caught my eye:

Alexander and the Wonderful, Marvelous, Excellent, Terrific Ninety Days by Judith Viorst.  Do you remember someone reading to you, or maybe you reading to your child, the classic children’s book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day?.  Well, the real Alexander has grown up but has returned home with his wife and children and Mom’s still writing about him with that bemused air.  A funny and lovely read.

Freedom For the Thought That We Hate: a Biography of the First Amendment by Anthony Lewis. Pulitzer Prize winning reporter and First Amendment expert Anthony Lewis writes a nuanced exploration of the First Amendment, the struggle for its fulfillment and the threats it faces today.

The World’s Best Memoir Writing: the Literature of Life From St. Augustine to Gandhi, and From Pablo Picasso to Nelson Mandela, edited by Eve Claxton, is arranged by age from birth (Confessions by St. Augustine) to one hundred (My First Hundred Years by Margaret Murray). Each age consists of one or more short excerpts from a wide range of memoirs, each with a brief introduction to place the excerpt in context. Billie Holiday’s entry for age 40 is heart-breaking. Nelson Mandela writing of freedom at age 71 is awe-inspiring.  This is a great source for finding memoirs you’d like to read in full.  If we don’t have that book in our collection, we’ll be glad to look for a copy in another library we can “InterLibrary Loan” in for you.

Pushcart Prize XXXII Best of the Small Presses 2008, edited by Bill Henderson, is an anthology of American fiction, essays, memoirs and poetry published by small presses.  If you are skeptical of the domination of American literature by the Big Seven Publishers, this book will give you a taste of the very best of the rest. Again, we’ll do everything we can to locate any text you’d like to read in full.