Five Poetry Books …

There are, in this world, five books that I dearly love. Five poetry books that have shaped me, changed me and helped me become a better, more visually observant writer.  These are the writers I’ve admired for many years … all different in their own right, most from the 50’s, and all with a particular flair with words in some unusual way.

Meet my five favorite poets.

Elizabeth Bishop

Elizabeth Bishops “North & South” :   This one is first because I’ve had it the longest.  Elizabeth Bishop sends her readers on a Mr. Toads Wild Ride of vivid imagery and whimsical tales!  My Aunt Lila introduced me to Elizabeth Bishop when I was a teenager and it was her poem “The Fish” that  hooked me (pardon the pun).  “The Fish” reminded me immediately of a child’s reenactment of “Moby Dick”  and it was impossible not to continue this incredible collection of simple and colorful poems!  And there are so many that I adore: “Roosters”, “The Gentleman of Shalott” and “Man Moth” … and the list would go on and on!  It makes me wish I were related to her!  She seems like one of those people you feel like you’d call Aunt Lisabeth.

Stanley Kunitz

“Selected Poems” by Stanley Kunitz:   So this was my Dads book and he really admired Kunitz.  I had picked it up when my Dad was living and wondered how much Mr. Kunitz was paying my Dad to keep that ridiculous book in the house.  After my Dad passed away, I just happened to flip through it and a particular poem demanded my full attention.  It was his poem “The Portrait” … a poignant memory about a slap his mother gave him as a child.  In his 64th year, he could still feel it in his cheek.  But there were other less sad under-tales and they are goodies!  He writes of romance and simple memories so beautifully, you almost feel as if you’re intruding on his moment.  LOVE this book!

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“Complete Poems” by Carl Sandburg:  If you loved eating more than anything, imagine, if you will sitting down to a table piled so high with food you couldn’t see what was on top or on the bottom!  This is how this book is … six hundred and seventy-six pages of pure beautiful Carl Sandburg poetry that is enough to satisfy your craving for poetry for months!  If you’re a bit like me and you love a history lesson scattered around in your poetry, Sandburg will never disappoint. At times you think he’s writing an inaugural address in verse, and other time you think perhaps he’s just in the mood to tell you a thing or two about Abraham Lincoln you didn’t know, and then he just surprises you with a fog walking in on cat feet!  The man is a genius whether he’s writing for kids or grownups, it’s all absolutely unforgettable!

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“The Collected Poems” by Wallace Stevens:   He’s the wild card in my list, but on my list of favorite poets.  He is the most aristocratic and high-falluting of most of the poets … he’s hard to read … you find yourself having to re-read lines before you can elevate yourself to his high-thinking and finally get the meat of what the devil he’s talking about, but once you get it, you just want to cry.  Yeah, he’s that amazing.  He uses multi-syllable words I’ve scarcely heard of like I toss around pronouns.  In my favorite piece,  “Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour” (yeah, don’t try to guess where he’s going with that title), he invites you into a corner of his imagination and have a look at his thoughts on God.  HIGHLY moving, captivating and a spark of romantic verbiage, Wallace Stevens brings my imagination to life, and that’s what I love most about poetry.  If a poet can do that, then they’re accomplished in my eyes.

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“Living Above the Frost Line” by Nancy Simpson:  Saving the best for last.  This is a book by my Mountain Mother and I’ve loved all her books equally, but this book is my favorite.  With gentle echos of Elizabeth Bishop (a poet who’s style she greatly admired), her writing is a timeless as the Blue Ridge mountains and the poems roll out of her pen like a free-flowing fountain.  I’ve sat in front of her and watched her compose … how she would look out her window, then down on paper, tap her pen a few times in the margin, and then start writing so quickly it was as if she were chasing the thought and catching it on paper.  She was a word genius, who had a flair for describing the things she observed so vividly you could envision a pink pantsuit walking out the door, or leaves on the ground turning into a flock or wrens.  I carry this book with me everywhere and no matter how many times I read it, I always find some new little discovery that I missed the first hundred times I read it.

Last but Not Least

The Reluctant Benefactors …

INHERITANCE

My poor kids.  Both grown and off on their own, each with their own particular style – but both simple, clean, artsy and bright.

For a couple of years now they have been avoiding the subject of who will INHERIT what … usually it’s in the form of “Alex can just have that” or “Just will that to Aly”.    I’m thinking there’s a motive behind all this generosity.  Neither want to be the one to be stuck with the stuff that I, myself, inherited.  And I inherited a LOT!

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You probably already know I inherited a ton of rocks which will be used in some way or another when I build the house on Serenity Mountain in Waynesville, NC.  But I was also left stacks of vintage books from my parents, two Aunts and a cousin, a cloth clown that my mother made (its locked in my china cabinet – BTW, I’m TERRIFIED of clowns!), china from a Great Grandmother by marriage, and a blue stuffed spaceman from my husband,

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Both kids want the Spaceman. The SPACEMAN!

Some things were easy to will away.  My cousin LaWanda wants my mothers buffet, Granny Morris’ sewing machine cabinet, and if I’m ever found mangled from falling off a cliff, the china cabinet will go to her as well … along with my lifeless body stuffed inside (unless the kids change their minds).

Many of the things we’ve acquired over our 32 year marriage will have to be re-homed and upgraded … so my beautiful bedroom suit that will be MUCH too big for the Waynesville house, the dining room suit, living room suit, bonus room furniture and the rest of the occasional chairs will go to a local organization that helps displaced family’s in need.

My parents beautiful cherry wood bedroom suit will become a guest bedroom suit, the mahogany birthing/mansion bed I inherited from Grandma Hamilton will go in my study, and the china cabinet will be placed on it’s own wall in the country kitchen! A friend of mine, Mary Leslie, is painting a big guinea fowl to hang on the dining area wall.  It will quickly become one of my new most prized possessions.  The mirrored bowl and pitcher stand (or commode table that once held a slop jar) will go in the entry-way.

All of these things will someday need a home along with my parents journals, my own journals, photo albums, Bibles that belonged everyone in my family all the way back to Grandma Hamilton, movie films, and all of my Fathers memorabilia from his time in WWII.  Who would want all this stuff?  If I were the kids at their age and just starting life, I’m not sure I would be willing to take it on either.

They may not realize it, but I certainly don’t want to guilt them into taking on stuff they don’t have any desire to have.  As a Mother, it’s one of the worst things you can heap upon your kids conscience.  So, every so often I suppose I’ll be parting ways with something that means a great deal to me … but has the potential to mean at least a little something to someone else.

Maybe I’ll start with the clown.  *shiver*

Naaaahhhhh …..