Luanne Castle: Poetry and Other Words (and cats!)

Tag Archives: Academy of American Poets

by Luanne | April 3, 2015 · 5:20 am

Remembering National Poetry Month

HAPPY POETRY MONTH. I can’t let the opening of this month go by without mentioning this happy month (although T.S. Eliot did call it the cruellest month).

The Academy of American Poets partnered with award-winning designer Chip Kidd to commission this poster to celebrate National Poetry Month. This year’s poster was designed by National Book Award finalist Roz Chast and inspired by Mark Strand. Even Pear Blossom likes it (or is it the crinkle sound?).

With so much on my mind lately, I haven’t organized a list of what I wanted to do for poetry month this year, so for now I think I will read at least one new poem every day. If you like that idea, here is an easy way to do it. Sign up for Poem-A-Day through Poets.org here.

Here is a new one for me by “America’s favorite poet”:

I love that this poem begins with spring since spring is breaking open the ground now. I love how the poem goes back farther and farther in time and ends with a realization that the speaker who is trying to get his mind around all this is lying outside with “his jacket bunched into a pillow, an open book on his chest.”

What do you plan to do for National Poetry Month?

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Filed under Art and Music, Poetry, Writing

Tagged as A History of Weather, Academy of American Poets, Billy Collins, Mark Strand, National Poetry Month, Poem, Poet, Poetry

by Luanne | April 2, 2013 · 5:20 am

A Sample from National Poetry Month

National Poetry Month
by Elaine Equi

When a poem speaks by itself, it has a spark and can be considered part of a divine conversation. Sometimes the poem weaves like a basket around two loaves of yellow bread. "Break off a piece of this April with its raisin nipples," it says. "And chew them slowly under your pillow. You belong in bed with me." On the other hand, when a poem speaks in the voice of a celebrity it is called television or a movie. "There is nothing to see," say Robert De Niro, though his poem bleeds all along the edges like a puddle crudely outlined with yellow tape at the crime scene of spring. "It is an old poem," he adds."And besides, I was very young when I made it."