Sunday, May 25, 2014

Poetry & Remembering Beginnings

I've decided to gather all the poetry I've written over the years in one collection. As I'm editing the poems on this rare, rainy Tucson morning just before heading out on a long bike ride, I stop at this one; one of my favorites. This poem has never been accepted for publication but it is always my favorite. I love remembering how much I love to read and how it is an impetus to travel and explore. A perfect motivator just before a ride.

Literary Connections 

Second grade Plattsburgh, New York
Mrs. Farrah teaches us to read without moving our lips at Oak St School
I am one of the kids who can do it.

Fifth grade, Mr. Oliver reads Harriet the Spy to the class.
After school I read Little House on the Prairie.

In the middle of Eighth Grade my family moves to Rye New Hampshire.
Ms. Balz teaches me grammar; I learn the difference between your and you’re.

In Tenth grade I read Dreiser in English class and fall in love with literature.
I read Welty and Cather and imagine being western.
I read How Green is My Valley
Because I like the name.
I learn, you can go back and have what you like if you remember it well enough
In Twelfth grade Diane and I change the lyrics to a Simon and Garfunkel song
As we ride a Greyhound bus to New York City.
I meet my soul mate and we read Gone With the Wind on stormy winter evenings,
We meet in the library, and talk about our books,
He shows me his world of nature and hiking,
Of Love

We go to Boston, the computer museum, the White Mountains, Prom and

After high school I watch The Outsiders,
Soda Pop quotes Robert Frost nothing Gold can stay
during a sunset
I read more Frost, he says that my life is a pursuit of a pursuit forever
And begin to understand interminable longing.

I travel to Denver, Philadelphia, Boise, Portland, Fairbanks, and Missoula
Glasgow, Edinburgh, Paris, London, Geneva

Listening to Jackson Browne sing about maps and angels
you've had to hide sometimes, but now you're all right
and start to believe it

Allison and I listen to Lawrence Ferlinghetti at Philips Exeter Academy
It is the first time I hear a poem spoken by its writer
we sneak into his private receptions
This is the first time I see a real poet, up close.

I read Walker, Lessing
I’m searching for my mother’s gardens, too
I try to write my Golden Notebooks.

I remember a line from a book that spoke to me once
you can go back and have what you like if you remember it well enough
I remember
and what I remember becomes a story
and a poem, and a book. 

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