v. anastasi
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Fall and Mary Oliver today. From a wonderful collection of poetry titled Why I Wake Early. Admittedly, waking early isn’t in my vocabulary, save for the demand my job puts upon me as a high school English teacher. But for sights such as these, I would race the sun out of bed, “[t]o love what…
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Tonight we celebrated the end of my son’s first year of varsity soccer. In honor of that achievement, allow me to share with you a sonnet I wrote three years ago when I spoke at the girls soccer banquet where I teach. Believe it or not, soccer is like a sonnet. Both require hard work.…
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I dedicate tonight’s Blackout Poem to my mother-in-law, Bonnie, who is the queen of garlic. She cuts up and eats raw garlic with nearly every dinner, including (BRACE YOURSELF!) pancakes. I still remember my initiation into the Stitt family upon first meeting my wife’s older brothers. You like garlic? Here, try this. As an Italian,…
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Wendell Berry never ceases to amaze me. Here, I am reminded of the hours my father spent behind one of those old clunky VHS camcorders of the late 1980s. Rather than taking part in our family vacations, he served as video historian and ended up watching us and everything we experienced through a small lens,…
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Autumn has always been my favorite season. Perhaps my birthday coming shortly after the autumnal equinox has biased me in favor of this rich time of harvest and change, but as I meditated on turning forty-six and my desire to live to be one hundred years old, the following sonnet emerged. I struggled to capture…
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This poem needs no introduction. As the temperatures dropped to the high fifties on Friday and I slipped into one of my favorite hoodies, I knew Autumn had arrived. No better way to celebrate the changing of the seasons than to read “To Autumn” by John Keats. Grab a cup of hot cider, sit down…
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Summer draws to a close, a new week begins, and I return to the deepening ground of Mary Oliver’s poetry. Hear the invitation to spend our lives “on some / unstinting happiness,” but not according to the world’s definition. Rather, the simple overlooked gifts that poets like Mary Oliver and Wendell Berry capture so beautifully.…
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We’ve all played the fool at some point in our lives, especially in the name of love. Frankie Lymon & The Teenagers sang of it long before I sat down with my guitar and composed the following song. Sometimes we’ve played the fool for power, fame, or glory, fleeting as they are. Like King Solomon…
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At the end of long weekend, I returned to the wisdom of Wendell Berry. Oh, for the peace of simple things and the dumb life of roots! (If you haven’t read The Peace of Wild Things, then you MUST follow this link to hear Wendell Berry read the powerful companion piece and fitting follow-up to…
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“[A body] belongs to the world of love, which is a world of living creatures, natural orders and cycles, many small, fragile lights in the dark.” Wendell Berry – from “Health is Membership” Reflection: The Bull Thistle By Vincent H. Anastasi 2022 Magenta flames stopped me on my way, burning on the spiny base of…
the deepening ground 