When I read abecedarians, I love wondering, what goes on between each letter that is unsaid? This collection of books showcases the masterpieces of American poetry that have influenced—or promise to influence—generations of poets. Refresh and expand your poetic vocabulary with this collection of poetic forms, complete with historical contexts, examples, and more. Celebrate winter and the holiday season in the classroom with this selection of lesson plans featuring poems by Richard Blanco, Emily Dickinson, Naomi Shihab Nye, and more.
Hummingbird Abecedarian listen 2. Recorded for Poem-a-Day, December 17, Hummingbird Abecedarian Aimee Nezhukumatathil. Arriving with throats like nipped roses, like a tiny bloom fastened to each neck, nothing else cuts the air quite like this thrum to make the small dog at my feet whine and yelp. So we wait—no excitement pinned to the sky so needled and our days open full of rain for weeks.
Nothing yet from the ground speaks green except weeds. But soon you see a familiar shadow hovering where the glass feeders you brought inside used to hang because the ice might shatter the pollen junk and leaf bits collected after this windiest, wildest of winters. And now I must give it back to this tiny bird, its yield far greener and greater than I could ever repay—a light like zirconia—hoping for something so simple and sweet to sip.
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Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; "Now, Dasher! To the top of the porch! And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. Set up a giveaway. There's a problem loading this menu right now. Learn more about Amazon Prime.
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Poemas Humanos / Human Poems
We are blessed indeed to be her literary beneficiaries and to be able to relish her remarkable work, and through them to hear her lovely voice. And there is so much suffering in this dear Galician land! Whole books could be written about the eternal misfortune that besets our peasants and sailors, the sole true working people of our country. I saw and felt their hardships as though they were my own, but what always moved me, and consequently could not help but find an echo in my poetry, were the countless sorrows borne by our women: Sharing the hard, outdoors tasks of farming fifty-fifty with their husbands, braving courageously the anxieties of motherhood indoors, the domestic chores and the wants of poverty.
Alone most of the time, having to work from sunrise to sunset, barely able to sustain herself, without assistance having to take care of her children and perhaps of a sickly father, they seem destined to never find rest but in the grave. Emigration and the King continually take away the lover, the brother, her man—the breadwinner of an often large family—and thus deserted, mourning over their misery, they live out a bitter life amid the uncertainties of hope, the bleakness of solitude and the anxieties of never-ending poverty.
And what breaks their heart most is that their men all drift away, some because they are drafted, others because example, necessity, sometimes lust, forgivable though blind, compels them to abandon the dear home of whom they once loved, of the wife become mother and of the many unfortunate children, too small the darlings to suspect the orphanhood to which they are condemned. Stories worthy of being sung by poets better than I and whose holy harmonies ought to be played on one single note and one lone chord, on the chord of the sublime and on the note of pain.
The atmosphere is incandescent; The fox explores an empty road; Sick grow the waters That sparkled in the clear arroyo, Unfluttered stands the pine Waiting for fickle winds to blow. A majesty of silence Overpowers the meadow; Only the hum of an insect troubles The spreading, dripping forest shadow, Relentless and monotonous As muffled rattle in a dying throat. In such a summer the hour of midday Could as well go By the name of night, to struggle-weary Man who has never known Greater vexation from the vast cares Of the soul, or from matter;s majestic force.
Would it were winter again! O those old loves of ours so long ago! Come back to make this fevered blood run fresh, Bring back your sharp severities and snows To these intolerable summer sorrows… Sorrows!
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The cold, the heat; the autumn or the spring; Where, where has delight set up its home? Beautiful are all seasons to the man Who shelters happiness within his soul; But the deserted, orphaned spirit feels No season smile upon its luckless door. Ya que de la esperanza…. Contenta el negro nido busca el ave agorera; bien reposa la fiera en el antro escondido, en su sepulcro el muerto, el triste en el olvido y mi alma en su desierto. Now that the sunset of hope for my life has sand and colourless come, toward my dim dwelling, dismantled and chill, let us turn step by step: Contented the ill-fated bird seeks its black nest; well the wild beast to its hidden cave retreats; the dead to the grave; the wretched to oblivion, and to its wilderness my soul.
Good-bye Rivers, Good-bye Fountains. Good-bye rivers, good-bye fountains; Good-bye, little rills; Good-bye, sight of my eyes: Meadows, streams, groves, Stands of pine waved by the wind, Little chirping birds, Darling cottage of my joy,. Mill in the chestnut wood, Clear nights of brilliant moonlight, Cherished ringing bells Of the tiny parish church,.
Blackberries in the brambles That I used to give my love, Narrow footpaths through the cornfields, Good-bye, for ever good-bye! I must therefore leave you, Small orchard I loved so, Beloved fireplace of home, Dear trees that I planted, Favourite spring of the livestock. Good-bye Virgin of the Assumption White as a seraph, I carry you in my heart: Plead with God on my behalf, Virgin of the Assumption mine, Far, very far away hear The church bells of Pomar; For hapless me—alas— They shall never ring again.
Hear them still farther away Every peal deals out pain, I part alone without a friend… Good-bye land of mine, good-bye! Farewell to you too, little darling…! I send you this farewell crying From the precious coastline. Meses das tempestades, Imaxen da delor Que afrixe as mocedades I as vidas corta en frol. E cando o sol fermoso De abril torne a sorrir, Que alume o meu reposo, Xa non o meu sofrir. Cold months of winter That I love with all my love; Months of rivers that run full And the sweet love of home. Months of wild storms, Image of the pain That besets the young And severs lives in bloom.
Come, after the autumn That makes the leaves fall, And let me sleep among them The slumber of dissolution.