Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Poem of the day...


I recently acquired "The Best-Loved Poems of Jacquieline Kennedy Onassis" that Caroline Kennedy selected and introduced in a book.  Let's not even go there with my delight at it being $1.00 at a garage sale.  Now it is in my collection and I adore it.  This is one of my all time favorite poems and when I'm emotional about something it speaks to me in so many ways.  I was thinking about my Dad yesterday and this just seems appropriate.  He will be gone 8 years on Nov. 17, 2009....which just so happens to be my daughter's birthday.  So cool.  The circle of life and all that good stuff.....
Caroline states in her introduction..."Now that I have my own children, I understand in a new way that if you love something, your children will want to love it too.  As parents, we have a chance to help our children go beyond us, and to start them off on a lifelong voyage of discovery and self-discovery.  I hope poetry will become part of my children's lives, your life, and then your children's, not only because of the pleasure it will bring , bet because the power of ideas, and the ability to express them, is the greatest power we have."
I cannot say how lovely this paragraph this is and how it makes me realize the incredible job we have as parents.

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

by E. E. Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

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