CELEBRATING BLACK HISTORY MONTH ONE POET AT A TIME: ANDRE GERALDINE LORDE

ALL THIS MONTH OF FEB. IT'S BLACK HISTORY MONTH AND I HERE AT LIFE IN WORDS WILL BE SHOWCASING AFRICAN AMERICAN POETS.

AUDRE GERALDINE LORDE

SHE WAS BORN IN 1934 IN NEW YORK CITY AND WAS A POET, ACTIVIST AND WRITER. SHE IDENTIFIED HERSELF AS A LESBIAN AND A POET. IN HER OWN WORDS SHE SAID I AM "BLACK, LESBIAN, MOTHER, WARRIOR, POET." BEFORE SHE DIED SHE TOOK ON THE NAME GAMBA ADISA WHICH TRANSLATES TO "WARRIOR: SHE WHO MAKES HER MEANING KNOWN".

SHE WAS PUBLISHED IN LANGSTON HUGHES 1962 NEW NEGRO POETS, USA ALSO IN BLACK LITERARY MAGAZINES IN THE 1960'S. SHE WAS A STRONG PERSON IN HER VIEWS WITH CIVIL RIGHTS, ANTI-WAR AND FEMINIST MOVEMENTS. SHE PUBLISHED HER FIRST BOOK IN 1968.HER CRAFT IS ICONIC FOR THE WORD. SHE IS A MASTER AT WHAT SHE DID. LORDE WAS A MASTER AT WORDS NOT ONLY IN POETRY BUT IN SPEECHES. SHE STATED THAT:RACISM, SEXISM AND HOMOPHOBIA WERE ALL LINKED AND WAS ABOUT PEOPLE NOT WILLING TO ACCEPT DIFFERENCES. HER POETRY WAS A MIXED REALITY OF AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL LIFE. SHE STATED THAT LIFE IS TEXT.

"I am defined as other in every group I'm part of. "The outsider, both strength and weakness. Yet without community there is certainly no liberation, no future, only the most vulnerable and temporary armistice between me and my oppression".---LORDE

SHE PUBLISHED 15 BOOKS IN HER LIFE TIME AND WAS IN MANY OTHER PUBLICATIONS. SHE BECAME POET LAUREATE OF NEW YORK FROM 1991-1992. SADLY HER MORTAL VOICE WAS SILENCED WHEN SHE DIED IN 1997 FROM BREAST CANCER BUT HER IMMORTAL VOICE OF POETRY WILL LIVE FOREVER. SHE IS A MASTER AND A TRUE ONE OF A KIND POET.

POEM SPOTLIGHT:

The Black Unicorn

The black unicorn is greedy.

The black unicorn is impatient.

'The black unicorn was mistaken

for a shadow or symbol

and taken

through a cold country

where mist painted mockeries

of my fury.

It is not on her lap where the horn rests

but deep in her moonpit

growing.

The black unicorn is restless

the black unicorn is unrelenting

the black unicorn is not

free.

by Audre Lorde

CELEBRATING BLACK HISTORY MONTH ONE POET AT A TIME: ALICE WALKER

ALL THIS MONTH OF FEB. IT'S BLACK HISTORY MONTH AND I HERE AT LIFE IN WORDS WILL BE SHOWCASING AFRICAN AMERICAN POETS.

ALICE WALKER

ALICE MALSENIOR WALKER WAS BORN FEB. 9 1944. SHE IS A TRUE ICON TO THE WRITTEN WORD. SHE HAS WRITTEN MANY BOOKS. 18 NOVELS AND SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS TOTAL. SHE HAS ALSO WRITTEN 10 POETRY BOOKS. ALSO 11 NON-FICTION BOOKS. OF HER MOST ACCLAIMED NOVEL WOULD BE THE COLOR PURPLE WHICH SHE WON THE PULITZER PRIZE FOR FICTION. THE BOOK WOULD GO ON TO BE MADE INTO A WONDERFUL MOVIE.

MRS. WALKER IS A SELF-DECLARED FEMINIST AND WOMANIST. THE WOMANIST IS A WORD SHE MADE UP FOR WOMEN OF COLOR TO SEPARATE THE ASPECT OF FEMINIST AND ALSO THE STRUGGLE TO BE A WOMAN OF COLOR. IN 1965 SHE GRADUATED FROM SARAH LAWRENCE COLLEGE BY NEW YORK CITY. MRS. WALKER BECAME VERY INTERESTED IN THE U.S. CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT. SHE MOVED BACK TO THE SOUTH WHERE SHE WAS BORN AND TOOK UP THE CAUSE FOR VOTER REGISTRATION, WELFARE RIGHTS CAMPAIGNS AND ALSO WORKING WITH CHILDREN PROGRAMS IN MISSISSIPPI. WHILE SHE LIVED IN MISSISSIPPI SHE WAS HARASSED AND WAS ALSO GIVEN DEATH THREATS BY THE KU KLUX KLAN, THIS DID NOT BOTHER HER FOR SHE FOUGHT FOR HER RIGHTS AND STOOD STRONG IN HER BELIEFS.

SHE PUBLISHED AN ARTICLE IN 1975 THAT WAS FOCUS POINT IN BRINGING BACK THE WONDER OF WRITER ZORA NEALE HURSTON WHO HAD BEEN FORGOTTEN ABOUT IN THE BOOK WORLD. HURSTON WAS AN AMERICAN FOLKLORIST WHO MADE HER MARK IN THE HARLEM RENAISSANCE ERA AND ALSO WROUGHT THE BOOK THEIR EYES WERE WATCHING GOD IN 1937. MRS. HURSTON HAS BEEN LISTED AS ONE OF THE 100 GREATEST AFRICAN AMERICANS. THROUGH RESEARCH MRS. WALKER AND HER FRIEND CHARLOTTE D. HUNT FOUND THE UNMARKED HIDDEN GRAVE OF THIS MASTER WRITER OF WRITTEN WORD IN FT. PIERCE FLORIDA. WALKER AND HUNT PAID OUT OF THERE OWN MONEY TO GIVE HER A HEADSTONE ON THE GRAVE SITE FOR SHE WOULD NOT BE FORGOTTEN ABOUT.

MRS. WALKER IS A TRUE ACTIVIST AND A HARD BEAUTIFUL AMAZING WOMAN, WRITER AND MOST OF ALL A POET. SHE CAPTURES THE BEAUTY OF WRITTEN WORD AND SHOWCASES THE STRUGGLE AND ART AND CRAFT OF WRITTEN WORD. MOST ALL HER WORK SHOWCASES THE STRUGGLES OF BLACKS, MAINLY WOMEN, THE FIGHT AGAINST RACIST AND SEXIST CULTURE AND A VIOLENT CULTURE. WHEN SHE WON HER PULITZER PRIZE FOR FICTION FOR THE COLOR PURPLE SHE WAS THE FIRST BLACK WOMAN TO EVER WIN. ON DEC. 6TH 2006 CALIFORNIA PLACED HER IN THE CALIFORNIA HALL OF FAME LOCATED AT THE CALIFORNIA MUSEUM FOR HISTORY, WOMEN, AND THE ARTS.

IF YOU ARE A LOVER OF BOOKS OR POETRY YOU SHOULD PICK UP HER BOOKS. SHE IS A STRONG POWERFUL WRITER THAT KNOWS WHAT SHES WANTS AND WHAT SHE WANTS SHOW. HER POETRY IS GIFTED AND STRONG AND BRINGS OUT SO MUCH TO THE READER.

POEM SPOTLIGHT

EXPECT NOTHING


Expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.become a stranger
To need of pity
Or, if compassion be freely
Given out
Take only enough
Stop short of urge to plead
Then purge away the need.Wish for nothing larger
Than your own small heart
Or greater than a star;Tame wild disappointment
With caress unmoved and cold
Make of it a parka
For your soul.Discover the reason why
So tiny human midget
Exists at all
So scared unwise
But expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.

BY: ALICE WALKER


POEM SPOTLIGHT:

I Said to Poetry

I said to Poetry:"I'm finished
with you."Having to almost die
before some wierd light
comes creeping through
is no fun."No thank you, Creation,
no muse need apply.
Im out for good times--at the very least,
some painless convention."

Poetry laid back
and played dead
until this morning.
I wasn't sad or anything,
only restless.

Poetry said: "You remember
the desert, and how glad you were
that you have an eye
to see it with? You remember
that, if ever so slightly?
"I said: "I didn't hear that.
Besides, it's five o'clock in the a.m.
I'm not getting up
in the dark
to talk to you."

Poetry said: "But think about the time
you saw the moon
over that small canyon
that you liked so much better
than the grand one--and how surprised you were
that the moonlight was green
and you still had
one good eye
to see it with

Think of that!"

"I'll join the church!" I said,
huffily, turning my face to the wall.
"I'll learn how to pray again!"

"Let me ask you," said Poetry.
"When you pray, what do you think
you'll see?"

Poetry had me.

"There's no paper
in this room," I said.
"And that new pen I bought
makes a funny noise."

"Bullshit," said Poetry.
"Bullshit," said I

MUSE POETRY REVIEWS: ISHMAEL REED NEW AND COLLECTED POEMS 1964-2007

NEW AND COLLECTED POEMS 1964-2007

AUTHOR: ISHMAEL REED

PRAISE:

THE BOOK IS THE NEW YORK TIMES NOTABLE BOOK GOLD MEDAL WINNER

CALIFORNIA BOOK AWARD: POETRY

"Reed's best poems conjure up a vertiginous, multiplicious, irresolvable and thrilling world. It looks a lot like ours." -New York Times Book Review.

"Multitalented' indeed! The adventurer here puts together what he considers the best of his verse, and it is a lively contribution to contemporary experimentation....it is notable for impudent specifics." -GWENDOLYN BROOKS

MY REVIEW AND THOUGHTS:

WELL I WANT TO SAY THIS IS A MASTER AT THE WORLD OF WRITING. HE NOT ONLY WRITES AMAZING POETRY BUT HE WRITES AMAZING BOOKS AND SO ON. THIS IS MUSE POETRY REVIEWS SO I WILL REVIEW THE POETRY BOOK OF HIS COLLECTED POEMS THAT CAME OUT. HE IS A MASTER AT THE WORLD OF POETRY. HE REMINDS ME OF LANGSTON HUGHES AND SO MANY OTHERS YET HE IS SO ORIGINAL AND FRESH INSIDE THE POETRY WORLD. HIS TALENT IS FAR BEYOND WHAT I CAN EXPLAIN. HE HAS A RICH TALENT OF WORDS THAT MIX TOGETHER TO TELL MASSIVE STORIES IN POETRY, LACED WITH AMAZING IMAGES THAT PUT THE READER THERE, TO FEEL IT, TO KNOW IT, TO UNDERSTAND IT.

HE IS A ONE OF A KIND ARTIST THAT IS STILL ALIVE. SO MANY AMAZING ARTIST END UP DYING BEFORE THEY ARE GIVEN THE BEAUTY THEY DESERVE, BUT MR. REED IS ALIVE AND I AM SO HAPPY TO BE ABLE TO WRITE THIS REVIEW.

THIS MUSE POETRY REVIEW IS MORE OR LESS THE EASIEST I HAVE EVER DONE BECAUSE THERE IS NOT ONE BAD THING I CAN SAY ABOUT MR. REED. HE IS A POWERHOUSE OF IMAGINATION AND POETRY WONDER THAT BLEEDS UPON THE PAPER FOR ALL TO READ. HIS WRITTEN WORDS ARE AN ADVENTURE THEMSELVES. FROM THE UPS AND ALSO THE DOWNS. EACH POEM REPRESENTS SOMETHING THAT THE READER CAN RELATE TO, LOVE TO OR HATE TO.

POEM SPOTLIGHT:

FOR DANCER

When lovers die they blossom
grapes
That's why there's so much
wine in love
That's why I'm still drunk
on you

I REALLY LOVE MR. REED FOR THE FACT HE STEPS OUTSIDE THE NORM AND CREATES SOMETHING THOUGHT PROVOKING AND NEW AND ALSO IN YOUR FACE TYPE OF WRITING. HE IS ONE OF THE MOST CONTROVERSIAL WRITERS AROUND. HE MIXES AMERICAN POLITICAL CULTURE, MAINLY DOMESTIC, POLITICAL AND OPPRESSION INTO SATIRE TYPE OF WRITING THAT CAUSES MANY EMOTIONS WHEN ONE READS. MR. REED IS A MASTER AT THAT, CAUSING FEELINGS AND EMOTIONS TO BOIL OVER OR TO REACH THE MARK OF WHAT YOU HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO SAY OR WRITE ABOUT OR DIDN'T HAVE THE BALLS TO SAY.

THIS BOOK IS A MUST OWN PIECE OF HISTORY. IT IS THE COLLECTION OF POETRY FROM HIS WORKS THAT HE FEELS ARE HIS BEST, ALTHOUGH I REALLY AS A LOVER OF HIS WORK HAVE NEVER REALLY HAD A BAD EXPERIENCE READING ANY OF HIS POETRY.

HIS VOICE CAN BE HEARD LOUD AND CLEAR IN THESE WORKS. FROM THE IDEA OF SPIRITUAL AND POLITICAL POETRY ALL MIXED IN WITH A SENSE OF SMOOTH JAZZ LIKE STRUCTURE TO HELP THE POETRY FLOW. HE HAS SOMETHING TO SAY AND THE WAY HE WRITES YOU CAN NOT, NOT LISTEN AND READ THE POWER BEHIND THE BEAUTY OF WHO HE IS AND WHAT HIS POETRY IS ABOUT.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

ISHMAEL REED HAS WRITTEN 6 BOOKS OF POETRY. HE HAS ALSO WRITTEN SIX PLAYS AND FOUR BOOKS OF ESSAYS AND AN AMAZING NINE NOVELS. HE IS CONSIDERED ONE OF THE GREAT AFRICAN-AMERICAN WRITERS THIS DAY AND AGE AND MOST OF ALL HE IS AN ICON TO THE LOVE OF WORDS. HE WAS BORN IN CHATTANOOGA TENNESSEE LOVE THAT PLACE, SO BEAUTIFUL AND AMAZING. HE GREW UP IN NEW YORK AND PUBLISHED HIS FIRST BOOK IN 1967.

POEM SPOTLIGHT:

KALI'S GALAXY

My 200 inch eyes are trained
on you, my love spectroscope
Breaking down your wavelengths
With my oscillating ear
I have painted your

Portrait: ermine curled about
Yonder's glistening neck

They say you are light-years
Away, but they understand so
Little

You are so near to me
We collide
Our stars erupt into supernovae
An ecstatic cataclysm that
Amazes astronomers

I enter your Milky Way
Seeking out your suns
Absorbing your heat
Circumventing your orbs
Radiating your nights

Once inside your heavens
I hop from world to world
Until I can go no longer
And Z out in your dust
Your new constellation
Known for my shining process
And fish-tailed chariot.

I ENJOY POETS THAT LOVE TO MAKE LOVE TO THE POEM WHEN THEY ARE WRITING IT. I ENJOY POETS WHO ENJOY BITCHING AND FIGHTING AT THE POEM THEY ARE WRITING. I ENJOY A POET WHO SAYS HIS MIND AND DOES NOT CARE WHAT HE SAYS WHILE WRITING THE POEM. I WANT TO OPEN A POETRY BOOK AND SCAN THE WORDS AND GET LOST INSIDE THE MIND OR MASSIVE IMAGES OR A MYSTERY SURROUNDING THE POEM AND THAT IS WHAT I DO WHEN I READ ISHMAEL REED. HE IS A GREAT TOUR DE FORCE IN THE WORD WORLD OF HISTORY. HE WILL ALWAYS BE REMEMBERED BECAUSE OF THE POWERFUL IMPACT HE HAS HAD UPON THE WORLD OF WRITTEN WORDS.

POEM SPOTLIGHT:

A SECRETARY OF SPIRITS

The following minutes were
logged by this Secretary to

the Spirits during the last five
years which have occasionally been
like a devil woman on a heart

Sometimes I felt
only a beetle could inch up
from this situation
Y'awl know what I mean

I am no bettle
not even a bishop
got 90% wrong on the priest's
exam
Scared of snakes

Just a red baboon with the
hurricane's eye
got up sometimes in a Business
man's three-piece
Mostly an errand boy for the spirits
It's honest Work
You can even come by promotions
I'll rise or

maybe grow up evenI hail from a long line of
risers
like Grand ma ma, old oak
off on a new path
she sculpts from the clay

I THINK WHAT IS INTERESTING TO NOTE IS THAT ONE OF REED'S POEM WRITTEN IN 1969 CALLED BEWARE: DO NOT READ THIS POEM IS ONE OF NO MORE THEN 20 POEMS THAT TEACHERS AND LIBRARIANS USE MOST IN STUDIED SETTINGS. THAT POEM IS ALSO IN THIS BOOK. IT JUST SHOWS YOU THE POWER THAT MR. REED HAS IN HIS POEMS, THEY ARE FILLED WITH TRUTH, REALITY AND MOST OF ALL THE READER CAN RELATE TO EACH WORD BEING SAID. MR. REED'S HEART FLOWS ON PAPER AND YOU CAN HEAR THE BEAT AS YOU READ.

POEM SPOTLIGHT:

UNTITLED

Alaska's rape
dismemberment
disassembled piece by piece
and shipped to the lowerforty-eight so that people
in Dallas may own whale-sized Cadillacs and lear
jets which cost Alaska an

arm and a leg just like
ravished Jamaica whose
stolen sugar built Mansfield
Park where idle gang rapers
discuss flower beds and
old furniture
Jamaica, Alaska, sisters
dragged into an alley
used and abandoned

THIS IS A MUST OWN, MUST READ BOOK. ALL OF ISHMAEL REED'S BOOKS ARE MUST OWNS. HE IS THE POWERFUL WRITER OF OUR DAY. HE IS A GENIUS WHEN IT COMES TO TELLING A STORY OR PUTTING IDEAS AND THOUGHTS INSIDE POETRY FOR ALL TO READ.

MY RATING:

5 OUT OF 5

MUSE POETRY REVIEWS: MIKE MERAZ'S BLACK-LISTED POEMS

BLACK-LISTED POEMS

AUTHOR:

MIKE MERAZ

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

I DON'T KNOW MUCH ABOUT MR. MERAZ BUT WHAT I DO KNOW IS HE IS A TRUE GIFTED POET. HE HAS BEEN PUBLISHED IN PEARL MAGAZINE, CHIRON REVIEW, LITERARY FEVER, WORD RIOT AND MANY OTHERS. THIS IS HIS FIRST SELF-PUBLISHED BOOK AND IT CAN BE BOUGHT THROUGH http://www.lulu.com/

YOU CAN ALSO VISIT HIS MYSPACE WITH A DIRECT LINK TO BUY THE BOOK HERE:
HIS MYSPACE CLICK HERE

MY REVIEW AND THOUGHTS:

THIS IS A GREAT EXAMPLE OF A POET YOU CAN RELATE TO AND UNDERSTAND. HIS POETRY IS IN A SENSE REALITY BASED WRITING WHERE EACH SITUATION OR ORDEAL IS DESCRIBING WHAT CAN BE UNDERSTOOD AND ALSO FELT BY THE READER. THE BASIS OF A LOT OF THE POETRY IS ABOUT LOVE OR LACK OF LOVE. THE IDEAS AND FEELINGS OF LONELINESS RUN RAMPANT THROUGHOUT THE BOOK.

I REALLY ENJOYED THE TONE EACH POEM TOOK, YOU COULD FEEL THE SOMEWHAT DEPRESSION OR HEART PAINS THROUGHOUT SOME OF THE POETRY. THE POEMS SHOWCASE THE TALENT OF MR. MERAZ IN THAT EACH ONE TELLS A STORY FOR THE READER.

I REALLY ENJOY THE HONEST FEEL YOU GET FROM THE POETRY. SOME OF THE POETRY IS ABOUT SIMPLE EVERYDAY THINGS YET THE WORDING OF EACH POEM AROUND THOSE MUNDANE THINGS OF LIFE GIVE IT A SENSE OF A LIVING ARTWORK. HAVE YOU EVER GOT THAT FEELING THAT EVEN THOUGH YOU HAVE NEVER MET THE PERSON, YOU FEEL LIKE YOU KNOW THEM.

THAT IS THE SENSE THE READER WILL GET FROM THIS BOOK. I FELT I KNEW MR. MERAZ.

EACH ONE OF THE POETRY PIECES IN THE BOOK WHICH IS 60 POEMS ARE POSITIVELY ALIVE IN WORD FORM. THEY FLOW PERFECT AND FLAWLESS AND ALSO ARE RICH WITH STORY AND IMAGE AND ALSO HUMOR. EACH POEM SHOWCASES APART OF LIFE OR A SUBJECT THAT ONE CAN UNDERSTAND, KNOW AND FEEL THAT THEY HAVE BEEN THROUGH BEFORE.

POEM SPOTLIGHT:

STOP PLAYING WITH YOUR TEETH!

"stop playing with your teeth!"

this is what she used to say to me.

and the other one, "clean your ears!"

and we can't forget the time when

I was in the shower and she yelled

through the bathroom wall, "don't

forget to wash your stuff!"

you would think she was my mother,

but she was my girlfriend for 2 years.

and even though it has been 3 years

since i've seen her, I still think about her

sometimes when I am picking my nose

in public, or reaching for my crotch,

or trying to sneak a fart in line at the supermarket.

THERE REALLY ARE VERY FEW POETS YOU CAN REALLY RELATE TO WHERE THE POETRY IS TALKING ABOUT YOUR LIFE AND ORDEALS YOU HAVE BEEN THROUGH OR CAN UNDERSTAND GOING THROUGH. THIS POET DOES THAT.

POEM SPOTLIGHT:

THE DEATH OF FOOD

the death of food

came to me

when I was 18

with the birth of a woman

wearing long hippie dresses,

Italian eyes,

with a love for white picket fences

and bad boys.

I never told you I was an over-eater.

fat,

bow-legged,

buck-toothed,

in and out of despair

at age 15

with my head placed

on window glass

staring at my world

as it passed me by.

but now I have caught up,

grown up,

moved out.

I am slim,

tall,

attractive,

with blue eyes

and dark hair.

I have made it!

but why do I still cry?

HE MIXES THE HEART, SOUL AND ALSO THE ADVENTURES OF LIFE FROM THE UP'S AND DOWNS TO THE STAINS ON ONES THOUGHTS. I WANT TO SAY BUY THIS BOOK BECAUSE IT'S NOT JUST A SIMPLE BOOK READ THAT YOU FORGET, IT'S ONE OF THOSE POETRY BOOKS THAT YOU READ OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

MY RATING:

3 OUT OF 5

MUSE POETRY REVIEWS: JOHN ASHBERY'S WHERE SHALL I WANDER

WHERE SHALL I WANDER

AUTHOR: JOHN ASHBERY

PRAISE:

"America's greatest living poet." --Harold Bloom

"Ashbery is a national treasure." --New York Times Book Review

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


HE IS THE POET OF MORE THEN 20 BOOKS OF POETRY. HIS POETRY BOOK SELF-PORTRAIT IN A CONVEX MIRROR RECIVED THE PULITZER PRIZE FOR POETRY ALSO THE NATIONAL BOOK CRITICS CIRCLE AWARD AND THE NATIONAL BOOK AWARD. HIS BOOK SOME TREES WAS SELECTED BY W.H. AUDEN FOR THE YALE YOUNGER POETS SERIES.

HE HAS WON MORE OR LESS ALMOST EVERY AWARD THAT CAN BE GIVEN TO A POET. HE WAS THE FIRST ENGLISH LANGUAGE POET TO WIN THE GRAND PRIX DE BIENNALES INTERNATIONALES DE POESIE (BRUSSELS) AWARD.

MY REVIEW AND THOUGHTS:

THERE IS NO DOUBT HOW AMAZING MR. ASHBERY'S BEAUTY FOR WORDS ARE. HE HAS HAD AN AMAZING RUN AS A TRUE ONE OF A KIND POET THAT IS MORE OR LESS A TRUE ICONIC LEGEND THAT STILL IS LIVING. SO MANY POETS DON'T GET THE FAME THEY DESERVE UNTIL THEY ARE DEAD BUT WITH MR. ASHBERY I THINK IT'S SAFE TO SAY HE IS A LIVING LEGEND IN THE POET WORD. HIS PAST BOOKS ARE SOME OF THE GREATEST WRITTEN POETRY AROUND.

THIS REVIEW IS FOR HIS NEWEST BOOK AND I HAVE TO SAY IT'S NOT HIS BEST, BUT WITH THAT SAID IT STILL IS AN AMAZING PIECE OF POETRY TO READ AND UNDERSTAND AND WATCH THE WORDS FLOW IN PEACE AND SOMETIMES CONFUSSION MAKING IT REAL AND DEEP AT THE SAME TIME. WHAT IS FUN ABOUT THIS BOOK IS THE WAY MR. ASHBERY TAKES WORDS AND PLAYS WITH THEM AND MIXES ODD IMAGES INSIDE THE READER TO WONDER WHAT REALLY WAS BEING SAID OR TRYING TO BE SAID OR IF ANYTHING REALLY WAS BEING SAID.

POEM SPOTLIGHT:

THE NEW HIGHER

You meant more than life to me.

I lived through

you not knowing, not knowing I was living.

I learned that you called for me. I came to where

you were living, up a stair.

There was no one there.

No one to appreciate me.

The legality of it

upset a chair. Many times to celebrate

we were called together and where

we had been there was nothing there,

nothing that is anywhere.

We passed obliquely,

leaving no stare.

When the sun was done muttering,

in an optimistic way, it was time to leave that there.

Blithely passing in and out of where,

blushing shyly

at the tag on the overcoat near the window where

the outside crept away, I put aside the there and now.

Now it was time to stumble anew,

blacking out when time came in the window.

There was not much of it left.

I laughed and put my hands shyly

across your eyes. Can you see now?

Yes I can see

I am only in the where

where the blossoming stream takes off,

under your window.

Go presently you said.

Go from my window.

I am in love with your window I cannot undermine

it, I said.

THE WAY THIS BOOK IS FORMED AND LAID OUT FOR THE READER IS ODD IN SPOTS AND MIXES A SENSE OF SIMPLE POETRY AND ALSO MIXES IN SOME NARRATIVE TYPE POETRY THAT IS LIKE READING A SHORT STORY THEN A POEM. THE BOOK FLOWS PERFECT FOR THE READER IF THE READER PUSHES AWAY ALL THE OTHER BEAUTIFUL AND AMAZING POETRY THAT MR. ASHBERY HAS DONE IN THE PAST, BECAUSE THIS BOOK I FEEL IS TOTALLY DIFFERENT FROM HIS OTHER WORKS.

POEM SPOTLIGHT:

BROKEN TULIPS

A is walking through the streets of B, frantic

for C's touch but secretly relived

not to have it. At Tamerlane

and East of Tamerlane, he pauses, judicious:

The cave thing hasn't been seen again,

schoolgirls are prattling, and the Easter rabbit

is charging down the street, under full sail

and a strong headwind.

Was ever anything

so delectable floated across the crescent moon's

transparent bay? Here shall we sit

and, dammit, talk about our trip

until the sky is again cold and gray.

Another's narrative supplants the crawling

stock-market quotes:

Like all good things life tends to go on too long,

and when we smile

in mute annoyance, pauses for a moment.

Rains bathe the rainbow,

and the shape of night is an empty cylinder,

focused at us, urging its noncompliance

closer along the way we chose to go.

I FEEL THIS IS A GREAT READ AND A BOOK THAT SHOWCASES THE MANY DIFFERENT TALENTS THAT MR. ASHBERY HAS. THE BOOK WORKS IN IMAGES AND WORDS THAT MIX TO SHOWCASE A WILD RIDE IF YOU WILL INTO A TWISTED CONCEPT OF POEMS THAT MIGHT TAKE THE READER TO READ IT TWICE TO TRY AND UNDERSTAND CERTAIN IMAGES BEING SPOKEN ABOUT. I FEEL THIS BOOK HAS IN MY VIEWPOINT AT LEAST FOUR AMAZING POEMS THAT STAND OUT, THE WHOLE BOOK READS IN A POETRY FLOW THAT STICKS WITH THE READER THAT IS READING IT.

MY RATING:

3 OUT OF 5

MUSE POETRY REVIEWS: ROBERT HASS’ PRAISE

PRAISE

AUTHOR:

ROBERT HASS

HE IS THE WINNER OF THE WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS AWARD

"He writes in many shapes, moods, even styles. Yet everywhere one recognizes this reverevce for the power of language, words in their full-flight of syntax, what we-or our ancestors-used to call eloquence." --Hayden Carruth, Harper's
"His second book, Praise, has an architectural grandeur that even his nearly flawless first volume, Field Guide, did not aim at. Poem after poem sets limits fo itself as stern as gravity: white on white, block on block of stome, frames around pictures." -Peter Davison, The Atlantic Monthly

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

HE IS THE AUTHOR OF MANY POEM BOOKS: FIELD GUIDE (1973), PRAISE (1979), HUMAN WISHES (1989), SUN UNDER WOOD (1996), TIME AND MATERIALS POEMS 1997-2005 AND ALSO THE BOOK NOW AND THEN: THE POETS CHOICE COLUMNS 1997-2000. HE SERVED AS POET LAUREATE OF THE UNITED STATES FROM 1995 THROUGH 1997. HE IS A TEACHER THAT TEACHES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY. ALSO IN 1999 HE WAS FEATURED IN THE MOVIE WILDFLOWERS AS SIMPLY THE POET WHICH THROUGH OUT THE MOVIE HIS POEMS ARE READ. SABINE THE YOUNG GIRL IN THE MOVIE READS FROM HASS'S BOOKS AND HIS BOOKS CAN ALSO BE SEEN ON A BOOK SHELF IN THE BOOKSTORE.

MY REVIEW AND THOUGHTS:

I WOULD LIKE TO SAY ROBERT HASS IS A FANTASTIC CLASSICAL TYPE POETRY WRITER THAT STICKS WITH YOU LONG AFTER YOU READ HIS BOOKS. THIS ONE IS ALSO AN EXAMPLE OF A WONDERFUL QUICK READ; PAGES COUNTING IN AT 68. WHEN I SAY QUICK THAT IS NOT BAD THING, IT'S GREAT BECAUSE IT FLOWS WHERE YOU AS THE READER DON'T WANT TO PUT IT DOWN.

POEM SPOT LIGHT FROM THE BOOK:

THE ORIGIN OF CITIESS

he is first seen dancing which is a figure

not for art or prayer or the arousal of desire

but for action simply; her breast

band is copper,

her crown imitates the city walls.

Though she draws usto her, like a harbor or a river

mouth she sends us away.

A figure of the outward. So the old men grown lazy

in patrician ways lay out cash for adventures.

Imagining a rich return, they buy futures

and their slaves haunt the waterfront for news of ships.

The young come from the villages dreaming.

Pleasure and power draw them.

They are employed

to make inventories and grow very clever,

multiplying in their heads,

deft at the use of letters.

When they are bored,

they write down old songs from the villages,

and the cleverest make new songs in the old forms

describing the pleasures of the city,

their mistresses,

old shepherds and simpler times.

And the temple

where the farm grandfathers

of the great merchants worshipped,

the dim temple across from the marketplace

which was once a stone altar in a clearing in the forest,

where the night

watch pisses now against a column in the

moonlight,

is holy to them;

the wheat mother their goddess of sweaty sheets,

of what is left in the air when that glimpsed beauty

turns the corner, of love's punishment and the wracking

of desire. They make songs about that. They tell

stories of heroes and brilliant lust among the gods.

These are amusements. She dances, the ships go forth,

slaves and peasants labor in the fields, maimed soldiers

ape monkeys for coins outside the wine

shops,the craftsmen work in bronze and gold, accounts

are kept carefully, what goes out, what returns.

HE HAS AWAY OF WRITING HIS POEMS THAT LIKE TO EXPRESS IMAGES AND A WONDERFUL JOURNEY INSIDE EACH POEM FOR THE READER AT HAND. THIS BOOK IS A GREAT READ AND ALSO ONE THAT I ENJOY TALKING ABOUT. I WILL SAY THIS SOME PEOPLE MIGHT NOT GET THIS BOOK. IT IS VERY DEEP WITH WORDS IN TELLING A STORY IN EACH POEM. WHERE AS ALOT OF MODERN NEW POETS TEND TO WRITE IN SIMPLE TONES. WHAT I MEAN BY THAT IS THE POEMS LIKE: I LOVE YOU YOU LOVE ME, OR THE SIMPLE RHYME POEMS, THAT FLOW CHILD LIKE, IN THE SENSE THAT MOST PEOPLE CAN WRITE THOSE TYPE OF POEMS AND THEY SEEM TO HAVE NO ORIGINAL IDEA TO THEM.

I DON'T MEAN THAT TO SOUND TO BAD BECAUSE THERE ARE SOME GREAT WELL KNOWN AND NOT KNOWN POETS OUT THERE THAT DO RHYME. I LIKE TO FIND POETS THAT EXPRESS WORDS THAT AREN'T COMMAN OR YOU MIGHT NOT EXPECT THAT WORD TO FLOW LIKE THAT, THATS WHAT I AM LOOKING FOR SOMETHING NEW AND ORIGINAL. ROBERT HASS WRITES THAT WHY. HIS WORK IS ORIGINAL AND FLOWS WITH A GREAT TALENT FOR WORDS AND IMAGINATION AND NOT LIKE SOME POETS THAT WRITE LIKE THIS: "I SEE A CAKE, WATCH IT BAKE, I WANT TO TAKE, MMM I WISH I HAD A STEAK."

THIS BOOK I WANT TO SAY IF YOU LOVE ORIGINAL POETRY AND INTERESTING TAKES ON WORDS THAT FLOW AND MIX IN AWAY YOU THOUGHT COULD NOT THEN I SAY READ THIS BOOK, IT'S A MUST IF YOUR A TRUE POETRY BUFF LIKE I AM.

MY RATING:
4 OUT OF 5

MUSE POETRY REVIEWS: SELECTED POEMS BY LANGSTON HUGHES

SELECTED POEMS OF LANGSTON HUGHES

AUTHOR:

LANGSTON HUGHES

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

MR. HUGHES WAS BORN IN JOPLIN MISSOURI IN 1902. HIS FIRST POEM THAT APPEARED IN A NATIONAL KNOWN MAGAZINE NAMED CRISIS IN 1921 WAS "THE NEGRO SPEAKS OF RIVERS". IN 1925 HE WAS GIVEN THE AWARD FOR 1ST PRIZE FOR POETRY INSIDE THE MAGAZINE OPPORTUNITY THE POEM WAS "THE WEARY BLUES" WHICH WOULD BE COME THE TITLE FOR HIS FIRST BOOK IN 1926. DURING HIS LIFE HE WAS AWARDED WITH MANY AWARDS GUGGENHEIM FELLOWSHIP AWARD IN 1935, ROSENWALD FELLOWSHIP AWARD IN 1940 AND HONORARY LITT AWARD IN 1943 AND ALSO THE AMERICAN ACADEMY OF ARTS AND LETTERS GRANT IN 1947 AMONG OTHERS. HE WROTE POETRY SHORT STORIES, AUTOBIOGRAPHY, SONGS, ESSAYS, HUMOR AND ALSO PLAYS.

MY REVIEW AND THOUGHTS:

TO ME MR. HUGHES IS ONE OF THE GREATEST POETRY WRITERS TO EVER LIVE. HE HAS A POWERFUL WAY WITH WORDS MIXING JAZZ, SOUL, THE BLUES ALL TO TELL A STORY IN COMPLETE FLOW THAT IS SMOOTH TO THE READER READING. HE HAS AWAY WITH MIXING THE READER INTO HIS POETRY THAT VERY FEW POETS CAN DO. YOU FEEL MR. HUGHES IN HIS WORK AS YOU READ HIS STYLED WAYS IN SHOWCASING WHAT HE KNOWS, WHAT HE BELIEVES AND WHAT HE WANTS TO EXPRESS TO OTHERS AS YOU TURN EACH PAGE TO FINISH WHAT WAS BEING SAID.

ALL HIS POETRY TELL A STORY IN SOME WAY. SMALL OR LONG EACH POEM HAS LIFE AND ALSO HAS DEEP MEANING IN MOST CASES. MY FIRST POETRY BOOK I EVER BOUGHT WAS AT A USED BOOK STORE AND I WAS NINE YEARS OLD STAYING WITH MY GRANDPA EARL AND MY GRANDMA NANNY WHICH I DID ALMOST EVERY WEEKEND AND EVERY SUNDAY WOULD TAKE A RIDE TO THE LOCAL USED BOOK STORE. I ALREADY KNEW WHAT MY GRANDPA WOULD GET A WESTERN BY LOUIS L'MOUR AND MY GRANDMA WOULD GET THE NEXT DIME STORE ROMANCE WITH ALMOST NAKED PEOPLE ON THE COVER THAT FEED MY CHILDLIKE MIND WITH THOUGHTS BUT I ALWAYS SPENT MY TIME IN THE COMIC BOOK SECTION, THIS USED BOOK STORE HAD TONS OF COMICS BUT THAT DAY WAS DIFFERENT. I SCANNED THE BOOKS LINING THE SHELFS NOT LOOKING FOR REALLY ANYTHING, I SCANNED OVER THE STEPHEN KING BOOKS WHICH MY FATHER ALWAYS TALKED ABOUT THE STAND BEING HIS ALL TIME BEST AND THERE IN WHAT LOOKED LIKE THE UN-DUSTED AREA WAS SOMETHING NAMED POETRY WHICH I COULD NOT SAY OR UNDERSTAND WHAT IT WAS. ALL I SAW WAS POE AND THOUGHT OF HORROR MOVIES WITH VINCENT PRICE THAT I WOULD CATCH ON LATE NIGHT SAT. NIGHT T.V.

THERE I PICKED UP THE WEARY BLUES BY LANGSTON HUGHES AND THAT FOREVER CHANGED MY LIFE. I BECAME A LOVER OF POETRY RELIZING IT WAS NOT A VINCENT PRICE MOVIE.

FROM THAT DAY ON I CREDIT MR. HUGHES FOR OPENING THE FLOOD GATES ON MY INNER POET. I BEGAN READING, WRITING AND LOVING POETRY AND THIS BOOK TO ME THAT I AM REVIEWING HERE IS A MUST OWN BECAUSE IT CONTAINS ALMOST EVERY PIECE OF IMPORTANT POETRY BY MR. HUGHES. I READ THIS BOOK TWICE BEFORE REVIEWING IT BECAUSE I FEEL IN LOVE ALL OVER AGAIN WITH THE BEAUTY AND SIMPLE AND DEEP TONES THAT MR. HUGHES PUT INTO HIS WRITING TALENT.

NOW I WANT TO SHOWCASE THREE OF MY FAV. MR.HUGHES POEMS.
THE FIRST BEING:

MULATTO

I am your son, white man!
Georgia duskAnd the turpentine woods.
One of the pillars of the temple fell.
You are my son!Like Hell!
The moon over the turpentine woods.
The Southern nightFull of stars,
Great big yellow stars.
What's a body but a toy?
Juicy bodiesOf nigger wenches
Blue black
Against black fences.
O, you little bastard boy,
What's a body but a toy?
The scent of pine wood stings the soft night air.
What's the body of your mother?
Silver moonlight everywhere.
What's the body of your mother?
Sharp pine scent in the evening air.
A nigger night,
A nigger joy,
A little yellow
Bastard boy.
Naw, you ain't my brother.
Niggers ain't my brother.
Not ever.
Niggers ain't my brother.
The Southern night is full of stars,
Great big yellow stars.
O, sweet as earth,
Dusk dark bodies
Give sweet birth
To little yellow bastard boys.
Git on back there in the night,
You ain't white
The bright stars scatter everywhere.
Pine wood scent in the evening air.
A nigger night,
A nigger joy.
I am your son, white man!
A little yellow
Bastard boy.

I LOVE THAT POEM AND IT SHOWS YOU THE DEEP FEELINGS AND RICH TONES THAT MR. HUGHES COULD GO FOR, HE HAS A DEEP SENSE OF THE SOUL IN EXPRESSING HIMSELF IN HIS POETRY.

THE NEXT ONE THAT IS MY FAV. IS:

THE NEGRO MOTHER

Children, I come back today
To tell you a story of the long dark way
That I had to climb, that I had to know
In order that the race might live and grow.
Look at my face -- dark as the night --
Yet shining like the sun with love's true light.
I am the dark girl who crossed the red sea
Carrying in my body the seed of the free.
I am the woman who worked in the field
Bringing the cotton and the corn to yield.
I am the one who labored as a slave,
Beaten and mistreated for the work that I gave --
Children sold away from me,
I'm husband sold, too.
No safety , no love, no respect was I due.
Three hundred years in the deepest South:
But God put a song and a prayer in my mouth .
God put a dream like steel in my soul.
Now, through my children,
I'm reaching the goal.
Now, through my children, young and free,
I realized the blessing deed to me.
I couldn't read then.
I couldn't write.
I had nothing, back there in the night.
Sometimes, the valley was filled with tears,
But I kept trudging on through the lonely years.
Sometimes, the road was hot with the sun,
But I had to keep on till my work was done:
I had to keep on! No stopping for me --
I was the seed of the coming Free.
I nourished the dream that nothing could smother
Deep in my breast --
the Negro mother.
I had only hope then , but now through you,
Dark ones of today,
my dreams must come true:
All you dark children in the world out there,
Remember my sweat, my pain, my despair.
Remember my years, heavy with sorrow --
And make of those years a torch for tomorrow.
Make of my pass a road to the light
Out of the darkness, the ignorance, the night.
Lift high my banner out of the dust.
Stand like free men supporting my trust.
Believe in the right, let none push you back.
Remember the whip and the slaver's track.
Remember how the strong in struggle and strife
Still bar you the way, and deny you life --
But march ever forward,
breaking down bars.
Look ever upward at the sun and the stars.
Oh, my dark children,
may my dreams and my prayers
Impel you forever up the great stairs --
For I will be with you till no white brother
Dares keep down the children of the
Negro Mother.

NEED I SAY MORE ABOUT THAT. THAT SHOULD SHOW YOU THE BEAUTY AND AMAZING WAYS THAT LANGSTON HUGHES HAD ABOUT HIM. HIS PASSION FOR POETRY BLEEDS UPON THE READER THAT YOU FEEL EACH LINE AND EACH POEM THAT WAS BEING SPOKEN. I BELIEVE ONE OF THE GREATEST POEMS AROUND THAT STANDS UP TO ANY OTHER POEM AND SHOULD BE REMEMBERED AND TAUGHT AND SPOKEN ABOUT OFTEN IS:

FREEDOM'S PLOW

When a man starts out with nothing,
When a man starts out with his hands
Empty, but clean,
When a man starts to build a world,
He starts first with himself
And the faith that is in his heart-The strength there,
The will there to build.
First in the heart is the dream-
Then the mind starts seeking a way.
His eyes look out on the world,
On the great wooded world,
On the rich soil of the world,
On the rivers of the world.
The eyes see there materials for building,
See the difficulties, too, and the obstacles.
The mind seeks a way to overcome these obstacles.
The hand seeks tools to cut the wood,
To till the soil, and harness the power of the waters.
Then the hand seeks other hands to help,
A community of hands to help-
Thus the dream becomes not one man's dream alone,
But a community dream.
Not my dream alone, but our dream.
Not my world alone,
But your world and my world,
Belonging to all the hands who build.
A long time ago, but not too long ago,
Ships came from across the sea
Bringing the Pilgrims and prayer-makers,
Adventurers and booty seekers,
Free men and indentured servants,
Slave men and slave masters, all new-
To a new world, America!
With billowing sails the galleons came
Bringing men and dreams, women and dreams.
In little bands together,
Heart reaching out to heart,
Hand reaching out to hand,
They began to build our land.
Some were free hands
Seeking a greater freedom,
Some were indentured hands
Hoping to find their freedom,
Some were slave hands
Guarding in their hearts the seed of freedom,
But the word was there always:
Freedom.
Down into the earth went the plow
In the free hands and the slave hands,
In indentured hands and adventurous hands,
Turning the rich soil went the plow in many hands
That planted and harvested the food that fed
And the cotton that clothed America.
Clang against the trees went the ax into many hands
That hewed and shaped the rooftops of America.
Splash into the rivers and the seas went the boat-hulls
That moved and transported America.
Crack went the whips that drove the horses
Across the plains of America.
Free hands and slave hands,
Indentured hands, adventurous hands,
White hands and black hands
Held the plow handles,
Ax handles, hammer handles,
Launched the boats and whipped the horses
That fed and housed and moved America.
Thus together through labor,
All these hands made America.
Labor! Out of labor came villages
And the towns that grew cities.
Labor! Out of labor came the rowboats
And the sailboats and the steamboats,
Came the wagons, and the coaches,
Covered wagons, stage coaches,
Out of labor came the factories,
Came the foundries, came the railroads.
Came the marts and markets, shops and stores,
Came the mighty products moulded, manufactured,
Sold in shops, piled in warehouses,
Shipped the wide world over:
Out of labor-white hands and black hands-
Came the dream, the strength, the will,
And the way to build America.
Now it is Me here, and You there.
Now it's Manhattan, Chicago,Seattle, New Orleans,
Boston and El Paso-Now it's the U.S.A.
A long time ago, but not too long ago, a man said:
ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL--
ENDOWED BY THEIR CREATOR
WITH CERTAIN UNALIENABLE RIGHTS--
AMONG THESE LIFE, LIBERTY
AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS.
His name was Jefferson. There were slaves then,
But in their hearts the slaves believed him, too,
And silently too for granted
That what he said was also meant for them.
It was a long time ago,
But not so long ago at that, Lincoln said:
NO MAN IS GOOD ENOUGH
TO GOVERN ANOTHER MAN
WITHOUT THAT OTHER'S CONSENT.
There were slaves then, too,
But in their hearts the slaves knew
What he said must be meant for every human being-
Else it had no meaning for anyone.
Then a man said:
BETTER TO DIE FREE
THAN TO LIVE SLAVES
He was a colored man who had been a slave
But had run away to freedom.
And the slaves knew
What Frederick Douglass said was true.
With John Brown at Harper's Ferry, Negroes died.
John Brown was hung.
Before the Civil War, days were dark,
And nobody knew for sure
When freedom would triumph
"Or if it would," thought some.
But others new it had to triumph.
In those dark days of slavery,
Guarding in their hearts the seed of freedom,
The slaves made up a song:
Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!
That song meant just what it said: Hold On!
Freedom will come!
Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!
Out of war it came, bloody and terrible!
But it came!
Some there were, as always,
Who doubted that the war would end right,
That the slaves would be free,
Or that the union would stand,
But now we know how it all came out.
Out of the darkest days for people and a nation,
We know now how it came out.
There was light when the battle clouds rolled away.
There was a great wooded land,
And men united as a nation.
America is a dream.
The poet says it was promises.
The people say it is promises-that will come true.
The people do not always say things out loud,
Nor write them down on paper.
The people often hold
Great thoughts in their deepest hearts
And sometimes only blunderingly express them,
Haltingly and stumblingly say them,
And faultily put them into practice.
The people do not always understand each other.
But there is, somewhere there,
Always the trying to understand,
And the trying to say,
"You are a man. Together we are building our land."
America!
Land created in common,
Dream nourished in common,
Keep your hand on the plow! Hold on!
If the house is not yet finished,
Don't be discouraged, builder!
If the fight is not yet won,
Don't be weary, soldier!
The plan and the pattern is here,
Woven from the beginning
Into the warp and woof of America:
ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL.
NO MAN IS GOOD ENOUGH
TO GOVERN ANOTHER MAN
WITHOUT HIS CONSENT.
BETTER DIE FREE,
THAN TO LIVE SLAVES.
Who said those things? Americans!
Who owns those words? America!
Who is America? You, me!
We are America!
To the enemy who would conquer us from without,
We say, NO!
To the enemy who would divide
And conquer us from within,
We say, NO!
FREEDOM!
BROTHERHOOD!
DEMOCRACY!
To all the enemies of these great words:
We say, NO!
A long time ago,
An enslaved people heading toward freedom
Made up a song:
Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!
The plow plowed a new furrow
Across the field of history.
Into that furrow the freedom seed was dropped.
From that seed a tree grew, is growing, will ever grow.
That tree is for everybody,
For all America, for all the world.
May its branches spread and shelter grow
Until all races and all peoples know its shade.
KEEP YOUR HAND ON THE PLOW! HOLD ON!

I DON'T HAVE ANY NEGATIVE THING TO SAY ABOUT THIS BOOK, IT SHOWCASES HIS SIMPLE POEMS, HIS JAZZ MUSIC BLUES TYPE POEMS ALL THE WAY TO HIS VIVID FREEDOM POEMS THAT EXPRESES SO MUCH ABOUT WHERE WE HAVE COME FROM TO WHO WE ARE NOW.THE BOOK IS 300 PAGES LONG AND WORTH EVERY CENT I GAVE FOR IT. THIS IS POWERFUL READ THAT ANY POET LOVER SHOULD HAVE OR OWN.

THIS COLLECTION SHOWCASES POEMS FROM THE BOOKS BY HUGHES: "THE NEGRO SPEAKS OF RIVERS", "THE WEARY BLUES," "STILL HERE," "SONG FOR A DARK GIRL," "MONTAGE OF A DREAM DEFERRED," AND "REFUGEE IN AMERICA". BUY THIS AND LOVE EVERY WORD OF IT.

MY RATING:
5 OUT OF 5

MUSE POETRY REVIEWS: ANTWONE FISHER’S WHO WILL CRY FOR THE LITTLE BOY

WHO WILL CRY FOR THE LITTLE BOY

AUTHOR:

ANTWONE FISHER

ABOUT THE AUTHOR :

BORN IN CLEVELAND OHIO HE IS A POET, AUTHOR, SCREENWRITER AND FILM PRODUCER. HE IS THE AUTHOR OF THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER FINDING FISH. HE ALSO TURNED THAT BOOK INTO A SCREENPLAY WHICH BECAME THE FILM ANTWONE FISHER WHICH IS BASED ON HIS LIFE AND IT WAS DIRECTED BY DENZEL WASHINGTON.

MY REVIEW AND THOUGHTS:

LOOKING BEYOND THIS BOOK I WANT TO SAY FISHER IS A STRONG AND AN AMAZING PERSON. HE SURVIVED PHYSICAL, EMOTIONAL AND SEXUAL ABUSE. I BEING A SURVIVOR OF RAPE AS A CHILD CAN RELATE TO THE HORRORS HE WENT THROUGH AND I THINK THAT ADDS TO THE APPEAL OF HIS CAREER, STEPPING FORWARD OUT OF THE DARKNESS BEING ABLE TO WRITE AND EXPRESS HIMSELF AS AN ARTIST.

THIS BOOK SHOWCASES THE BEAUTY OF HIS POETRY FROM LOVE POEMS TO HORROR POEMS. THE READER CAN UNDERSTAND EACH POEM BECAUSE THEY ARE WRITTEN IN AWAY THAT NOTHING GETS IN THE WAY FOR THE READER. THIS IS A VERY QUICK READ AND A VERY INTERESTING READ IN MY VIEW BECAUSE SOME OF THE POEMS STICK OUT AND WILL REMAIN WITH ME.

THE POEM I WANT TO SHOWCASE IS:

TO LaNETTE

My mind paints a portrait of a beautiful love affair.

And in this beautiful portrait, you and I are there.

On this imaginary canvas, which I will call my mind,

I paint you dozens of tulips, because they're quite

your kind, I must have painted you with me, more

than one hundred times. I love you more than life

itself, on this canvas called my mind.
I paint us living happily, in a world without a sin.

I paint us sharing love, on an eve that has no end.

I also paint you smiling, it's never hard to do, when

you seem to want to smile whenever I'm with you.
I've painted one thousand wishes, and close to

one million dreams; with the magic thoughts

I use dreams come true it seems. I paint us riding

horseback through fields of amber leaves. I paint

I love you madly, on weeping willow trees.
I paint a wedding portrait for envious eyes to see,

so they will know as our portrait shows, your love

belongs to me. I paint a happy forever, on this

canvas called my mind, of a giving love affair, which

will outlast the end of time.

I ENJOYED THIS BOOK, DO I THINK IT'S SOMETHING AMAZING THAT WILL STAND OUT THE TEST OF TIME, TIME WILL TELL. I DO FEEL AT LEAST A HAND FULL OF THE POEMS ARE AMAZING AND ARE NOTE WORTHY TO MENTION. SOME OF THE POEMS ARE YOUR BASIC STYLE OF PICKING A PEN UP AND RHYMING LIKE MOST PEOPLE CAN. I DON'T WANT THAT TO SOUND BITTER TOWARD THIS BOOK BECAUSE TO ME THIS IS STILL A GREAT READ TO LISTEN TO FISHERS WORDS FLOW AND TELL A STORY OF LOVE, DARKNESS AND COMEDY. ONE THING I LOVE IS FISHERS WRITTEN WORDS IN THE FOREWORD:

"I have written poetry for years. No one ever told me to do it; I just did, and I find that writing poetry allows me to be whatever I want to be. Even when I had never been in love, I could write about what I hoped it would be once I found a love of my own. If I felt alone in the world, as I often did, I could write about how I had to be there for myself, because at the time the reality was that I was all I had. What poetry gives me is truth. My poems usually not what I hope to convey to others, but rather, they are my way of speaking to myself. The words are my cadence combined with my spirit."

I COULD NOT HAVE SAID THAT ANY BETTER, THAT TO ME SHOULD TELL YOU WHAT AN AMAZING PERSON FISHER IS. HIS POEMS ARE FUN, SAD, ROMANTIC AND IN AN EVERYDAY SENSE PERFECT. I PERSONALLY WILL REMEMBER THIS BOOK.

MY RATING:

3.5 OUT 0F 5

MUSE POETRY REVIEWS: JUNIA LORAIN CASTLE'S INTERNAL POEMS...PATTERNS TO THOUGHT

INTERNAL POEMS ...PATTERNS TO THOUGHT

AUTHOR:

JUNIA LORAIN CASTLE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

SHE WAS BORN IN 1913 AND HAS A WAY WITH HER POEMS MIXING POLITICS, ART, MUSIC, TEACHING AND SOCIAL LIFE. SHE HAS STATED THAT "I ALWAYS MEANT TO TAKE THE ROAD OF OBSERVING LIFE AS IT WAS GIVEN TO ME AND AS I WANTED TO LIVE IT." SHE ALSO SAID "I HAVE LIVED A HISTORY BOOK IN PERSON."

MY REVIEW AND THOUGHTS:

I REALLY ENJOYED THIS BOOK OF POETRY IT'S MIXED WITH MANY TYPES OF POEMS. FROM EVERYDAY LIFE, TO ROMANCE AND TO POLITICAL AND TO NON-SENSE TYPE POETRY. IT'S A MIXED BAG OF WORDS THROUGHOUT THAT TAKES THE READER ON A JOURNEY. THIS BOOK WAS A VERY QUICK READ. SOME OF THE POETRY STANDS OUT MORE THAN OTHERS. SOME ARE GREAT AND WILL STICK WITH YOU AND SOME ARE JUST A GOOD READ. I FOUND MY SELF ENJOYING THE REALITY BASED SENSE TO THE POETRY.

EACH OF THE POEMS I COULD RELATE IN A SENSE. THE READER IS PLACED THERE IN WHAT SHE WAS TRYING TO SAY. THESE TYPE OF POEMS TOUCH ON THE BASICS OF LIFE AND MIXES THE READER DOWN THE PATH THAT JUNIA WANTED TO TAKE YOU. YOU COULD FEEL THE WORDS COME TO LIFE AND MAKE PERFECT SENSE WHAT SHE WAS SAYING. NOT ONE TIME DID I PAUSE TO TRY AND FIGURE OUT WHAT THE POEM MEANT BECAUSE EVERYTHING THAT NEEDED TO BE SAID WAS SAID AND THAT TO ME MAKES A GOOD READ.

THERE ARE MANY POEMS I LIKED IN THIS BOOK BUT ONE THAT STOOD OUT WAS ON PAGE 40 TITLED:

GHOSTLY LOVER

Often I repeat that beloved name
which sets my passion a
flameTen thousand times a day
it strikes my mind.
In vain turns and turns
my heart ever inclined.
Through all my lonely be
labored day,
his image bears my soul ever away.
Always I have thought some far distant day
would reverse my restless mind another way.
Scene to scene in memory have I tossed,
That somehow from me,
should he be lost.
When sleep tries and closes my searching eyes,
and hope again and again ever denies,
I wake and find in melancholy surprise,
it was but a passing dreaded denial.
Every moon in darkness deserted the sky,
earth, air became deadly impure,
every star disappeared and was forever obscured.
His name, his image, his voice, half divine,
shall live forever within this breast of mine.
May God take my love with my last breath,
and release me free for eternity in death.
My life is only a distorted dream,
living without this lover,
never existed,
only gleamed.

I DO FEEL THIS IS A GREAT SIMPLE READ MIXED WITH SOME IN YOUR FACE BLUNT POETRY AND ALSO SIMPLE POETRY THAT IS FOR EVERYONE.

MY RATING:
3 OUT OF 5

MUSE POETRY REVIEWS: PEGASUS BUCHANAN’S CHESTNUT STREET UPDATE

CHESTNUT STREET
1956

AUTHOR:

PEGASUS BUCHANAN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

SHE GREW UP IN EAST LANSING MICHIGAN AND SHE SIGNED HER NAME AS PEGGY PERRY. SHE ATTENDED MICHIGAN STATE COLLEGE AND WORKED IN THE ART DEPARTMENT AS A MODEL. SHE MIXED HER POETRY INTO HER PHOTOGRAPHIC MODELING. SHE STATED THAT CHESTNUT STREET IS EVERYWHERE, "EVERY CITY HAS A CHESTNUT STREET." AN INTERESTING THING TO NOTE IS WAS ALWAYS WITH HER, AT AGE SEVEN SHE WROTE THE:

"TALE OF A RABIT"

Little bunnys dont, i think,

Like to have there noses pink.

That is why youle allways finde them

Wareing pouder puffs behinde them.

THE WORLD AT THAT TIME PRE 1956 BEFORE THE PUBLISHING OF THIS BOOK DID NOT ACKNOWLEDGE HER EFFORT AS A POETRY WRITER. SHE MOVED FORWARD NO MATTER WHAT AND HER FAMILY SUPPORTED HER. SHE WOULD SOON BE RECOGNIZED AS A GRADE SCHOOL'S POET LAUREATE AND ALSO THIS LED TO HER POETRY BEGIN PUBLISHED IN NEWSPAPERS AND PERIODICALS, AND THEN SHE MOVED UP THE CHAIN IN BIGGER MAGAZINES THAT BROUGHT NATIONWIDE ATTENTION TO HER GENIUS WAYS.

PRAISE:

"This is an exceedingly human collection of poems, understanding of the pleasures and pains of people. Chestnut Street is neither Easy Street nor Skid Row, it is Our Street, the home address of most of us. The poems capture the common emotions in such relationships as that of husband to wife, mother to child, boy to dog, through the cycle of seasons making up a year. Avoiding the twin errors of obscurity and sentimentality, the poet is pleasantly unpretentious, and capable of introducing a touch of humor when it is needed. The point of view is that of a woman, but a woman who, being also a poet, can give expression to the little satisfactions that add up to the good life." --Richard Armour (1906;1988) was an American poet and author who wrote over sixty five books.

"Pegasus Buchanan evidences in her work unusual humanity participation, compassion for the weak, and a realistic empathy for the strong." -- Jack Woodford (1894–1971) was a successful pulp novelist and non-fiction author of the 1930s and 1940s.

MY REVIEW AND THOUGHTS:

THIS IS A WONDERFUL QUICK READ. THIS BOOK HAS WHAT GREAT VIVID IMAGE POETRY IS ABOUT. THIS HAS SIMPLE POETRY AND I MEAN THAT IN A GOOD WAY. THIS BOOK CAN BE FOR EVERYBODY. IT'S A BOOK THAT GRABS THE READER BECAUSE YOU CAN UNDERSTAND IT WITHOUT HAVING TO ROCK YOUR BRAIN ON WHAT SHE WAS SAYING. THIS BOOK WAS FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1956 AND I HAVE TO SAY I WAS VERY AMAZED WITH IT.

IT FELT GREAT, IT WAS POETRY I COULD RELATE TO AND KNOW AS A PERSONAL BASIS. ALL THE POEMS HAVE THE THEME CHESTNUT STREET INVOLVED WITH THEM AND ITS INTERESTING TO SEE HOW MANY POEMS SHE GOT OUT OF IT ON THAT SAME SUBJECT. THE POETRY FLOWS IN SIMPLE TONES WITH MASSIVE STORY TELLING IN WORDS THAT BECOME IMAGES. EVEN THOUGH I HAVE NEVER BEEN THERE BEFORE, I FELT APART OF CHESTNUT STREET THAT'S HOW WELL PACED AND WRITTEN THE POETRY IS.

A LOT OF PEOPLE MIGHT NOT GET THIS BOOK BUT I FEEL THE BOOK CAPTURES THE BEAUTY OF WATCHING YOUR SURROUNDINGS AND MAKING THEM INTO GREAT POETRY READS. IT RUNS 96 PAGES AND I READ IT UNDER TWO HOURS TIME THAT'S HOW QUICK IT FLOWED. I EVEN WENT BACK AND READ CERTAIN POEMS TWICE TO GET THE WHOLE EFFECT OF WHAT THE POEM WAS ABOUT. BUCHANAN HAS A UNIQUE STYLE OF WRITING THAT EXPRESSES WHAT SHE WANTS TO SAY.
MY CHOICE OF BEST POEM IN THE BOOK, I REALLY LOVED MOST OF THEM BUT THE ONE THAT I FELL IN LOVE WITH IS CALLED:

AUGUST NIGHT

The night descends at last on Chestnut Street,

But there is no reprisal from the heat,

And steaming houses crouch, devoid of light,

As Betty Landon's phonograph drones on

Above the muffled talk from porch and lawn.

The scent of fresh-cut grass cavorts with sweat,

And now and then a match, a cigarette,

Discloses a position here and there.

Old Mrs. Radcliff's front-porch rocking chair

Creaks slowly back and forth, it's rhythm wrong

To blend with Betty Landon's droning song

That wails forlorn with drunken, savage beat--

Akin to darkness, a akin to heat.

A flash of lightning zig-zags through the sky

And hurls it's thunder earthward. Now a cry

Of victory is echoed down the street

As all rejoice and scramble to their feet.

Deliriously gay, and not quite sane,

They touch and taste the miracle of rain.

The lights flash on in houses. Windows slam.

The rain streaks down as through some skyway dam

Had burst above the trees of Chestnut Street,

Releasing heaven's saltless sea, to beat

With unrelenting fury, endlessly.

But wait ... the sky grows hushed ... and suddenly

The stars are back again. the night lies fair,

And crystal streamlets glimmer everywhere,

Cascading gaily over curb and hill ...

And betty Landon's phonograph is still.

SADLY THIS BOOK HAS NOT BEEN RELEASED IN RECENT BOOK FORM. YOU CAN FIND IT AT USED BOOK STORES AND ALSO THERE ARE SOME LISTINGS ON AMAZON.COM FOR IT, USED THROUGH BUYERS. I THINK THIS IS A GREAT READ AND A BOOK THAT SHOULD BE READ MORE AND LOVED LIKE I DID. IT'S A CLASSIC POETRY WRITTEN BOOK THAT YOU REALLY DON'T SEE ANYMORE AND I REALLY WISH FOR IT TO COME OUT IN A NEW BOOK FORM.

MY RATING:
4 OUT OF 5

MUSE POETRY REVIEWS: CAMPBELL MCGRATH'S PAX ATOMICA POEMS

PAX ATOMICA POEMS

AUTHOR:CAMPBELL MCGRATH

PRAISE:"If you've ever been down the Las Vegas strip of Disney World's Main Street USA, you may have noticed, mingled in your predictable disgust, a strong and surprising current of joy, even awe. That's McGrath's territory, right there, the place where your frustration with American culture has gone so far that it meets your sheer love of it coming from the opposite direction." --Joel Brouwer, Parnassus

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

HE HAS PUBLISHED FIVE OTHER BOOKS: CAPITALISM, AMERICAN NOISE, SPRING COMES TO CHICAGO, ROAD ATLAS AND FLORIDA POEMS.


HIS AWARDS INCLUDE THE KINGSLEY TUFTS PRIZE AND FELLOWSHIPS FROM THE GUGGENHEIM AND MACARTHUR FOUNDATIONS. HE TEACHES IN THE CREATIVE WRITING PROGRAM AT FLORIDA INTERNATIONAL UNIVERSITY IN MIAMI.


MY REVIEW AND THOUGHTS:


I WANTED TO LIKE THIS BOOK SO MUCH. WHEN I STARTED READING IT, IT FELT SO FRESH AND NEW THAT IT SPARKED MY ATTENTION AND THEN AS I MOVED ON FROM ONE POEM TO THE OTHER I FELT LIKE I WAS CONFUSED AND ALSO LET DOWN. WHEN I READ POETRY I WANT TO LOOK AT THE WHOLE PICTURE OF IT. NOT JUST THE NOW BUT ALSO THE FUTURE. TO ME POETRY IS APART OF LIFE AND IT'S RICH AND IT MEANS SOMETHING AND TO ME ITS A PERSONAL PART OF WRITING HISTORY. I THINK THE WORST THING IN THE WORLD IS LOST WORDS. WHAT I LOOK AT IS, IS THIS POETRY GOING TO TRANSCEND TIME OR EVEN THE NOW. WHAT I MEAN BY THAT IS 30 TO 50 YEARS DOWN THE ROAD WILL PEOPLE BE READING THIS LIKE THEY READ FROST OF WHITMAN OR WILL IT END UP LOST FOREVER WHICH TO ME IS SO SAD THAT IT HURTS MY HEART. ALSO IS THIS POETRY BOOK ABLE TO BE HELD NOW AND READ BY PEOPLE.


THIS BOOK IS ON THAT LINE THAT I FEEL IT MIGHT NOT TRANSCEND TIME OR EVEN IN TODAY'S CULTURE. WHEN YOU READ AN OLDER POETRY BOOK ONE HAS TO SET THERE MIND INTO THAT TIME PERIOD BECAUSE HALF OF THE WORDS OR SUBJECT THEY USE PEOPLE DON'T KNOW OR USE ANYMORE AND I WOULD EXPECT TO HAVE TO ROCK MY BRAIN WITH THOSE POEMS BECAUSE THERE OLDER. WITH THIS BOOK I REALLY FOUND MYSELF HAVING TO FLIP THROUGH A DICTIONARY AND ALSO LOOK UP SOME SUBJECTS ONLINE TO UNDERSTAND WHAT HE WAS TALKING ABOUT. I THINK THAT IS ONE BAD IDEA THAT A LOT OF WRITERS DON'T TAKE INTO THERE MIND SET THAT NOT ALL PEOPLE ARE GOING TO UNDERSTAND PERSONAL SUBJECTS OF WHAT YOUR DESCRIBING. SOME WILL SAY THAT'S READING THIS WELL THAT IS WHAT THEY WANTED TO TALK ABOUT AND THEY DON'T CARE ABOUT THE READER, WELL THEN YOU SHOULD NOT BE WRITING A BOOK IF YOU DON'T WANT READERS, THAT IS WHAT WRITING IS ABOUT TO EXPRESS YOURSELF FOR OTHERS. IT'S WRITTEN WORD TO BE READ. THIS BOOK MADE ME HAVE A HEADACHE TO BE HONEST I DID NOT UNDERSTAND HALF OF IT AND SOME READERS MIGHT MAYBE IT'S JUST ME, AND THAT'S WONDERFUL IF YOU DO LIKE IT BUT FOR ME THE GREATEST POETRY BOOKS ARE BOOKS ALL CAN READ AND FROM START TO FINISH, THEY MIGHT NOT HAVE TO LIKE IT BUT AT LEAST THEY CAN READ IT.


LET ME EXPRESS WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT. HE USES WORDS LIKE:


ZEUGMA, XEROPHAGY WHICH AFTER LOOKING UP MEANS DRY EATING, XOANON, ABECEDARIAN, TRAVERTINE, CHALCEDONY, KLIEG, I DON'T CLAIM TO BE SOME GENIUS BUT I DO KNOW HOW TO READ AND WRITE AND LOVE BOOKS, THAT IS WHAT I DO THE MOST IS READ AND WRITE AND SO I JUST FELT LIKE THE WRITER HERE WAS LOOKING THROUGH A DICTIONARY FOR WORDS AND NOT THINKING IF ANYBODY ELSE WAS GOING TO UNDERSTAND IT.


THERE IS PART IN THE POEM JACK GILBERT WHICH IS:


Take a chisel to the mountainside - basalt, gabbro, porphyry


I AM LIKE WHAT. AFTER LOOKING IT UP I UNDERSTOOD IT BECAUSE THEY ARE ROCKS. I FELT HE WROTE THIS BOOK FOR PEOPLE WHO SPEND THERE TIME IN COLLEGE OR SEEK OUT WORDS THAT NO ONE IN EVERYDAY LIFE USES. I DON'T WANT TO SOUND SO MEAN BUT THIS BOOK IS GREAT AT ONE POINT WITH THE SIMPLE TYPE POEMS HE HAS AND THEN THEY ARE PUSHED INTO SOME DEEP WORD DICTIONARY INVESTMENT.


ONE THING I FIND WITH HIS WRITING IS HIS POEMS SEEM TO NOT END IN CERTAIN ONES. I DON'T KNOW IF THAT WAS MEANT TO BE OR IF IT WAS BY ACCIDENT BUT WHATEVER THE CASE I FELT VERY CONFUSED WITH THIS BOOK. HE IS A MASTER AT WORDS I REALLY ENJOYED THAT ASPECT BUT IN THE END WORDS HAVE TO FLOW OR AT LEAST MEAN SOMETHING TO THE READER TO UNDERSTAND. I HONESTLY THOUGHT AT ONE TIME I WAS READING A DIRECTIONS BOOK OR A TEXT BOOK.

THE POEM FROM THE BOOK I ENJOYED WAS ON PAGE 1-3 OR AT LEAST THE POEM I FELT MADE A MARK IN POETRY HISTORY. IT'S RICH WITH IMAGES AND HAS A BEAUTIFUL TALE THAT WORKS SO WELL FOR THE READER AND JUST GRABS THE MIND AND PLACES YOU THERE. I REALLY LOVED THIS POEM.



Girl with Blue Plastic Radio



The first song I ever heard was "The Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde."
There was a girl at the playground with a portable radio,
lying in the grass near the swing set,
beyond the sun-lustred aluminum slide,
kicking her bare feet in the air,
her painted toenails—toes
the color of blueberries, rug burns, yellow pencils, Grecian urns.
This would be when—1966? No,
later, '67 or '68. And no,
it was not the very first song I ever heard,
but the first that invaded my consciousness in that elastically joyous
way music does, the first whose lyrics I tried to learn,
my first communication from the gigawatt voice
of the culture—popular culture,
mass culture, our culture—
kaboom!—raw voltage embraced for the sheer thrill of getting juiced.
Who wrote that song? When was it recorded, and by whom?
Melody lost in the database of the decades
but still playing somewhere in the mainframe cerebellums
of its dandelion-chained,
banana-bike-riding,
Kool-Aid-addled listeners,
still echoing within the flesh and blood mausoleums
of us, me, we, them, the self-same blades
of wind-sown crabgrass spoken of and to by Whitman,
and who could believe it would still matter
decades or centuries later, in a new millennium,
matter what we listened to,
what we ate and watched, matter
that it was "rock 'n roll," for so we knew to call it,
matter that there were hit songs, girls, TVs, fallout shelters.
Who was she, her with the embroidered blue jeans and bare feet,
toenails gilded with cryptic bursts of color?
She is archetypal, pure form, but no less believable for that.
Her chords still resonate, her artifacts have endured
so little changed as to need no archeological translation.
She was older than me, worldly and self-assured.
She was, already, a figure of erotic fascination.
She knew the words and sang the choruses
and I ran over from the sandbox to listen
to a world she cradled in one hand, transistorized oracle,
blue plastic embodiment of our neo-Space Age ethos.
The hulls of our Apollonian rocket ships were as yet unbarnacled
and we still found box turtles in the tall weeds and mossy grass
by the little creek not yet become what it was all becoming
in the wake of yellow earth-movers, that is:
suburbia. Alive, vibrant, unself-consciously evolving,
something new beneath the nuclear sun,
something new in the acorn-scented dark.
Lived there until I was seven in a cinder block garden
apartment. My prefab haven, my little duplex ark.
And the name of our subdivision was
Americana Park.



SO WITH ALL THE NEGATIVE AND SOME POSITIVE I HAVE SAID, I WILL LEAVE THIS UP TO THE READER TO SEE IF THEY LIKE IT. I REALLY DID NOT OR LEAST DID NOT LIKE TO HAVE TO PAUSE AND PICK A DICTIONARY UP TO UNDERSTAND WHAT WAS BEING SAID.

MY RATING:
2 OUT OF 5