Good Poems

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Description

A selection of meaningful and enjoyable poems to inspire and be enjoyed by everyoneHere is an anthology of poems, chosen by Garrison Keillor for their wit, their frankness, their passion, their “utter clarity in the face of everything else a person has to deal with at 7 a.m.” Good Poems includes verse organized by theme about lovers, children, failure, everyday life, death, and transcendance. It features the work of classic poets, such as Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, and Robert Frost, as well as the work of contemporary greats such as Howard Nemerov, Charles Bukowski, Donald Hall, Billy Collins, Robert Bly, and Sharon Olds. It’s a book of poems for anybody who loves poetry whether they know it or not.

Additional information

Weight 0.5 kg
Dimensions 3.28 × 13.47 × 19.82 cm
book-author1

,

Format

Paperback

Language

Pages

504

Publisher

Year Published

2003-8-26

Imprint

Publication City/Country

USA

ISBN 10

0142003441

About The Author

Garrison Keillor, author of nearly a dozen books, is founder and host of the acclaimed radio show A Prairie Home Companion and the daily program The Writer's Almanac. He is also a regular contributor to Time magazine.

"A pretty dandy candy jar. The range of poets is wide, the tone is unpretentious, and the poems are all . . . good." (San Francisco Chronicle)"These are poems to live in comfort with all one's life." (Booklist)"[Keillor is] Will Rogers with grammar lessons, Aesop with no ax to grind, the common man's MoliFre." (The Houston Chronicle)

Table Of Content

Good PoemsIntroduction1. O LordPoem in Thanks—Thomas LuxHow Many Nights—Galway KinnelWelcome Morning—Anne SextonPsalm 23—from The Bay Psalm BookAt Least—Raymond CarverAddress to the Lord—John BerrymanO Karma, Dharma, pudding and pie—Philip ApplemanPsalm—Reed WhittemorePsalm 121—Michael WigglesworthWhen one has lived a long time alone—Galway KinnellHome on the Range—AnonymousWhat I Want Is—C. G. Hanzlicek2. A DaySummer Morning—Charles SimicOtherwise—Jane KenyonPoem About Morning—William MeredithLiving—Denise LevertovAnother Spring—Kenneth RexrothMorning Person—Vassar MillerRoutine—Arthur GuitermanThe Life of a Day—Tom HennenFor My Son, Noah, Ten Years Old—Robert BlyI've known a Heaven, like a Tent—Emily DickinsonLetter to N.Y.—Elizabeth BishopDilemna—David Budbillfrom Song of Myself—Walt WhitmanNew Yorkers—Edward FieldSoaking Up Sun—Tom HennenLate Hours—Lisel Mueller3. MusicScrambled Eggs and Whiskey—Hayden CarruthMehitabel's Song—Don MarquisNightclub—Billy CollinsAlley Violinist—Robert LaxCradle Song—Jim SchleyHer Door—Mary LeaderThe Pupil—Donald JusticePiano—D. H. LawrenceInsrument of Choice—Robert PhillipsHomage: Doo-Wop—Joseph StroudThe Persistence of Song—Howard MossOoly Pop a Cow—David HuddleElevator Music—Henry TaylorThe Grain of Sound—Robert MorganI Will Make You Brooches—Robert Louis StevensonThe Dance—C. K. WilliamsThe Investment—Robert FrostThe Dumka—B. H. FairchildThe Green Street Mortuary Marching Band—Lawrence Ferlinghetti4. ScenesPoem to Be Read at 3 A.M.—Donald JusticeThe Swimming Pool—Thomas LuxDostoevsky—Charles BukowskiAfter a Movie—Henry TaylorSummer Storm—Dana GioiaWoolworth's—Mark IrwinWorked Late on a Tuesday Night—Deborah GarrisonThe Farmhouse—Reed Whittemorewrist-wrestling father—Orval LundYorkshiremen in Pub Gardens—Gavin EwartNoah—Roy Daniells5. LoversA Red, Red Rose—Robert BurnsWhen I Heard at the Close of Day—Walt WhitmanFirst Love—John ClareHe Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven—W. B. YeatsSonnet—C. B. TrailPolitics—W. B. YeatsMagellan Street, 1974—Maxine KuminAnimals—Frank O'HaraLending Out Books—Hal SirowitzThe Changed Man—Robert PhillipsThe Constant North—J. F. HendryOn the Strength of All Conviction and the Stamina of Love—Jennifer Michael HechtThe Loft—Richard JonesThis Is Just to Say—William Carlos WilliamsThis Is Just to Say—Erica-Lynn GambinoVenetian Air—Thomas MooreSummer Morning—Louis SimpsonComin thro' the Rye—Robert BurnsTopograhy—Sharon OldsSaturday Morning—Hugo WilliamsFlight—Louis JenkinsAt Twenty-Three Weeks She Can No Longer See Anything South of Her Belly—Thom WardFor the Life of Him and Her—Reed WhittemoreRomantics—Lisel MuellerDown in the Valley—AnonymousThe Middle Years—Walter McDonaldWinter Winds Cold and Blea…—John Claresince feeling is first—e. e. cummingsVergissmeinnicht—Keith DouglasSonnet XLIII What lips my lips have kissed—Edna St. Vincent MillayAfter the Argument—Stephen DunnThe Orange—Wendy CopeSusquehanna—Liz RosenbergFarm Wife—R. S. ThomasAfter Forty Years of Marriage, She Tries a New Recipe for Hamburger Hot Dish—Leo DangelThose Who Love—Sara TeasdaleQuietly—Kenneth RexrothFor C.W.B.—Elizabeth BishopShorelines—Howard MossPrayer for a Marriage—Steve ScafidiThe Master Speed—Robert FrostBonnard's Nudes—Raymond Carver6. Day's WorkHappiness—Raymond CarverHoeing—John UpdikeSome Details of Hebridean House Construction—Thomas A. ClarkRelations—Philip BoothWhat I Learned from My Mother—Julia KasdorfTo be of use—Marge PiercyNo Tool or Rope or Pail—Bob ArnoldOx Cart Man—Donald HallGirl on a Tractor—Joyce SutphenSoybeans—Thomas Alan OrrLanding Pattern—Philip ApplemanMae West—Edward FieldHay for the Horses—Gary Snyder7. Sons and DaughtersMasterworks of Ming—Kay RyanBess—Linda PastanA Little Tooth—Thomas LuxSonnet XXXVII—William ShakespeareEgg—C. G. HanzlicekRolls-Royce Dreams—Ginger AndrewsMy Life Before I Knew It—Lawrence RaabAfter Work—Richard JonesI Stop Writing the Poem—Tess GallagherFranklin Hyde—Hilaire BellocManners—Elizabeth BishopSeptember, the First Day of School—Howard NemerovFirst Lesson—Philip BoothChildhood—Barbara RasWaving Good-Bye—Gerald SternFamily Reunion—Maxine Kumin8. LanguageA Primer of the Daily Round—Howard NemerovThe Possessive Case—Lisel MuellerThe Icelandic Language—Bill HolmThe Fantastic Names of Jazz—Hayden CarruthOde to the Medieval Poets—W. H. AudenSweater Weather—Sharon Bryan9. A Good LifeWe grow accustomed to the Dark—Emily DickinsonA Ritual to Read to Each Other—William StaffordCourage—Anne SextonSometimes—Sheenagh PughLeisure—W. H. Daviesthe way it is now—Charles BukowskiA Secret Life—Stephen DunnLost—David WagonerSonnet XXV—William ShakespeareThe Eel in the Cave—Robert BlyWild Geese—Mary OliverFrom the Manifesto of the Selfish—Stephen DunnHope—Lisel MuellerThe Three Goals—David BudbillVermeer—Howard NemerovRepression—C. K. WilliamsWeather—Linda PastanModeration Is Not a Negation of Intensity, But Helps Avoid Monotony—John TagliabueTell all the Truth but tell it slant—Emily DickinsonThe Props assist the House…—Emily Dickinson10. BeastsLittle Citizen, Little Survivor—Hayden CarruthHer First Calf—Wendell BerryBats—Randall JarrellRiding Lesson—Henry TaylorWalking the Dog—Howard NemerovThe Excrement Poem—Maxine KuminStanza IV from Coming of Age—Ursula LeguinDestruction—Joanne KygerHow to See Deer—Philip BoothDog's Death—John UpdikeNames of Horses—Donald HallBison Crossing Near Mt. Rushmore—May Swenson11. FailureSuccess is counted sweetest…—Emily DickinsonSolitude—Ella Wheeler WilcoxThe first time I remember—Wendell BerryOur Lady of the Snows—Robert HassThe British Museum Reading Room—Louis MacNeiceThe Bare Arms of Trees—John TagliabueThe Sailor—Geof HewittA Place for Everything—Louis JenkinsThe Feast—Robert HassNobody Knows You—Jimmie Coxthe last song—Charles Bukowski12. ComplaintThe Forsaken Wife—Elizabeth ThomasConfession—Stephen DobynsLiving in the Body—Joyce SutphenTired As I Can Be—Bessie JacksonThe Iceberg Theory—Gerald LocklinManifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front—Wendell BerryA Bookmark—Tom Dischpoetry readings—Charles BukowskiPublication—is the Auction…—Emily Dickinson13. TripsOnce in the 40s—William Staffordlines from Moby Dick—Herman MelvilleRain Travel—W. S. Merwinwhere we are—Gerald LocklinExcelsior—Henry Wadsworth LongfellowOn a Tree Fallen Across the Road—Robert FrostA Walk Along the Old Tracks—Robert KinsleyPassengers—Billy CollinsThe Walloping Window-Blind—Charles Edward CarrylThe Vacation—Wendell BerryDirections—Joseph StroudPostscript—Seamus HeaneyNight Journey—Theodore RoethkeWaiting—Raymond Carver14. SnowNew Hampshire—Howard MossTo fight aloud…—Emily DickinsonDecember Moon—May SartonYear's End— Richard WilburThe Snow Man—Wallace StevensJanuary—Baron Wormserin celebration of surviving—Chuck MillerHer Long Illness—Donal HallRequiescat—Oscar WildeThe Sixth of January—David BudbillNot Only the Eskimos—Lisel MuellerBoy at the Window—Richard WilburWinter Poem—Frederick MorganLester Tells of Wanda and the Big Snow—Paul ZimmerOld Boards—Robert BlyMarch Blizzard—John Tagliabue15. YellowElvis Kissed Me—T. S. KerriganStepping Out of Poetry—Gerald SternI shall keep singing!—Emily DickinsonSong to Onions—Roy Blount, Jr.O Luxury—Guy W. LongchampsComing—Kenneth RexrothA Light Left On—May SartonThe Yellow Slicker—Stuart DischellFirst Kiss—April LindnerThe Music One Looks Back On—Stephen Dobyns16. LivesIn a Prominent Bar in Secaucus One Day—X. J. KennedyWho's Who—W. H. AudenThe Portrait—Stanley KunitzParable of the Four-Poster—Erica JongEd—Louis SimpsonMemory—Hayden CarruthLazy—David LeeTestimonial—Harry Newman, Jr.Cathedral Builders—John OrmondThe Village Burglar—AnonymousThe Scandal—Robert BlyAt Last the Secret Is Out—W. H. AudenNight Light—Kate BarnesSir Patrick Spens—Anonymous17. EldersI Go Back to May 1937—Sharon OldsThose Winter Sundays—Robert HaydenThe Old Liberators—Robert HedinTo My Mother—Wendell BerryWorking in the Rain—Robert MorganBirthday Card to My Mother—Philip ApplemanYesterday—W. S. MerwinNo Map—Stephen DobynsMy Mother—Robert MezeyWhen My Dead Father Called—Robert BlyAugust Third—May SartonTerminus—Ralph Waldo Emerson18. The EndAuthorship—James B(al) NaylorYoung and Old—Charles KingsleyShifting the Sun—Diana Der-HovanessianMy Dad's Wallet—Raymond CarverWhen I Am Asked—Lisel MuellerDirge Without Music—Edna St. Vicent MillayMy mother said…—Donald HallDepartures—Linda PastanAs Befits a Man—Langston HughesSunt Leones—Stevie SmithPerfection Wasted—John UpdikeEleanor's Letters—Donald HallDeath and the Turtle—May SartonFour Poems in One—Anne PorterTitanic—David R. SlavittThe Burial of Sir John Moore after Corunna—Charles WolfeKaddish—David IgnatowTwilight: After Haying—Jane KenyonFor the Anniversary of My Death—W. S. Merwinfrom The Old Italians Dying—Lawrence FerlinghettiStreet Ballad—George BarkerLet Evening Come—Jane Kenyon19. The ResurrectionForty-Five—Hayden CarruthA Blessing—James WrightHoly Thursday—William Blakelines from Walden—Henry David ThoreauThe Peace of Wild Things—Wendell BerryFrom Blossoms—Li-Young LeeThe First Green of Spring—David BudhillHere—Grace PaleyThe Lives of the Heart—Jane HirshfieldSpring—Gerard Manley HopkinsFishing in the Keep of Silence—Linda GreggBiographiesName IndexTitle Index

Excerpt From Book

Poem in ThanksThomas LuxLord Whoever, thank you for this airI'm about to in- and exhale, this hutchin the woods, the wood for fire,the light-both lamp and the natural stuffof leaf-back, fern, and wing.For the piano, the shovelfor ashes, the moth-gnawedblankets, the stone-cold waterstone-cold: thank you.Thank you, Lord, coming forto carry me here-where I'll gnashit out, Lord, where I'll calmand work, Lord, thank youfor the goddamn birds singing!How Many NightsGalway KinnellHow many nightshave I lain in terror,O Creator Spirit, Maker of night and day,only to walk outthe next morning over the frozen worldhearing under the creaking of snowfaint, peaceful breaths…snake,bear, earthworm, ant…and above mea wild crow crying 'yaw yaw yaw'from a branch nothing cried from ever in my life.Welcome MorningAnne SextonThere is joyin all:in the hair I brush each morning,in the Cannon towel, newly washed,that I rub my body with each morning,in the chapel of eggs I cookeach morning,in the outcry from the kettlethat heats my coffeeeach morning,in the spoon and the chairthat cry "hello there, Anne"each morning,in the godhead of the tablethat I set my silver, plate, cup uponeach morning.All this is God,right here in my pea-green houseeach morningand I mean,though often forget,to give thanks,to faint down by the kitchen tablein a prayer of rejoicingas the holy birds at the kitchen windowpeck into their marriage of seeds.So while I think of it,let me paint a thank-you on my palmfor this God, this laughter of the morning,lest it go unspoken.The Joy that isn't shared, I've heard,dies young.Psalm 23from The Bay Psalm BookThe Lord to me a shepherd is,want therefore shall not I:He in the folds of tender grass,doth cause me down to lie:To waters calm me gently leadsrestore my soul doth he:He doth in paths of righteousnessfor his name's sake lead me.Yea, though in valley of death's shadeI walk, none ill I'll fear:Because thou art with me, thy rod,and staff my comfort are.For me a table thou hast spread,in presence of my foes:Thou dost anoint my head with oil;my cup it overflows.Goodness and mercy surely shallall my days follow me:And in the Lord's house I shall dwellso long as days shall be.At LeastRaymond CarverI want to get up early one more morning,before sunrise. Before the birds, even.I want to throw cold water on my faceand be at my work tablewhen the sky lightens and smokebegins to rise from the chimneysof the other houses.I want to see the waves breakon this rocky beach, not just hear thembreak as I did all night in my sleep.I want to see again the shipsthat pass through the Strait from everyseafaring country in the world-old, dirty freighters just barely moving along,and the swift new cargo vesselspainted every color under the sunthat cut the water as they pass.I want to keep an eye out for them.And for the little boat that pliesthe water between the shipsand the pilot station near the lighthouse.I want to see them take a man off the shipand put another up on board.I want to spend the day watching this happenand reach my own conclusions.I hate to seem greedy-I have so muchto be thankful for already.But I want to get up early one more morning, at least.And go to my place with some coffee and wait.Just wait, to see what's going to happen.Address to the LordJohn Berryman1Master of beauty, craftsman of the snowflake,inimitable contriver,endower of Earth so gorgeous & different from the boring Moon,thank you for such as it is my gift.I have made up a morning prayer to youcontaining with precision everything that most matters.'According to Thy will' the thing begins.It took me off & on two days. It does not aim at eloquence.You have come to my rescue again & againin my impassable, sometimes despairing years.You have allowed my brilliant friends to destroy themselvesand I am still here, severely damaged, but functioning.Unknowable, as I am unknown to my guinea pigs:How can I 'love' you?I only as far as gratitude & aweconfidently & absolutely go.I have no idea whether we live again.It doesn't seem likelyfrom either the scientific or the philosophical point of viewbut certainly all things are possible to you,and I believe as fixedly in the Resurrection-appearances to Peter andto Paulas I believe I sit in this blue chair.Only that may have been a special caseto establish their initiatory faith.Whatever your end may be, accept my amazement.May I stand until death forever at attentionfor any your least instruction or enlightenment.I even feel sure you will assist me again, Master of insight & beauty.Philip ApplemanO Karma, Dharma, pudding and pie,gimme a break before I die:grant me wisdom, will, & wit,purity, probity, pluck, & grit.Trustworthy, loyal, helpful, kind,gimme great abs & a steel-trap mind,and forgive, Ye Gods, some humble advice-these little blessings would sufficeto beget an earthly paradise:make the bad people good-and the good people nice;and before our world goes over the brink,teach the believers how to think.

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