Call for Poetry, in Honor of Brigid
Last year, Reya put out a call for a silent poetry reading across the blogs, in honor of Brigid. She got WAY more than she counted for. This year, Oak has taken on the job of calling out. So here's the deal:
WHAT: A Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Reading
WHEN: Anytime February 2, 2007
WHERE: Your blog
WHY: To celebrate the Feast of Bridgid, aka Groundhog Day
HOW: Select a poem you like - by a favorite poet or one of your own - to post February 2nd.
RSVP: If you plan to publish, feel free to leave a comment and link on this post. Last year Reya put out the call and there was more poetry in cyberspace than she could keep track of. So, link to whomever you hear about this from and a mighty web of poetry will be spun.
I'll post a poem then, but because Jill (see comments from last post) would like for me to mention my escapade yesterday, when the power went out JUST as the elevator doors closed, and I womanhandled the doors open and escaped, thereby adding further to my already considerable reputation on the 6th floor of College Hall, I will share a poem today, too, cause if you Google the phrase -- stuck elevator poem -- you find, among a vast array of other stuff, David Hernandez' excellent poem concerning a bee and an elevator:
Bombus sonorus
A bumblebee knocked inside an elevator.
Two buzzes overlapped: the trapped insect
and the halogen tube’s citrus light.
Fear made the suits and dresses wait
in the lobby, hearts knocking in their chests.
Let’s take the stairs overlapped with I hate
anything with wings. A citrus-bloused woman
waited with her coffee and poppy seed bagel.
A man knocked on wood. The shadows
of sycamores and employees overlapped
in the courtyard, the sun a ball of citrus
sitting on the sky’s table. While waiting
for the bumblebee to knock it off,
the secretary had two memories, overlapping
like film slides: a citrus tree mobbed
with these clumsy bugs and waiting inside
a stuck elevator, a fireman’s knocking.
There her life overlapped with a stranger
wearing citrus-scented cologne, her pulse
quickening as they waited to be rescued.
Weeks later he knocked on her door,
their bodies overlapped in the bedroom.
Weeks later he left, the scent of citrus polluting
her sheets. Still she waited for his return,
for his knuckles to knock, but their lives
overlapped once. When the bumblebee
fumbled under the citrus sun, someone asked
the secretary, What are you waiting for now?
WHAT: A Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Reading
WHEN: Anytime February 2, 2007
WHERE: Your blog
WHY: To celebrate the Feast of Bridgid, aka Groundhog Day
HOW: Select a poem you like - by a favorite poet or one of your own - to post February 2nd.
RSVP: If you plan to publish, feel free to leave a comment and link on this post. Last year Reya put out the call and there was more poetry in cyberspace than she could keep track of. So, link to whomever you hear about this from and a mighty web of poetry will be spun.
I'll post a poem then, but because Jill (see comments from last post) would like for me to mention my escapade yesterday, when the power went out JUST as the elevator doors closed, and I womanhandled the doors open and escaped, thereby adding further to my already considerable reputation on the 6th floor of College Hall, I will share a poem today, too, cause if you Google the phrase -- stuck elevator poem -- you find, among a vast array of other stuff, David Hernandez' excellent poem concerning a bee and an elevator:
Bombus sonorus
A bumblebee knocked inside an elevator.
Two buzzes overlapped: the trapped insect
and the halogen tube’s citrus light.
Fear made the suits and dresses wait
in the lobby, hearts knocking in their chests.
Let’s take the stairs overlapped with I hate
anything with wings. A citrus-bloused woman
waited with her coffee and poppy seed bagel.
A man knocked on wood. The shadows
of sycamores and employees overlapped
in the courtyard, the sun a ball of citrus
sitting on the sky’s table. While waiting
for the bumblebee to knock it off,
the secretary had two memories, overlapping
like film slides: a citrus tree mobbed
with these clumsy bugs and waiting inside
a stuck elevator, a fireman’s knocking.
There her life overlapped with a stranger
wearing citrus-scented cologne, her pulse
quickening as they waited to be rescued.
Weeks later he knocked on her door,
their bodies overlapped in the bedroom.
Weeks later he left, the scent of citrus polluting
her sheets. Still she waited for his return,
for his knuckles to knock, but their lives
overlapped once. When the bumblebee
fumbled under the citrus sun, someone asked
the secretary, What are you waiting for now?
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