September 22: Poet of the Week, Terry Godbey, "Bully"

I'm back at home.  The bathroom is clean.  My lunch is made.  My son is asleep, and a rerun of The Big Bang Theory is on the TV.  I'm finally a little relaxed.  That doesn't mean I'm not worried about my son pounding some other kid's face into hamburger on the playground.  Or the classroom.  Or the school bus.  I'm just sitting down with my feet up, worrying about my son pounding some other kid's face into hamburger.

My Poet of the Week has a poem about bullying.  It comes from her collection Beauty Lessons.  I've written about Terry Godbey before.  She's funny, with lines that are razor-sharp.  You're in for a great week of poems.

Saint Marty promises.

Bully

by:  Terry Godbey

You lay in wait like a spider.  Carol Hatchett,
came at me snarling after school, kicked
the air with your spindly-legs, called me chicken.
I kept walking, my fear disguised as disgust,
arranged around me, like a magician's cape.
Now I picture you dead, buckled
under the weight of your demons,
perhaps flattened like a cartoon character
under the wheels of a furniture truck
or struck by lightning
as you opened your umbrella at the bus stop,
finally learning what it feels like
to be singled out--your black eyes
staring at the sky, lashes shaggy
with mascara, dark puddles of quicksand
that consumed anyone who fell in.

Hamburger anyone?

November 3: Once Upon a Time, Good Reads, New Cartoon

Once upon a time--of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve--old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house...

With these words, Charles Dickens basically kicks off A Christmas Carol.  Those words ("once upon a time") are a signal to readers.  A story is coming.  A tale is going to be told.  We are all trained as children to expect dragons and fairy godmothers and ghosts when we hear those words.  Dickens give us a whole bevy of spirits to satisfy our fairy tale natures.  We all, as human beings, love to be told stories.  It's as much a part of our make-ups as eye or hair color.  It's in our DNA.

Today is Good Reads day.  I will be talking about a book I love.  It may be a novel or collection of short stories or compilation of poems.  Whatever strikes my fancy. 

This week, I want to talk about poetry.  I received a book of poems by Terry Godbey for my birthday.  Beauty Lessons is a stunning collection, full of the pain of childhood, the wars of adult life.  Literally, some of the poems in this collection take my breath away.  Mostly narrative, these poems tell stories of growing up, of learning what it takes to move from girlhood to womanhood.  At times, the poems are wistful.  At times, the poems are brutal.  Always, the poems connect the reader to the fragile tapestry of human existence.  Through her work, Godbey reminds us of our common need for connection and love, and the terrible/wonderful cost of that connection.

I would like to include one of my favorite poems from the collection here.  It's a poem about connection, again.  A poem about mothers.  A poem about love and loss.

Two Mothers Stranded in the World

She circles, distraught and loud,
and like any expectant mother
displays an unfortunate waddle.
Behind her, a man emerges from the lake,
shoes and shins dripping,
holding her glistening oval
found on a lily pad
where it lay like a woman sunning.
He places it in the nest and she tests it gently
with her webbed foot, sits down
and settles in.  Finally, explanation,
a boy had sailed the egg
into water two hours earlier.
The goose shuts her eyes, complete.
All around the air sighs with us,
and crape myrtle blossoms
fall feathery at our feet.
A woman breaks the silence:
"My son is going to Iraq.
We're pretty torn up about it,
but if the goose got her baby back,
that means I'll get mine back too,"
her voice thin as an eggshell,
and cracking.

With her poems, Terry Godbey tells stories that break your heart, over and over.

That's the word on words from Saint Marty.

Confessions of Saint Marty