Poem of the Day: Rapture: Lucus by Tracy Brimhall

View this email on a browser Forward to a friend August 14, 2014 Rapture: Lucus Traci Brimhall

Posters for the missing kapok tree appear on streetlights offering a reward for its safe return. I hate to spoil it, but the end of every biography is death. The end of a city in the rainforest is a legend and a lost expedition. The end of mythology is forgetfulness, placing gifts in the hole where the worshipped tree should be. But my memory lengthens with each ending. I know where to find the lost mines of Muribeca and how to cross the Pacific on a raft made of balsa. I know the tree wasn’t stolen. She woke from her stillness some equatorial summer evening by a dream of being chased by an amorous faun, which was a memory, which reminded her that in another form she had legs and didn’t need the anxious worship of people who thought her body was a message. She is happier than the poem tattooed on her back says she is, but sadder than the finches nesting in her hair believe her to be. I am more or less content to be near her in October storms, though I can’t stop thinking that with the right love or humility or present of silk barrettes and licorice she might become a myth again in my arms, ardent wordless, needing someone to bear her away from the flood.    Copyright © 2014 by Traci Brimhall. Used with permission of the author. About This Poem “This poem is part of a series I’m working on that mythologizes the town in Brazil where my mother was born and raised. Mysterious, and possibly miraculous things begin to occur there, and every resident has a different explanation. The speaker believes the reason for the miracles is a hamadryad nymph with a poem tattooed on her back, who ran away rather than be worshipped.” —Traci Brimhall Traci Brimhall is the author of Our Lady of the Ruins (W. W. Norton, 2012). She teaches at Kansas State University and lives in Manhattan, Kansas. Most Recent Book by Brimhall Our Lady of the Ruins (W. W. Norton, 2012) "Song" by Brigit Pegeen Kelly "Diana of the Hunt" by Forceythe Willson "Like Any Good American" by Brynn Saito Poem-a-Day Launched during National Poetry Month in 2006, Poem-a-Day features new and previously unpublished poems by contemporary poets on weekdays and classic poems on weekends. Thanks for being a part of the Academy of American Poets community. To learn about other programs, including National Poetry Month, Poem in Your Pocket Day, the annual Poets Forum, and more, visit Poets.org. You are receiving this e-mail because you elected to subscribe to our mailing list. If you would like to unsubscribe, please click here. © Academy of American Poets 75 Maiden Lane, Suite 901, New York, NY 10038

Overheard at Table Four: Charity and the English Major

She wrapped her hands around her coffee mug, and said blithely, "No I never could have gotten serious with Matthew.  I never could have married an English Major."

Maria leaned in, and said, "But why not?  That semester I remember he was really into you!"

She shrugged and said, "Because of my name.  Charity.   Any English major, at some point in our relationship, would say something stupid about how charity is giving out without expecting to get anything back.  And I knew that would make me so mad I'd probably gouge out the guy's eyes with a fork."

Maria laughed.  "So basically, you just saved the life of at least one English major."

Charity smiled.  "For whatever that's worth, yeah."

Maria said, "So, you actually DO live up to your name."

Charity gave her the look that only true friends can give when the other delivers a subtly cloying truth.

Song of the Day: Zen and the Art of Xenophobia by Five Iron Frenzy

Cling to your god and guns, 
the banjo’s playing Hot Cross Buns, 
Bucket seats set to recline, 
no need to cross the county line. 
Are the Arabs closing ranks , 
about to roll some Russian tanks? 
Shut the doors and save the kids, 
lock and load- just like Jesus did. 
The United States of Amnesia 
make us numb, make it dumb, anesthesia. 
Cut the cord, close the door, we don’t know ‘ya, 
it’s the zen and the art of xenophobia 
Let’s keep them separate, 
melanin just can’t succeed. 
“Give me liberty… or something.” 
It’s better if you just don’t read. 
Crank your phasers up to “slaughter” 
Turn your wine back into water. 
When you play this song, Al Qaeda wins, 
and Jesus was American.

Poem of the Day: Hand Grenade Bag by Henri Cole

View this email on a browser Forward to a friend August 12, 2014   Hand Grenade Bag   Henri Cole

 

This well-used little bag is just the right size to carry a copy of the Psalms. Its plain-woven flowers and helicopter share the sky with bombs falling like turnips—he who makes light of other men will be killed by a turnip. A bachelor, I wear it across my shoulder—it’s easier to be a bachelor all my life than a widow for a day. On the bag’s face, two black shapes appear to be crows—be guided by the crow and you will come to a body—though they are military aircraft. A man who needs fire will soon enough hold it in his hands.            Copyright © 2014 by Henri Cole. Used with permission of the author.   About This Poem   “Over the past thirty years hand grenades, tanks, fighter jets, missiles, helicopters, and assault rifles have replaced traditional floral patterns in rug making and other textiles. Depicting these realities of war has helped the Afghan people to survive during times of conflict.” —Henri Cole   Henri Cole is the author of Nothing to Declare, forthcoming from Farrar, Straus, and Giroux in March of 2015.  He teaches at Ohio State University in Columbus and lives in Boston part-time. Most Recent Book by Cole   Nothing to Declare (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2015) "War Rug" by Henri Cole "Mosul" by David Hernandez "Bagram, Afghanistan, 2002" by Marvin Bell Poem-a-Day   Launched during National Poetry Month in 2006, Poem-a-Day features new and previously unpublished poems by contemporary poets on weekdays and classic poems on weekends.   Thanks for being a part of the Academy of American Poets community. To learn about other programs, including National Poetry Month, Poem in Your Pocket Day, the annual Poets Forum, and more, visit Poets.org.   You are receiving this e-mail because you elected to subscribe to our mailing list. If you would like to unsubscribe, please click here.   © Academy of American Poets 75 Maiden Lane, Suite 901, New York, NY 10038