#howard nemerov

[quotesengage]

It may be said that poems are in one way like icebergs: only about a third of their bulk appears above the surface of the page.

Howard Nemerov

#quotes #poetry #poems #writing #Howard Nemerov #April

[writerystuff]

ADVICE FOR WRITERS

“Write what you know. That should leave you with a lot of free time.” – Howard Nemerov

#writers #writing #advice for writers #write what you know #Howard Nemerov #humor

[purplehazeplaysoffasamsung]

#Howard Nemerov

[davidhudson]

Howard Nemerov, February 29, 1920 – July 5, 1991.

Reading “To the Congress of the United States Entering its Third Century, With Preface” in 1989.

#howard nemerov #poetry #literature

[slowtides]

Howard Nemerov, "Because You Asked about the Line between Prose and Poetry"

#Howard Nemerov #poetry #I'm going through my archives and this is so gentle

[cutiewithawakenedheart]

“Sunflowers, traders rounding the horn of time

Into deep afternoons, sleepy with gain.”

                                    ----Howard Nemerov

#panda #awakened heart #poetry #Howard Nemerov

[emmykent]

#howard nemerov

[poem-today]

A poem by Howard Nemerov

The Consent

Late in November, on a single night Not even near to freezing, the ginkgo trees That stand along the walk drop all their leaves In one consent, and neither to rain nor to wind But as though to time alone: the golden and green Leaves litter the lawn today, that yesterday Had spread aloft their fluttering fans of light. What signal from the stars? What senses took it in? What in those wooden motives so decided To strike their leaves, to down their leaves, Rebellion or surrender? and if this Can happen thus, what race shall be exempt? What use to learn the lessons taught by time, If a star at any time may tell us: Now.

Howard Nemerov (1920-1991)

#howard nemerov #american poetry #the consent #ginkgo #sonnet

[hedgehog-moss]

Loved your mentioning of learning poetry by heart: this is something I haven’t done since school! What are some of your favs that you’d suggest to ease my brain back into it?

(Française ici donc les options 🇫🇷 autant que anglais sont welcome :) merci!)

Hi :) You can look at the poem tag of my quote blog if you want—some of the ones I've learnt by heart (or excerpts from them) include this one by Sara Teasdale - Nanao Sakaki - Velimir Khlebnikov - Wallace Stevens - Rabindranath Tagore - Archibald Macleish - Howard Nemerov - and these paragraphs by Henri Peña-Ruiz which I consider prose poetry... My favourite French verses (from Corneille, Aragon, Anna de Noailles, Hugo, Valéry...) are all alexandrines and I find it to be the easiest type of verse to remember, as the structure is so rigorous and consistent. I sometimes translate English poems into alexandrines (like this one) to make them easier to learn in this more familiar form—I think even after all this time English prosody still feels foreign to me; the patterns of sound and rhythm in French are more deeply embedded in my brain so it can more easily predict what comes next...

Re: easing your brain into it, I guess that depends on your style of learning? For me the best way to learn a text is to spend time with it in written form, be it by translating it, or by writing it down by hand (slowly) and then (sometimes) keeping it for a while in a place where I often stand idle, like taped to my microwave so I re-read it as I wait 1 minute for something to heat up.

One thing I like about learning poems is that it's a costless, always-accessible way to get a sense of personal accomplishment. Beyond that, I've got three categories of poems I like to learn for different reasons—I'll go into some detail in case it can help you figure out what you're after :)

1. Classic poetry, because it's just fun to have little snippets of ancient tragedies or epic Victor Hugo poems living at the back of your mind and accompanying you through your own everyday tragedies—as an overdramatic person who tends to feel devastated or exasperated over tiny stuff, it helps me to take some distance from my feelings. Like if I spill a bucket of manure on my boots and my first reaction is rage and despair and my second thought is a couple of verses by Euripides where Iphigenia bemoans her relentless fate, it's a way to make fun of (and get over) myself.

My grandmother did this a lot, she knew so many poems by heart and often used them ironically. If I went whining to her when I was little she'd recite to me the last few verses of Alfred de Vigny's La Mort du Loup (it sounds better in the original but):

[...] With all your being you must strive To that highest degree of stoic pride [...] Weeping or praying—all this is in vain. You must instead shoulder your long and heavy task In the way that Destiny has seen fit to ask Then suffer and die without complaint.

(Let me tell you, that's just what a five-year-old wants to hear after scratching her knee at the park) But really I admired this treasury of poetry she carried within her, especially as she only went to school until age 14 and came upon most of it thanks to her own curiosity; as well as the way she used it playfully in everyday life, using dramatic classical verse to de-dramatise minor annoyances.

2. Nature poems are great in the opposite way, to magnify minor positive things :) Like seeing a fox and having a few lines by Mary Oliver come to mind, seeing a frog and thinking of that Basho haiku... I recently discovered Jean-Michel Maulpoix and I also love his nature poems, like 'The recovery of blue after a downpour', the way he describes snow melting in the spring, or golden-blue evenings:

[Snow] takes some time to leave, but delicately. She doesn’t insist, hardly persists, never roots… She gives way. No one else dies so merrily With such good humour Unmatched is her disdain for eternity…

L’azur, certains soirs, a des soins de vieil or. Le paysage est une icône. Il semble qu’au soleil couchant, le ciel qui se craquelle se reprenne un instant à croire à son bleu.

3. And then there are the poems that proudly serve no purpose. <3 I mean beyond distilling language in a beautiful way. No deep meaning—or no meaning at all, e.g. surrealist poetry. I learnt this passage from Les Champs magnétiques back in middle school:

La fenêtre creusée dans notre chair s'ouvre sur notre cœur. On y voit un immense lac où viennent se poser à midi des libellules mordorées et odorantes comme des pivoines. Quel est ce grand arbre où les animaux vont se regarder ? Il y a des siècles que nous lui versons à boire. . . Prisonniers des gouttes d'eau, nous ne sommes que des animaux perpétuels. . . Nous ne savons plus rien des astres morts ; nous regardons les visages. . . Quelquefois, le vent nous entoure de ses grandes mains froides et nous attache aux arbres découpés par le soleil.

—and I've often recited it to myself just to enjoy these gratuitously nice sentences that aren't here to deliver information. Like Kay Ryan said, "Poetry makes nothing happen. That's the relief of it." It's a nice break, a way to remember that communicating isn't all language is for; beyond the social dimension there's also an intimate one that relies on our own aesthetic sensitivity. Most of the time we look through language, to access ideas, meanwhile enjoying poetry means looking at language, for a change, appreciating it for itself.

I just realised I'm paraphrasing John Brehm here—in The Poetry of Impermanence he wrote something that can be read as an ode to learning things by heart:

When you read lines that seem especially lit up—that move or intrigue you in some way, or that are simply pleasing or even dazzling—don’t focus on being able to formulate a statement about what they might mean, as if you might be called upon to explain the poem, to yourself or to someone else. Just linger with those poems or passages that resonate with you. . . Rest your mind on them; let them live inside you.

#ask #poetry

[filmnoirsbian]

Things read in April

Essays & Articles:

Oxford comma helps drivers win dispute about overtime pay

Rare insect found at Arkansas Walmart sets historic record, prompts mystery

Gloria Naylor Showed Us the Quiet Monster of Classism in the Black Community

Who Is Still Inside the Metaverse? Searching for friends in Mark Zuckerberg’s deserted fantasyland.

Striking Workers Are Bringing Back 1970s 'Mindfuck' Tactics

My Friend, Killer Bob

An Edible History of the Club Sandwich

Rodents of Unusual Size From ‘The Princess Bride’ Are Actually Real

Publishing company will offer free Black history e-books, especially in Florida

'Mischievous Responders' Confound Research On Teens

$388 in Sushi. Just a $20 Tip: The Brutal Math of Uber Eats and DoorDash

Poetry:

Joy Passed Down by Farah Lawal Harris

Perfect For Any Occasion by Alberto Ríos

Index by Kell Connor

The Lobelias of Fear by Bernadette Mayer

Lockdown Garden by Arvind Krishna Mehrotra

Grace by Sarah Gambito

My Grandma Told Stories or Cautionary Tales by Marlanda Dekine

Miglena's Tales by Catching Lines

A Boy Can Wear A Dress by John Bosworth

A Primer of Daily Round by Howard Nemerov

A Poem for S. by Jessica Greenbaum

In the Season of Pink Ladies by Sayuri Ayers

Notes on the Peanut by June Jordan

The Windhover by Gerard Manley Hopkins

One Boy Told Me by Naomi Shihab Nye

Sonnet by Jill Alexander Essbaum

Sonnet by Robert Hass

Heat by Denis Johnson

Sonnet by Alice Notley

The List of Famous Hats by James Tate

History Lesson by Iduna Paalman

Bow before the mountain ash by Olli Heikkonen

The Melon by Charles Simic

Where the Ponies Come to Drink by Henry Herbert Knibbs

When They've Finished Shipping Cattle in the Fall by Bruce Kiskaddon

Fairy Tale with Laryngitis and Resignation Letter by Jehanne Dubrow

Authentic Fake by Mia You

Books & Short Stories:

The Fly by George Langelann

Iphigenia Crash Land Falls On The Neon Shell That Was Once Her Heart by Caridad Svich

The Labyrinth by Catherynne M. Valente

Coraline by Neil Gaiman

A Feast for Flies by Leigh Harlen

Little Sister by Kara Dalkey

#tcp #articles #essays #an open window #poetry

[llovelymoonn]

my father loves my mother. it infuriates me.

howard nemerov the collected poems of howard nemerov: “the vacuum” \\ rosa linn snap \\ @sunmotifs​ \\ lindsay bird

kofi

#on fathers #on mothers #this is a very niche one #oversharing way too much and wondering how long i will keep this up #like i know it's good that he loves her but when he expresses it it just angers me so much and i don't know why #to the point where if he's hugging her or something i have to look away #i feel like a horrible person when i feel like that #maybe this is something i should be talking to a therapist about rather than tumblr #on father #on dad #on dads #on mother #on mom #on families #mine #my webweaving #webweaving #web weaving #webweave #web weave #ww #web #webs #parallel #parallels #parallelism #compilation #compilations #intertextuality #on self

[feytouched]

a syllabus for understanding the psyche of ieva feytouched

movies

the lord of the rings trilogy (must watch more than 1x)

emma (2020)

marie antoinette (2006)

the royal opera house's nutcracker (2018 production)

anime

mushishi

howl's moving castle

books pt. 1: for thinking

letters on cézanne, rainer maria rilke

the book of hours, rainer maria rilke

invisible cities, italo calvino

gilgamesh, tr. by sophus helle

books pt. 2: for feeling

the little white horse, elizabeth goudge

the complete book of flower fairies, c. m. barker

the complete brambly hedge, jill barklem

the wind in the willows, kenneth grahame

the last unicorn, peter s. beagle

deathless, c. m. valente

in the night garden, c. m. valente

east of the sun and west of the moon, illustrated by kay nielsen

artworks

carnation, lily, lily, rose, john singer sargent

the execution of lady jane grey, paul delaroche

fireworks in the park, konstantin somov

cafe window, paris, gordon parks

it hurts and i'm lonely, nicholas rae klein

the legend of saint george: the rescue, maximilian liebenwein

poems

the patience of ordinary things, pat schneider

here, there are blueberries, mary szybist

sleeping in the forest, mary oliver

arrhythmia, hailey leithauser

because you asked about the line between prose and poetry, howard nemerov

scents

l'heure bleue (guerlain)

temptation (alkemia)

dorian (bpal)

flavours

umeshu plum wine

smoked salmon toast with cream cheese and dill

homemade poppyseed challah with salted butter

dark chocolate-covered marzipan

moondrop dreams tea by bird and blend

music

marie antoinette OST

the nutcracker, op. 71, act II: no. 14a, pas de deux. andante maestoso - tchaikovsky

mary on a cross - ghost

practical assignments

go horseback riding in nature at least once

swim in the ocean (do not open eyes underwater)

join a game of dungeons & dragons

go on a walk where you pay attention to all the smells you can detect

buy yourself flowers at the supermarket

write a poem and then delete it; write another poem and then post it

draw something that fascinates you every day for a month

travel alone. be homesick. stay homesick when you return home

#about me #these are a few of my favourite things #this has been in my drafts for a while so why not post it. if anyone else wants to steal the format & do this i encourage it!!

[april-is]

April 21, 2023: What I Did Wrong, Marie Howe

What I Did Wrong Marie Howe

Slapped the man’s face, then slapped it again, broke the plate, broke the glass, pushed the cat from the couch with my feet. Let the baby cry too long, then shook him, let the man walk, let the girl down, wouldn’t talk, then talked too long, lied when there was no need and stole what others had, and never told the secret that kept me apart from them. Years holding on to a rope that wasn’t there, always sorry righteous and wrong. Who would follow that young woman down the narrow hallway? Who would call her name until she turns?

--

2022: This Morning, Jay Wright 2021: Kiss of the Sun, Mary Ruefle 2020: Teaching English from an Old Composition Book, Gary Soto 2019: Easter, Jill Alexander Essbaum 2018: Annunciation, Marie Howe 2017: The Promise, Marie Howe 2016: In the Woods, Kathryn Simmonds 2015: Heat, Jane Hirshfield 2014: What Remains, Ellery Akers 2013: 30th Birthday, Alice Notley 2012: Untitled [I closed the book and changed my life], Bruce Smith 2011: The Forties, Franz Wright 2010: Prayer of the Backhanded, Jericho Brown 2009: A Primer, Bob Hicok 2008: Because You Asked about the Line between Prose and Poetry, Howard Nemerov 2007: Open Letter to the Muse, Kristy Bowen 2006: A Sad Child, Margaret Atwood 2005: The Crunch, Charles Bukowski

#poetry #poem #national poetry month #napomo #poems #marie howe

[davidhudson]

Reed Whittemore, September 11, 1919 – April 6, 2012.

With Howard Nemerov.

#reed whittemore #howard nemerov #literature

[cutiewithawakenedheart]

Poems are not

The point. Finding again the world,

That’s the point, where loveliness

Adorns intelligible things

Because the mind’s eye lit the sun.”

                            ----Howard Nemerov

#panda #awakened heart #poetry #Howard Nemerov

[emmykent]

#howard nemerov