{"id":1968,"date":"2008-05-30T08:35:00","date_gmt":"2008-05-30T08:35:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/writingya.com\/?p=1968"},"modified":"2018-11-20T05:29:14","modified_gmt":"2018-11-20T05:29:14","slug":"we-interrupt-this-packing-to-say-poetry","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/writingya.com\/?p=1968","title":{"rendered":"We Interrupt This Packing To Say: POETRY FRIDAY"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>This week, my brother told me that he is officially “Talking To A Girl.” This is not to say that he has never talked<\/i> to a girl before, but this is the Official Talking where he grins a lot, and willingly converses with me for a half hour or so and sends me two or three emails in a week. This might not sound huge to you, but he’s generally a man of far fewer words.<\/p>\n

The little twerp who used to be part Howler monkey and run around shrieking, using my body as a springboard and jumping off of things has now rounded a corner on the way to — whatever else is next. Because he honestly couldn’t tell you. I say, “So, cool, talking. What’s after Talking?” <\/p>\n

“I don’t know!”
“Well, who decides what’s next?”
“I don’t know.”<\/p>\n

Um, yeah<\/i>. Can’t help you there, dude.<\/p>\n

The poem I chose today is a paean to earlier days and the urge to madness that still exists within my “little” brother – and in all of us. Hope you find time to run ’til you drop. <\/p>\n

Play hard, kids.<\/p>\n

Animal Spirits<\/h1>\n

When I was five and<\/p>\n

undifferentiated energy, animal spirits,<\/p>\n

pent-up desire for the unknown built in me<\/p>\n

a head of steam I had<\/p>\n

no other way to let off, I ran<\/p>\n

at top speed back and forth<\/p>\n

end to end of the drawingroom,<\/p>\n

bay to French window, shouting–<\/p>\n

roaring, really–slamming<\/p>\n

deliberately into the rosewood<\/p>\n

desk at one end, the shaken<\/p>\n

window-frames at the other, till the fit<\/p>\n

wore out or some grownup stopped me.<\/p>\n

But when I was six I found better means:<\/p>\n

on its merry gallows<\/p>\n

of dark-green wood my swing, new-built,<\/p>\n

awaited my pleasure, I rushed<\/p>\n

out to it, pulled the seat<\/p>\n

all the way back to get a good start, and<\/p>\n

vigorously pumped it up to the highest arc:<\/p>\n

my legs were oars, I was rowing a boat in air–<\/p>\n

and then, then from the furthest<\/p>\n

forward swing of the ropes<\/p>\n

I let go and flew!
At large in the unsustaining air,<\/p>\n

flew clear over the lawn across<\/p>\n

the breadth of the garden<\/p>\n

and fell, Icarian, dazed,<\/p>\n

among hollyhocks, snapdragons, love-in-a-mist,<\/p>\n

and stood up uninjured, ready<\/p>\n

to swing and fly over and over.<\/p>\n

The need passed as I grew;<\/p>\n

the mind took over, devising<\/p>\n

paths for that force in me, and the body curled up,<\/p>\n

sedentary, glad to be quiet and read and read,<\/p>\n

save once in a while, when it demanded<\/p>\n

to leap about or to whirl–or later still<\/p>\n

to walk swiftly in wind and rain<\/p>\n

long and far and into the dusk,<\/p>\n

wanting some absolute, some exhaustion.<\/p>\n

– by Denise Levertov<\/a>, from This Great Unknowing: Last Poems<\/i>. New York: New Directions Books \u00a9 1999.
Do NOT miss the new Nye poems<\/a> at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, and Kelly’s darling original piece to Kid2’s first grade teacher — I hope Mrs. O gets to read this one<\/a>. The Poetry People are at Wild Rose Reader<\/a>, hosted by Elaine.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This week, my brother told me that he is officially “Talking To A Girl.” This is not to say that he has never talked…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[93,10],"class_list":["post-1968","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-poetry-friday","tag-views"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/writingya.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1968","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/writingya.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/writingya.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writingya.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writingya.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1968"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/writingya.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1968\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4959,"href":"https:\/\/writingya.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1968\/revisions\/4959"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/writingya.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1968"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writingya.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1968"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writingya.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1968"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}