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Saturday, April 19, 2014

National Poetry Month, Day 19: Blurred lines

For Easter, we turn to Gerard Manley Hopkins,


Cloud-puffball, torn tufts, tossed pillows | flaunt forth, then chevy on an air-
Built thoroughfare: heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs | they throng; they glitter in marches.
Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, | wherever an elm arches,
Shivelights and shadowtackle ín long | lashes lace, lance, and pair.
Delightfully the bright wind boisterous | ropes, wrestles, beats earth bare
Of yestertempest's creases; | in pool and rut peel parches
Squandering ooze to squeezed | dough, crust, dust; stanches, starches
Squadroned masks and manmarks | treadmire toil there
Footfretted in it. Million-fuelèd, | nature's bonfire burns on.
But quench her bonniest, dearest | to her, her clearest-selvèd spark
Man, how fast his firedint, | his mark on mind, is gone!
Both are in an unfathomable, all is in an enormous dark
Drowned. O pity and indig | nation! Manshape, that shone
Sheer off, disseveral, a star, | death blots black out; nor mark
                            Is any of him at all so stark
But vastness blurs and time | beats level. Enough! the Resurrection,
A heart's-clarion! Away grief's gasping, | joyless days, dejection.
                            Across my foundering deck shone
A beacon, an eternal beam. | Flesh fade, and mortal trash
Fall to the residuary worm; | world's wildfire, leave but ash:
                            In a flash, at a trumpet crash,
I am all at once what Christ is, | since he was what I am, and
This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, | patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,
                            Is immortal diamond.

And over at the Writer's Digest Poem a Day challenge:
... pick a color, make the color the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. You can make your poem black, white, red, purple, turquoise, puce, or whatever your heart desires. And the subject of your poem can cover any topic–as long as you’ve plugged a color into the title. Let’s do this!
'Color' is a mighty broad assignment and worst of all, all I could think of was Garcia Lorca, 'Green, how I desire you, green. / Green wind. Green branches. / The ship upon the sea / and the horse in the mountains....' It's a great thing to have in one's head and dear God it sounds even better in Spanish but holy cow. How do you beat it? You don't. You take something old and make it better and say, what the hell.

indigo

tonight we dreamed Monet to fly
across the senescent twilight
smudge the sliver silver moon
with paint and purple impasto
a dim smear of light
broad brush the clouds
a mosaic with sunset palette
throw the stars, carelessly,
across the new night sky

We began strong with Gerard Manley Hopkins, segued beautifully into Garcia Lorca, but need to recover from the descent into indigo. George can do it:

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