REELY'S POETRY BLOG

For all you folks who can speak Spanish and want to see a fine audio poetry site in that language, here is part of an email I got from Malugo for an audio poem called La Marioneta (The Puppet, in English), which is here on Desde el Alma.

“En el día de hoy traigo un poema para pensar y actuar en la vida, del mexicano Johnny Welsh, La Marioneta. Siempre se ha tenido la idea de que este poema lo escribió el colombiano García Marquez, pero la realidad es que Welsh había escrito este poema a su compañero de títeres “Mofles”, pero de alguna manera su nombre había sido sustituido por el nombre del Premio Nobel.”

With the aid of the Google translator, I was able to find out that the poem has quite a history. It has its own page in the Museum of Hoaxes, Gabriel Garcia Marquez’ Final Farewell. The poem is translated to English on there, (which is great for me even though I did listen to La Marioneta, which sounded beautiful in Spanish). It’s written in the nature of Instantes/Pick More Daisies.

My God, if I had a heart, I would write my hatred on ice
and wait for the sun to come out. With a dream of Van Gogh
I would paint on the stars a poem by Benedetti,
and a song by Serrat would be my serenade to the moon.

It’s an interesting story how people came to think it was written by Marquez, so check it out, whether you speak English, Spanish or both.

Gold! gold! gold! gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold,
Molten graven hammer’d and roll’d;
Heavy to get and light to hold;
Hoarded, barter’d, bought and cold,
Stolen, borrow’d, squander’d, doled:
Spurn’d by the young but hugg’d by the old;
To the very verge of the churchyard mold;
Price of many a crime untold;
Gold! gold! gold! gold!
Good or bad a thousand fold!
How widely its agencies vary–
To save–to ruin–to curse–to bless
As even its minted coins express,
Now stamp’d with the image of Good Queen Bess,
And now of a Bloody Mary.

Today we’ll look at some poems about gold. It’s the day in 1848 when James W. Marshall discovered a gold nugget at Sutter’s Mill in northern California, which led to the gold rush of ‘49, and although the above snippet from Miss Kilmansegg: Her Moral (by Thomas Hood 1799-1845), is not about the gold rush per se, we can start with that one anyway, because I like it.

Here is one about a disillusioned prospector, who decided the search was not worth the trouble and was real happy to return to mother’s bosom (reprinted from Leavenworth, Kansas Evening Dispatch in the Rocky Mountain News, Denver, 10/20/1859):
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On the evening before his beheading, October 29, 1618, it is said that Sir Walter Raleigh wrote these words in his Bible:

E’en such is time! who takes in trust
Our youth, our joys and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust:
Who, in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days!
But from this earth, this grave, this dust
The Lord will raise me up I trust.

I didn’t know that when I first read the verse in a book of poetical quotations where it was listed among other entries under the category “Graves.” It rather takes on a different sort of significance if he really did write it knowing that he was going to have his head cut off the next day!

The 19th century produced many writers who were very famous during their lives, but are not so well known today except for a few pieces of poetry that continue to endure. In some cases, these may not even have been the works they might have imagined would survive. One woman who was famed and admired for much more than her children stories and poems was Laura E. Richards. She was one of the daughters of poet and abolitionist, Julia Ward Howe, author of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic”. Laura Richards wrote “Captain January”, which is now associated more with Shirley Temple than Laura. She penned quite a bit of poetry during her long life. Laura was 11 years old when the Civil War began and died a year before the end of World War II. She also wrote several biographies, most notably her mother’s. Laura and her sisters, Maud and Florence, were the first female recipients of the Pulitzer Prize for biography in 1917. Laura also wrote a biography of her famous father, Samuel Gridley Howe and one of Florence Nightingale. She is most remembered today for her nonsense poems, such as “Antonio” (was tired of living a-lonio), and “Eletelephony” (Once there was an elephant who tried to use the telephant). Laura was never quite as famous as her mother. On the other hand, how many people these days know much about Julia Ward Howe besides “The Battle Hymn”?

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Here’s a poem from New Jersey poet, Jack Wiler, that I came upon today searching for a fun poem to read. Jack’s poetry book, Fun Being Me: Poems (Notable Voices), turned up in my search, which led me not only to his website, but also to a blog on poetryfoundation,org, that described Jack as “affable and quick with that New Jersey working class wit.”

“WTF! Was that a compliment?” I pondered.

“Oh, you are oversensitive,” said a voice from somewhere outside New Jersey.

Ah, well, on to the poem about people, insects and rodents through the eyes of an exterminator:

We Monsters by Jack Wiler

At work every day for weeks I’ve been drowning.
People pestering me for answers to questions that have
answers they don’t want.

Yes, you have mice.
Yes, you have cockroaches.
Yes, you live in a nice apartment.
Yes, your apartment has a high rent
and you are an important person.
Yes, you are smart.
yes and yes and yes again.

But, no.
Think about this for a minute.
You live in New York. …

Read the rest on Jack Wiler’s website where he not only has more of his own poetry, but features others as ‘the poet of the moment.’