My Dear Sister Gloria,
Gone from our world--two years now--we speak love to you and about you.
Remembering with grateful hearts your generosity in all ways.
Your journey is ended; our journey continues.
Love and Peace from all your family & friends.
My Dear Sister Gloria,
Gone from our world--two years now--we speak love to you and about you.
Remembering with grateful hearts your generosity in all ways.
Your journey is ended; our journey continues.
Love and Peace from all your family & friends.
Putting Words Next To Silence
Dear Friends,
With joy and gratitude I share with you the publication
of my collection of cento poems by SpecialBooks.com
Royalties from this book will go to The Eudist Servants
of the 11th Hour (an Order of Religious Women) founded
by Mother Antonia Brenner--known lovingly as the "Prison
Angel."
continue to celebrate National Poetry Month.
I hope you will take a minute to check out the publisher's website.
Blessings as we move into Holy Week.
Dear Friends,
Because of my absence from this space for so long, I thought
it might be nice to put a song in your heart. Here is one that
never fails to move me.
And during these April Days of Poetry--
may we find the right words
to express our sadness and hope for the world around us.
Marvin Bell was born August 3, 1937.
He died in 2020 after publishing over 20 books.
The first Poet Laureate of Iowa gave me a cento
through lines appearing
in his 1984 collection:
Drawn by Stones, by Earth, by Things that Have Been in the Fire.
(Antheneum, New York)
The Literary journal Vita Poetica recently published my Marvin Bell poem
"Putting Words Next to Silence."
You may read/listen to this cento poem at
https://www.vitapoetica.org/poetry/putting-words-next-to-silence
(With thanks to all at Vita Poetica.)
"Being a grownup means knowing that things end."
-Marvin Bell
(2018 Interview The Rumpus)
On this day in 1899 E. B. White was born.
In a letter to the poet Philip Booth, Mr. White said that a good poem is
like an anchovy: it makes you want another right away and pretty soon
the tin is empty and you have a bellyache or a small bone caught in your
throat or both.
Makes me smile! (and if you're a poet) you wish you might be as true
and clever and original as Mr. White.
I trust that you will spare the reading public
your little adventures in sidewalk contentment.
With deep gratitude to E.B. White for all his stories.