“You are always near me.”

If the comments on YouTube can be trusted, the artist’s name is Ksenia Simonova, and she’s performing on a lighted sandbox in a Czech version of America’s Got Talent.  If anyone here wants to translate the Russian, have at it, but I doubt you’ll translate it better than her hands do.

Accidental Consolations

We have previously lamented what we lose when we forsake the serendipity of browsing a newspaper or magazine for the stultifying predictability of those custom-tailored electronic round-ups that tell us only what we want to hear.  But I was reminded of this point in a somewhat surprising situation recently when I read a book by mistake, and found out I liked it.

How, exactly, does one read a book by mistake? 

Leisure, by William Henry Davies

I’ve been too busy to write much here lately, which is perhaps why this appeals so much.  If you’ve been busy too, sit for a moment in the Poetry Corner.

Leisure

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

May you all have ample time to stand and stare.

Palm Sunday in the Poetry Corner

The Donkey

by G.K. Chesterton

When fishes flew and forests walked,
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood,
Then surely I was born.

With monstrous head and sickening cry,
And ears like errant wings,
The devil’s walking parody
Of all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient, crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.

Measure, Volume III, Issue 2

Last May, I passed along the good news that Measure, A Review of Formal Poetry, would be expanding to two issues per year.  I know I sold at least one subscription with that news, so I’m happy to report that the second half of Volume III arrived this week and it’s as delightful as ever.  Some of the poems are built on classical allusions, some meditate on events as recent as Katrina, and some are almost entirely whimsical (though no less artful for that).

But on the eve of the Big East Tournament for men’s basketball — and a post-season that I fear will leave Hoya fans disappointed — it’s this poignant reflection on fame and fate by Michael Cantor that strikes me as the best sample to give RM readers. 

Valentine’s Day in the Poetry Corner

It’s funny:  The longer I’m married, the better this poem gets.

Rival Histories of the Great Depression

Whatever one thinks about history repeating itself generally, the case for repetition is pretty strong in economics because economic activity is by its nature cyclical.  Yes, times change, and no two business cycles are ever exactly alike, but there are certainly recurring patterns and it makes great sense to try to understand what worked and what didn’t in past cycles.

Ever since late September, it has been difficult to discuss the economy in much depth without encountering simmering controversies about what did an did not work during the Great Depression.  But there is a problem. 

Net-Mending in the Poetry Corner

We haven’t been to the Poetry Corner in a while, and today the Catholic lectionary gives us a nudge in that direction.  Ever since Jim Walsh told me about this poem, it has been impossible for me to hear today’s gospel reading (Mark 1:14-20) without thinking of it.

One Day More

No matter whom you support in the presidential election, you have to hand it to these folks.

Of course, the kids got slaughtered at the barricades . . .

All Souls’ Day in the Poetry Corner

A few months ago I raved about Volume III of Measure, and I hear that I managed to sell a subscription or two.  The same volume reprinted two great poems from Mary Jo Salter that I put aside for All Souls’ Day:  “A Grandfather Clock,” and “Erasers.”  Enjoy.