Poet
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“I don’t think poetry lives on the flat page…any more than music lives in the notation. I think a poem has to be breathed into the air – it has to kind of shimmer into being as sound exchanged in the one atmosphere between people.” Malcolm Guite, from “A Spell in the Studio with Phil
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“Denounce the government and embracethe flag. Hope to live in that freerepublic for which it stands.” Wendell Berry, “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front” Though I’ve referenced this poem multiple times on my site, I don’t believe I’ve ever posted it in full. With election day upon us in America, the poem feels fitting. So
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Many poets speak of the challenge of being a poet, but few have captured the sense of being out of place and misunderstood like Richard Wilbur in his translation of Charles Baudelaire’s stunning poem from “The Flowers of Evil.” My wife shared it with me tonight, having heard it herself for the first time on
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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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True love is the deepening ground of life. Unfortunately, so few are willing to labor together in the field, transforming the hard soils of life into the oasis offered to us in true love, especially in the midst of trying times. Most so-called “love” peters out just inches into the earth. So few are willing
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A week away from the normal routines of life is refreshing, even if it comes with other, pressing responsibilities. We have just returned from New Jersey where my son and daughter competed in a regional speech tournament. While there, I spent most of my time either judging rounds (ten, to be exact) or watching my
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Having not actually written anything new recently, a quiet hour to write (or blackout) tonight was a gift. Flipping through the same book that I have been using for nearly six years, I gratefully unearthed the following poem just in time for Resurrection Day, known to many as Easter. The celebration that finds its source
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About a year ago, I shared a sample of blackout poetry: essentially a found poem drawn from an already published text. In my case, I have been crafting my poems from a discarded book I picked up at our school library. I have titled that collection Odd Things, as each poem appears on the odd
the deepening ground 