A poetry anthology featuring a different poem for every day of the year, each one specifically tied to its date. The selections range from works by Shakespeare and Keats to those of T. S. Eliot and Sonia Sanchez.
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A poetry anthology featuring a different poem for every day of the year, each one specifically tied to its date. The selections range from works by Shakespeare and Keats to those of T. S. Eliot and Sonia Sanchez.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
From the Foreward
A simple magic happens when poems are framed in the days of our cal-endar. The poems of far places are brought so into our lives, and we are reminded that the day is world-wide or world-round. More magical still is the way that poets of whatever century are made contemporaries of us and of each other, with Corbiere and Thomas More cheek by jowl, and Horace seeming as present-day as this year's Easter or the Fourth of July. Though the assembled poets of this fine volume have no topic that is common to them all, it is easy to think of them as engaged in--timeless conversation.
--Richard Wilbur
January 2
Six Years Later
By Joseph Brodsky (translated by Richard Wilbur)
So long had life together been that now
The second of January fell again
On Tuesday, making her astonished brow
Lift like a windshield wiper in the rain,
So that her misty sadness cleared, and showed
A cloudless distance waiting up the road.
So long had life together been that once
The snow began to fall, it seemed unending;
That, lest the flakes should make her eyelids wince,
I'd shield them with my hand, and they, pretending
Not to believe that cherishing of eyes,
Would beat against my palm like butterflies.
So alien had all novelty become
That sleep's entanglements would put to shame
Whatever depths the analysts might plumb;
That when my lips blew out the candle flame,
Her lips, fluttering from my shoulder, sought
To join my own, without another thought.
So long had life together been that all
That tattered brood of papered roses went,
And a whole birch grove grew upon the wall,
And we had money, by some accident,
And tonguelike on the sea, for thirty days,
The sunset threatened Turkey with its blaze.
So long had life together been without
Books, chairs, utensils--only that ancient bed--
That the triangle, before it came about,
Had been a perpendicular, the head
Of some acquaintance hovering above
Two points which had been coalesced by love.
So long had life together been that she
And I, with our joint shadows, had composed
A double door, a door which even if we
Were lost in work or sleep, was always closed:
Somehow, it would appear, we drifted right
On through it into the future, into the night.
May 25
Having Arrived by Bike at Battery Park
By Grace Paley
I thought I would
sit down at one of those park department tables
and write a poem honoring
the occasion which is May 25th
Evelyn my best friend's birthday
and Willy Langbauer's birthday
Day! I love you for your delicacy
in appearing after so many years
as an afternoon in Battery Park right
on the curved water
where Manhattan was beached
At once arrows
straight as Broadway were driven
into the great Indian heart
Then we came from the east
seasick and safe the
white tormented people
grew fat in the
blood of that wound
August 14
Too Much Heat, Too Much Work
By Tu Fu (translated by Carolyn Kizer)
It's the fourteenth of August, and I'm too hot
To endure food, or bed. Steam and the fear of scorpions
Keep me awake. I'm told the heat won't fade with Autumn.
Swarms of flies arrive. I'm roped into my clothes.
In another moment I'll scream down the office
As the paper mountains rise higher on my desk.
O those real mountains to the south of here!
I gaze at the ravines kept cool by pines.
If I could walk on ice, with my feet bare!
October 16
October 16: The Raid
By Langston Hughes
Perhaps
You will remember
John Brown.
John Brown
Who took his gun,
Took twenty-one companions
White and black,
Went to shoot your way to freedom
Where two rivers meet
And the hills of the
South
Look slow at one another--
And died
For your sake.
Now that you are
Many years free,
And the echo of the Civil War
Has passed away,
And Brown himself
Has long been tried at law,
Hanged by the neck,
And buried in the ground--
Since Harpers Ferry
Is alive with ghosts today,
Immortal raiders
Come again to town--
Perhaps
You will recall
John Brown.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
A simple magic happens when poems are framed in the days of our cal-endar. The poems of far places are brought so into our lives, and we are reminded that the day is world-wide or world-round. More magical still is the way that poets of whatever century are made contemporaries of us and of each other, with Corbiere and Thomas More cheek by jowl, and Horace seeming as present-day as this year's Easter or the Fourth of July. Though the assembled poets of this fine volume have no topic that is common to them all, it is easy to think of them as engaged in--timeless conversation.
--Richard Wilbur
January 2
Six Years Later
By Joseph Brodsky (translated by Richard Wilbur)
So long had life together been that now
The second of January fell again
On Tuesday, making her astonished brow
Lift like a windshield wiper in the rain,
So that her misty sadness cleared, and showed
A cloudless distance waiting up the road.
So long had life together been that once
The snow began to fall, it seemed unending;
That, lest the flakes should make her eyelids wince,
I'd shield them with my hand, and they, pretending
Not to believe that cherishing of eyes,
Would beat against my palm like butterflies.
So alien had all novelty become
That sleep's entanglements would put to shame
Whatever depths the analysts might plumb;
That when my lips blew out the candle flame,
Her lips, fluttering from my shoulder, sought
To join my own, without another thought.
So long had life together been that all
That tattered brood of papered roses went,
And a whole birch grove grew upon the wall,
And we had money, by some accident,
And tonguelike on the sea, for thirty days,
The sunset threatened Turkey with its blaze.
So long had life together been without
Books, chairs, utensils--only that ancient bed--
That the triangle, before it came about,
Had been a perpendicular, the head
Of some acquaintance hovering above
Two points which had been coalesced by love.
So long had life together been that she
And I, with our joint shadows, had composed
A double door, a door which even if we
Were lost in work or sleep, was always closed:
Somehow, it would appear, we drifted right
On through it into the future, into the night.
May 25
Having Arrived by Bike at Battery Park
By Grace Paley
I thought I would
sit down at one of those park department tables
and write a poem honoring
the occasion which is May 25th
Evelyn my best friend's birthday
and Willy Langbauer's birthday
Day! I love you for your delicacy
in appearing after so many years
as an afternoon in Battery Park right
on the curved water
where Manhattan was beached
At once arrows
straight as Broadway were driven
into the great Indian heart
Then we came from the east
seasick and safe the
white tormented people
grew fat in the
blood of that wound
August 14
Too Much Heat, Too Much Work
By Tu Fu (translated by Carolyn Kizer)
It's the fourteenth of August, and I'm too hot
To endure food, or bed. Steam and the fear of scorpions
Keep me awake. I'm told the heat won't fade with Autumn.
Swarms of flies arrive. I'm roped into my clothes.
In another moment I'll scream down the office
As the paper mountains rise higher on my desk.
O those real mountains to the south of here!
I gaze at the ravines kept cool by pines.
If I could walk on ice, with my feet bare!
October 16
October 16: The Raid
By Langston Hughes
Perhaps
You will remember
John Brown.
John Brown
Who took his gun,
Took twenty-one companions
White and black,
Went to shoot your way to freedom
Where two rivers meet
And the hills of the
South
Look slow at one another--
And died
For your sake.
Now that you are
Many years free,
And the echo of the Civil War
Has passed away,
And Brown himself
Has long been tried at law,
Hanged by the neck,
And buried in the ground--
Since Harpers Ferry
Is alive with ghosts today,
Immortal raiders
Come again to town--
Perhaps
You will recall
John Brown.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
8 of 8 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A creative, varied, and compulsively readable anthology,
By A Customer
This review is from: A Year in Poetry: A Treasury of Classic and Modern Verses for Every Date on the Calendar (Hardcover)
"A Year in Poetry" offers 365 poems for each day of the year. The true genius of this anthology comes from the intriguing use of dates in the poems. Sometimes the date comes from the poem's title, sometimes it is the date on which the poem was composed by the author, and sometimes the date is related to historical events depicted in the poem.
The first thing I did when I saw this book was turn to significant dates in my life (birthdays, anniversaries, deaths) and read the poem for that day. It was more revealing than a horoscope, and much more engaging! I learned from this book that my wedding anniversary falls on the same day that Cleopatra committed suicide, commemorated in the text with an excerpt from Shakespeare. This anthology is not a cheesy collection of "feel-good" poems. Some of these poems will inspire you, others will depress you, some might confuse you. There is a wide range of styles and authors in this book. There are poets that are familiar, and poets I've never heard of. Overall, the collection of poetry in this book makes me want to read much more than just the "poem of the day." This book offers a great way to bring poetry into your daily life, and for those who are already poetry fanatics, this book presents poems in a new and intriguing light. It also provides a whole range of gift opportunities--who wouldn't like to read a poem composed on their birthday? This anthology wonderfully displays the variety, beauty and meaning of English and American poetry.
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Poetry,
By dorothy saybrook (Venasque, France) - See all my reviews
This review is from: A Year in Poetry: A Treasury of Classic and Modern Verses for Every Date on the Calendar (Hardcover)
This is an anthology for thoughtful people. Every poem is excellent. There is an interesting reason for each poem's inclusion. I wish these editors would write another book.
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