Father's Day Picnic

[alee_grrl]

Sunday, every Sunday, let's have a community picnic. It's probably been a long week, and it's lovely to have a few minutes to sit back and relax and enjoy some good conversation in a less formal space. Feel free to bring something for the Picnic Basket - a poem you liked this week, a thought you had or something you experienced, or even something completely unrelated to poetry whatsoever that you just feel like sharing. Just take a moment to say hello, and maybe have a bite to eat; no one is going anywhere fast, and the shade promises some relief from the everyday heat. Let’s get to know each other a bit better, here under the branches of the poet’s tree.

Comments

[alee_grrl]

Sorry I am running a bit behind today. My vacation was lovely, but wore me out. The new challenge will go up soon. Hope everyone is having a lovely Sunday.

In honor of Father's Day, here are some cool cakes.

Looking for hosts!

[alee_grrl]

Anyone interested in hosting one of the upcoming weeks? Please sign up here.

Also we haven't done a multi-hosted themed week in a while. Would folks be interested in doing that? Is there a particular week that would work better for folks in the next month?

Haven't thought of enough poetry lately. Back to my favorite.

[syntaxofthings]

This was a good chance for me to break out and remember my Louise Glück.

The Untrustworthy Speaker

Don't listen to me; my heart's been broken.
I don't see anything objectively.

(read more)

Re: Haven't thought of enough poetry lately. Back to my favorite.

[alee_grrl]

This poem really spoke to me. In a way none of us see anything objectively, as we can only see the world through our own fracture lenses. We filter our understanding through our past experiences, and in our own ways we are all scarred in some way.

Thank you for sharing this powerful poem.

You're welcome!

[syntaxofthings]

"The Untrustworthy Speaker" resonated more with me when I was in high school, but it was good to go back to it - and see how I've grown in many ways as well.

[ashestosnow]

I'd like to thank you all for my having won challenge #13 here at Poetree; I had some very good competition.

I'm happy to be the volunteer judge for the next week, if I am needed.

This week, it's another poem by Andrea Gibson that caught my eye: The Madness Vase. [tw: mention of suicide] It's the last few lines that inspire me particularly:

The trauma said, “Don’t write these poems.
Nobody wants to hear you cry
about the grief inside your bones.”

But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi jumped
from the George Washington Bridge
into the Hudson River convinced
he was entirely alone.

My bones said, “Write the poems.”

I try to remember this when I worry that I'm being too maudlin, or that others don't want to hear my voice. If I can write a poem that saves me, it's all but irrelevant whether someone else is mildly irritated by my grief. I am still alive, and that is worth immeasurably more.

I just have to remember that. All of you here, I hope you can remember it as well.

That was powerful.

[syntaxofthings]

Thank you for sharing that. All those prescriptions that turned out wrong... pretty touching.

Wow.

[alee_grrl]

What a powerful poem, and a good reminder that we help each other when we share our stories (the good and the bad, but often particularly the bad). We offer a voice of understanding and sympathy, a whisper that we are not alone.

[lnhammer]

My favorite poem of the week:

Written on seeing autumn leaves within the sacred fence when he passed by a god's shrine.
chihayaburu kami no igaki ni hau kuzu mo aki ni wa aezu utsuroinikeri	Even the kudzu creeping within the precinct     of the mighty gods -- it cannot, against autumn: it also has changed colors.

Original by Ki no Tsurayuki.

---L.

[untonuggan]

That is lovely, thank you. The second to last line is my favorite.

[lnhammer]

Thankee.

(I think that line needs to end in a period though. (The translation, if you can't tell, is still in revision.))

---L.

[untonuggan]

Gave my dad a gag gift for father's day. :P Trying to destress from packing the remaining things. Thank goodness I've been doing it in bite-sized pieces.