Celebrate Poetry Month With Jeffrey S.

Posted by Jeffrey S., guest blogger, EPL patron, SIUE professor and poet.

The EPL, partnering with faculty from the SIUE's Department of English, Language and Literature, hosted a poetry reading on April 26th to celebrate Shakespeare's birthday (April 21st).  Jeffrey S. read one of his own sonnets, created as part of a larger work in honor of Martin Luther King.  Play the animation for a description of a crown of sonnets and Jeffrey reading his poem.

A Crown For King
IV.

It’s non-violence or non-existence.

This is no dream, but a vision

Of the real, a mode of resistance

born of purest recognition:

what is human in the end

as in the beginning.  King’s eye

is our eye when the light bends

toward our hearts, when my

Soul and your soul know the sweet

 truth of each other’s being, King’s

ear the ear with which we greet

the promise of struggle and joy.  Sing

The song yourselves, he says and demands,

The promise now is in our hands.

To contact Jeffrey, visit his website.
To see images of the poetry reading, visit our Flickr photostream.

Celebrate Poetry Month With Evan E.

Posted by Evan E.

Sonnet Silence (1840)
by Edgar Allen Poe

There are some qualities - some incorporate things,
That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
From matter and light, evinced in sold and shade.
There is a two-fold Silence - sea and shore-
Body and soul.  One dwells in lonely places,
newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,
Some human memories and tearful lore,
Render him herrorless; his name's "No More."
He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
No power hath he of evil in himself;
But should some urgent fatae (untimely lot!)
Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
no foot of man, ) commend thyself to God!

THE END

To learn more about Edgar Allen Poe, click here.

To learn more about Edgar Allen Poe, click here.

Celebrate Poetry Month With Amanda E.

Posted by Amanda E.

Sonnet (1928)
by Elizabeth Bishop

I am in need of music that would flow
Overy my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

To learn more about Elizabeth Bishop, click here.

Celebrate Poetry Month with Jacob D.

Posted by Jacob D.

Selections by Pedro Pietri:

Telephone Booth
Number 301
when I was very young
I used to have many
imaginary girlfriends
now that I am an adult
I miss them very much

Telephone Booth 
number 542
the only way
i know how
to wash dishes
is by smashing them
against the wall!

Click here for more information about Pablo Pietri

Celebrate Poetry Month with Alana T.

Posted by Alana T.

The Invisible Birds of Central America
by Craig Arnold

The bird who creaks like a rusty playground swing
the bird who sharpens the knife     the bird who blows
on the mouths of milk bottles     the bird who bawls like a cat
like a cartoon baby     the bird who rubs the wineglass
the bird who curlicues     the bird who quacks like a duck
but is not a duck     the bird who pinks on a jeweller's hammer
They hide behind the sunlight scattered throughout the canopy
At the thud of your feet they fall thoughtful and quiet
coming to life again only when you have passed
Perhaps they are not multiple     but one
a many-mooded trickster     whose voice is rich
and infinitely various     whose feathers
liquify the rainbow     riplling scarlet
emerald indigo     whose treaming tail
is rare as a comet's     a single glimpse of which
is all that you could wish for     the one thing
missing     to make your eyes at last feel full
to meet this wild need of yours    for wonder

Click here for more information about Craig Arnold and his poetry.

P.S.  This poem reminded me of a scene from David Attenborough's Life of Birds TV program from many years ago.  In this clip, you can see and hear the Superb Lyrebird imitating, not only other birds, but also (sadly, I think), machine-based sounds, including chain saws in the forest.

Celebrate Winter with Ike D. and Wilson B.

Posted by Staff

During the winter break, the Edwardsville Public Library staff are sharing some poetry animations and a round-robin story.  We hope you enjoy the fun and have a restful holiday season.  We'll be back in the New Year with more book reviews, movie recommendations and lots of other library related items.

What I Love About Winter

Frozen lakes

Hot pabncakes

Lots of snow

Hot cocoa

Skates and skis

Evergreen trees

Funny hats

Thermostats

Sunsets blaze

Holidays

Snowball fights

Fireplace nights

Chimneys steaming

Winter dreaming

What I Hate About Winter

Frozen toes

Running nose

Sloppy sluch

Holiday crush

15 below

Shoveling snow

Leafless trees

Cough and wheeze

Shorter day

Less time to play

Salt-spreading tractors

Windchill factors

No place to go-

Winter is so

These poems are published in the book Winter Eyes: Poems and Paintings by Douglas Florian.

To learn more about Mr. Florian, click here.

To request more items by Douglas Florian, click here. 

Celebrate Winter with Cary H.

Posted by Staff

During the winter break, the Edwardsville Public Library staff are sharing some poetry animations and a round-robin story.  We hope you enjoy the fun and have a restful holiday season.  We'll be back in the New Year with more book reviews, movie recommendations and lots of other library related items.

Snow Geese by Mary Oliver

Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last!
What a task
to ask

of anything, or anyone,

yet it is ours,
and not by the century or the year, but by the hours.

One fall day I heard
above me, and above the sting of the wind, a sound
I did not know, and my look shot upward; it was

a flock of snow geese, winging it
faster than the ones we usually see,
and, being the color of snow, catching the sun

so they were, in part at least, golden.  I

held my breath
as we do
sometimes
to stop time
when something wonderful
has touched us

as with a match,
which is lit, and bright,
but does not hurt
in the common way,

but delightfully,
as if delight
were the most serious thing
you ever felt.

The geese
flew on,
I have never seen them again.

Maybe I will, someday, somewhere.
Maybe I won't.
It doesn't matter.
What matters
is that, when I saw them,
I saw them
as through the veil, secretly, joyfully, clearly.

Learn more about Mary Oliver or request more of her works.

Celebrate Poetry Month in May With Cary H.

Posted by Cary H.

"Hope" is the Thing With Feathers
by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

Request more poetry by Emily Dickinson

Learn more about Emily Dickinson

Celebrate Poetry Month With Lisa E.

Posted by Lisa E.

Block City
by Robert Louis Stevenson
What are you able to build with your blocks?
Castle and palaces, temples and docks.
Rain may keep raining, and others go roam,
but I can be happy and building at home.

Let the sofa be mountains, the carpet be sea,
There I'll establish a city for me:
A kirk and mill and a palace beside,
And a harbour as well where my vessels may ride

Great is the palace with pillar and wall,
A sort of a tower on teh top of it all,
And steps coming down in an orderly way
To where my toy vessels lie safe in the bay.

This one is sailing and that one is moored:
Hark to the song of the sailors on board!
And see on the steps of my palace, the kings
Coming and going with presents and things!

Now I have done with it, down let it go!
All in a moment the town is laid low.
Block upon block lying scattered and free,
What is there left of my town by the sea?

Yet as I saw it, I see it again,
The kirk and the palace, the ships and the men,
And as long as I live, and wher'er I may be,
I'll always remember my town by the sea.

Request more works by Robert Louis Stevenson
Learn more about Robert Louis Stevenson

Celebrate Poetry Month With Deanne H.

Posted by Deanne H.

The Waking by Theodore Roethke

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.   

I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.   

I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?   

I hear my being dance from ear to ear.   

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?   

God bless the Ground!   I shall walk softly there,   

And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?   

The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;   

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do   

To you and me; so take the lively air,   

And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.   

What falls away is always. And is near.   

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.   

I learn by going where I have to go.

Request more poetry by Theodore Roethke

Learn more about Theodore Roethke

Celebrate Poetry Month With Alana T.

Posted by Alana T.

A Sleepless Night by Philip Levine

April, and the last of the plum blossoms
scatters on the black grass
before dawn. The sycamore, the lime,
the struck pine inhale
the first pale hints of sky.
An iron day,
I think, yet it will come
dazzling, the light
rise from the belly of leaves and pour
burning from the cups
of poppies.
The mockingbird squawks
from his perch, fidgets,
and settles back. The snail, awake
for good, trembles from his shell
and sets sail for China. My hand dances
in the memory of a million vanished stars.

A man has every place to lay his head.  

Request other works by Philip Levine 
Learn more about Philip Levine, our current Poet Laureate

Celebrate Poetry Month With Amanda E.

Posted by Amanda E.

Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll
(from Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There)

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

'Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!'

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One two! One two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

'And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe. 

Request items about Lewis Carroll and critical analyses of his works. 
Learn more about Lewis Carroll

Celebrate Poetry Month With Judy T.

Posted by Judy T.

A Prayer In Spring by Robert Frost

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil. 

Request more poetry works by Robert Frost
Learn more about Robert Frost