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Selected Poems by Kay Ryan
Kay Ryan was the country's 16th poet laureate
A CAT/A FUTURE
A cat can draw
the blinds
behind her eyes
whenever she
decides. Nothing
alters in the stare
itself but she's
not there. Likewise
a future can occlude:
still sitting there,
doing nothing rude.
THE NIAGARA RIVER
As though
the river were
a floor, we position
our table and chairs
upon it, eat, and
have conversation.
As it moves along,
we notice — as
calmly as though
dining room paintings
were being replaced —
the changing scenes
along the shore. We
do know, we do
know this is the
Niagara River, but
it is hard to remember
what that means.
HOME TO ROOST
The chickens
are circling and
blotting out the
day. The sun is
bright, but the
chickens are in
the way. Yes,
the sky is dark
with chickens,
dense with them.
They turn and
then they turn
again. These
are the chickens
you let loose
one at a time
and small —
various breeds.
Now they have
come home
to roost—all
the same kind
at the same speed.
GREEN HILLS
Their green flanks
and swells are not
flesh in any sense
matching ours,
we tell ourselves.
Nor their green
breast nor their
green shoulder nor
the languor of their
rolling over.
THINGS SHOULDN'T BE SO HARD
A life should leave
deep tracks:
ruts where she
went out and back
to get the mail
or move the hose
around the yard;
where she used to
stand before the sink,
a worn-out place;
beneath her hand
the china knobs
rubbed down to
white pastilles;
the switch she
used to feel for
in the dark
almost erased.
Her things should
keep her marks.
The passage
of a life should show;
it should abrade.
And when life stops,
a certain space—
however small —
should be left scarred
by the grand and
damaging parade.
Things shouldn't
be so hard.
"A Cat/A Future" from Elephant Rocks by Kay Ryan, Copyright © 1996 by Kay Ryan.
"The Niagara River," "Home to Roost," "Green Hills" and "Things Shouldn't Be So Hard" from The Niagara River by Kay Ryan, Copyright © 2005 by Kay Ryan.
Growing up in Portland, I had always heard my father speak of John ( his cousin) but it didn't really mean very much to me.But about twenty years ago my mother sent me letters that had been addressed to my dad from John R.Leach post dated Feb.9,1965. It was a Christmas letter that John would send out to friends and family. It really sparked my interest and as I looked more closely in to his life the more I came to realize at how much I missed out on this side of my family. He is a role model,and loving husband that took his wife to the edge of the earth and back again. He is missed.
— james leach, March 26, 2011 To see my photos of Leach Botanical Garden Click Here.
Lenten Dissent
by Cherie Lashway
There once was a logger, named Paddy O'Connell,
Who at lunch during Lent, found himself at McDonalds,
And had just settled down to his Big Mac and fries,
When along came his priest, much to both their surprise.
The priest said to Paddy, "Just what are you eating?
In this season of Lent, I sure hope you're not cheating."
Paddy said to the Father, "I'll tell you no lies.
I'm enjoying a Big Mac, along with some fries."
The priest said to Paddy, "I see no repentance.
Because of this sin, you will have to do penance.
"By Friday or sooner, I say that you should,
For our fireplace, deliver a cord of chopped wood."
Now our timberman, Paddy, an overworked man,
Did think to himself, "I don't think that I can."
But early on Friday, our priest, he heard shoveling,
And looked out the window at Paddy not groveling.
And saw with confusion, dismay and disgust,
That the wood bin was now almost filled with saw dust.
He called down below, barely hiding his ire:
"Hey Paddy, your penance was wood for the fire!"
To which Paddy said, rising up from his work,
While wiping his brow and concealing a smirk:
"I've brought you a cord, like you said that I should,
But if burger be meat, well then sawdust be wood!"
"Lenten Dissent" by Cherie Lashway.
From the Writer's Almanac.
I've been playing with the GoogleArtProject. To see the Vermeers that I found Click Here. I've seen the ones in the Rijksmuseum and the one in the Frick Collection.
Click Here to go to Google Art Project.
not for me the dogma of the period
preaching order and a sure conclusion
and no not for me the prissy
formality or tight-lipped fence
of the colon and as for the semi-
colon call it what it is
a period slumming
with the commas
a poser at the bar
feigning liberation with one hand
tightening the leash with the other
oh give me the headlong run-on
fragment dangling its feet
over the edge give me the sly
comma with its come-hither
wave teasing all the characters
on either side give me ellipses
not just a gang of periods
a trail of possibilities
or give me the sweet interrupting dash
the running leaping joining dash all the voices
gleeing out over one another
oh if I must
punctuate
give me the YIPPEE
of the exclamation point
give me give me the curling
cupping curve mounting the period
with voluptuous uncertainty
clipped from www.nytimes.com
