Hosted by Cara at Ooh...Books!
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A couple of years ago we were fortunate to have Ted Kooser, former U.S Poet Laureate, visit our town's community college as a guest speaker. The real bonus was a free poetry workshop with Mr. Kooser held earlier that day. A friend and I arrived early, anticipating a crowd. Unbelievably only ten other people showed up! We were embarassed at the turnout, but it ended up being to our advantage in that we enjoyed a more relaxed, informal workshop.
I love Ted Kooser's poetry and have several of his books. Here are a couple of my favorite poems from his Delights & Shadows collection.
A Jacquard Shawl
A pattern of curly acanthus leaves,
and woven into one corner
in blue block letters half an inch tall:
MADE FROM WOOL FROM SHEEP
KILLED BY DOGS. 1778.
As it is with jacquards,
the design reverses to gray on blue
when you turn it over,
and the words run backward
into the past. The rest of the story
lies somewhere between one side
and the other, woven into
the plane where the colors reverse:
the circling dogs, the terrified sheep,
the meadow stippled with blood,
and the weaver by lamplight
feeding what wool she was able to save
into the faintly bleating, barking loom.
A pattern of curly acanthus leaves,
and woven into one corner
in blue block letters half an inch tall:
MADE FROM WOOL FROM SHEEP
KILLED BY DOGS. 1778.
As it is with jacquards,
the design reverses to gray on blue
when you turn it over,
and the words run backward
into the past. The rest of the story
lies somewhere between one side
and the other, woven into
the plane where the colors reverse:
the circling dogs, the terrified sheep,
the meadow stippled with blood,
and the weaver by lamplight
feeding what wool she was able to save
into the faintly bleating, barking loom.
Tattoo
What once was meant to be a statement -
a dripping dagger held in the fist
of a shuddering heart - is now just a bruise
on a bony old shoulder, the spot
where vanity once punched him hard
and the ache lingered on. He looks like
someone you had to reckon with,
strong as a stallion, fast and ornery,
but on the chilly morning, as he walks
between the tables at a yard sale
with the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt
rolled up to show us who he was,
he is only another old man, picking up
broken tools and putting them back,
his heart gone soft and blue with stories.
What once was meant to be a statement -
a dripping dagger held in the fist
of a shuddering heart - is now just a bruise
on a bony old shoulder, the spot
where vanity once punched him hard
and the ache lingered on. He looks like
someone you had to reckon with,
strong as a stallion, fast and ornery,
but on the chilly morning, as he walks
between the tables at a yard sale
with the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt
rolled up to show us who he was,
he is only another old man, picking up
broken tools and putting them back,
his heart gone soft and blue with stories.
5 comments:
I do love Ted Kooser, but that Tattoo poem has always rubbed me the wrong way. Blessings!
Kooser is new to me, and what interesting verses. Thanks for sharing!
The first one is wonderful! It makes me see the sheep and the weaver!
I've never heard of this poet but I have to say I kind of like these. Though it makes me never want to wrap myself in a jacquard shawl!!!
And the tattoo one is interesting ... I like the idea of it being a reminder of who he used to be. That, to me, has always been the good thing and bad thing about tattoos.
Kelly,
I remember that you have shared poetry by Ted Kooser before on your blog. Of the two poems which you share here in Cara's serie, I especially liked the first poem.
Raven
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