The tendency is for viewers of this site to read for a while and pass on quietly – so it is rare I receive comments or thoughts on the postings or poems. But in the spirit of counteracting this trend I pose a question to readers both regular and not. Over the past two months a fair amount of traffic has come to poem.oftheweek.org due to searches for E.E. Cummings’ “as freedom is a breakfast food”. A month ago there were 60 unique hits on that page – certainly an oddity for potw.org. Why is this? The poem does not seem to have cropped up in the zeitgeist recently in any significant way that I have noticed. My hope is that one of these searchers will pause on this post to answer, but all readers are welcome to hypothesize (my current theory is that questions on the American high school AP English test may have centered around this poem, though I have have no verification).
Link Friday – Recession? What Recession? Poets are already broke.
NPR brings an interesting angle to the current economic discussion. Noting that while publishing is in a tailspin, poetry publishing is relatively sheltered, being used to living on scraps. So next time your parents flip out that you live on ramen noodles and scribble words on scraps of paper, you can gently remind them that they’ll be joining you soon enough.
The above site also provides a link to a Planet Money Haiku contest. I think my favorite is the following:
Technical writer
Moved to the Haiku Department —
Still paid by the word.
–Thomas Lanaghan
Link Tuesday – National Poetry Month, Poets play baseball and graduate Nixon

The site has been quiet recently – lots going on. But we certainly couldn’t let National Poetry Month pass us by. Since April has been so named it gives news organizations license to run their “special interest” pieces. We certainly could never hope (nor wish) to link to all of them, but you will find a few. And if over the course of the month you come across particular sites or stories of interest, please share them. Now read on for assorted and sundry links!
- Poem in Your Pocket Day. About what it sounds like. On April 30th various organizations encourage you to carry a poem in your pocket – share it with your friends. I think the most famous example of someone carrying a poem in his (or her) pocket was Percy Shelley – supposedly he had Keats’ poetry in his shirt pocket on the day Shelley drowned. So, there’s that (link courtesy of nataline).
- So Thursday (4/23) is Shakespeare’s birthday. Cool. Apparently people are encouraging Talk Like Shakespeare Day to celebrate this. p.otw.org will not be participating.
- NPR has been doing a number of poetry stories recently (no doubt tied to NaPoMo). Here’s one that discusses performing Wendell Berry’s work. Wish we could have seen the performance.
- And unrelated to anything at all – faithful reader johnlos alerts us to the existence of the Whittier College Poets. As he notes in his email, “Whittier College is probably most famous for being where Richard Nixon went to undergrad. For some reason their athletics aren’t very well known…” Alas.
from Helen in Egypt – H.D.
[audio:helen.mp3] (3:32)
excerpt read by H.D. audio from Poetry Speaks: Expanded.
3
…
few were the words we said,
nor knew each other,
nor asked, are you Spirit?
are you sister? are you brother?
are you alive?
are you dead?
the harpers will sing forever
of how Achilles met Helen
among the shades,
but we were not, we are not shadows;
as we walk, heel and sole
leave our sandal-prints in the sand,
though the wounded heel treads lightly
and more lightly follow,
the purple sandals.
…
The Sightseers – Paul Muldoon
[audio:sightseers.mp3] (1:04)
read by Paul Muldoon. audio from paulmuldoon.net
My father and mother, my brother and sister
and I, with uncle Pat, our dour best-loved uncle,
had set out that Sunday afternoon in July
in his broken-down Ford
not to visit some graveyard—one died of shingles,
one of fever, another’s knees turned to jelly—
but the brand-new roundabout at Ballygawley,
the first in mid-Ulster.
Uncle Pat was telling us how the B-Specials
had stopped him one night somewhere near Ballygawley
and smashed his bicycle
and made him sing the Sash and curse the Pope of Rome.
They held a pistol so hard against his forehead
there was still the mark of an O when he got home.
