Poem for a Thursday: Amy Lowell

A few weeks ago I started poem a poem each Thursday, inspired by Jennifer at Holds Upon Happiness. In spite of being late one week and forgetting entirely another week, I’m enjoying having the routine of something to do each week. It’s also helped me get some other post ideas circulating (though who knows when I’ll be able to focus enough to sit down and write something!).

I have been selecting poems either by raiding my bookshelf (it’s the perfect excuse to look through my small but lovely collection) or by looking at the Academy of American Poets website, or occasionally the Scottish Poetry Library website. Both have extensive, easily searchable collections.

Amy Lowell is a well-known early 20th century poet in America, though I did recently find out she’s less well known in the UK. It’s a shame as her work is beautiful. This one is called “Dawns”. I hope you’ll enjoy it.

I have come
from pride
all the way up to humility
This day-to-night.
The hill
was more terrible
than ever before.
This is the top;
there is the tall, slim tree.
It isn’t bent; it doesn’t lean;
It is only looking back.
At dawn,
under that tree,
still another me of mine
was buried.
Waiting for me to come again,
humorously solicitous
of what I bring next,
it looks down.

Poem for a Thursday: Dorianne Laux

Blossom

What is a wound but a flower 
dying on its descent to the earth,
bag of scent filled with war, forest,
torches, some trouble that befell
now over and done. A wound is a fire
sinking into itself. The tinder serves
only so long, the log holds on
and still it gives up, collapses
into its bed of ashes and sand. I burned
my hand cooking over a low flame,
that flame now alive under my skin,
the smell not unpleasant, the wound
beautiful as a full-blown peony.
Say goodbye to disaster. Shake hands
with the unknown, what becomes
of us once we’ve been torn apart
and returned to our future, naked
and small, sewn back together
scar by scar.