“I'm
trying to write poems that involve beginning at a known place, and ending up at
a slightly different place. I'm trying to take a little journey from one place
to another, and it's usually from a realistic place, to a place in the
imagination.” – Billy Collins
The two-time poet laureate of the
U.S., Collins has a basketful of awards for his wonderful poetry – which ranges
from humorous to thought-provoking to deeply moving.
Collins’ latest book of poems – his
16th – is titled The Rain in
Portugal – “because it’s a lot harder to rhyme things with Portugal than it
is with Spain, and rain falls there, too.” Collins reads some of his latest poems on the Nov. 12th edition of “A Prairie Home Companion,” on which he was
a guest.
To listen, go to this link https://www.prairiehome.org/shows/53089, click on the “Listen” button and advance the bar to the 51-minute mark, where he comes onto the stage. You will not regret hearing him and a few minutes of his trio of short poems: “On Rhyme," “After the Funeral,” and “Thanksgiving.”
And, since we witnessed the Super Moon this past week,
for Saturday’s Poem, here is Collins’
Invention
To listen, go to this link https://www.prairiehome.org/shows/53089, click on the “Listen” button and advance the bar to the 51-minute mark, where he comes onto the stage. You will not regret hearing him and a few minutes of his trio of short poems: “On Rhyme," “After the Funeral,” and “Thanksgiving.”
And, since we witnessed the Super Moon this past week,
for Saturday’s Poem, here is Collins’
Invention
Tonight the moon is a
cracker,
with a bite out of it
floating in the night,
and in a week or so
according to the calendar
it will probably look
like a silver football,
and nine, maybe ten days ago
it reminded me of a thin bright claw.
But eventually --
by the end of the month,
I reckon --
it will waste away
to nothing,
nothing but stars in the sky,
and I will have a few nights
to myself,
a little time to rest my jittery pen.
with a bite out of it
floating in the night,
and in a week or so
according to the calendar
it will probably look
like a silver football,
and nine, maybe ten days ago
it reminded me of a thin bright claw.
But eventually --
by the end of the month,
I reckon --
it will waste away
to nothing,
nothing but stars in the sky,
and I will have a few nights
to myself,
a little time to rest my jittery pen.
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