Entrekin

I’ve read enough reactions on blogs and Twitter that I suspect that having been singularly unimpressed by today’s inaugural poem is not an uncommon reaction. I’m sure Elizabeth Alexander is an otherwise fine writer, and I’m sure the great crowd and the singular historicity of today’s event affected everyone, but whether it was in the delivery or the content, I’ve sensed many people feeling decidedly meh about the poem.

A Twitter friend tweeted that everyone criticizing should try and do better, and then specifically challenged me to write and share when I said I wish I’d been invited, and I thought, you know what?

Gauntlet accepted. Bear in mind, I’ve had a few hours, and would revise, but here’s a start:

“Just One Smile”

It’s his smile.
Of few other presidents or men
Do we remember a smile–
Kennedy’s hair and Nixon’s sweaty brow,
Roosevelt’s bear and hat
(Teddy and Frank, respectively)–
But today we have a smile,
a bright bream
wide as the day is long,
true as words on a page,
genuine as the bills in our pockets
and worth every bit as much as that currency.
If we could fold our lips into our wallets,
exchange them, one man to another,
ours today could be a rich country.
We would worry less about tax cuts and the Dow,
less about how we might pay for our children’s health,
because we would know our smiles can heal.
Our smiles can help.

Just one smile,
sure-placed and sincerely bestowed,
offered without restraint, without caveat,
offered, most important, with warm certainty
of its own return,
can change the world.

Just one smile can turn a global tide
and change a single person’s mood.
Just one smile can be the change
we want to see in the world
and offer to all who receive it
the courage to invest in the audacity of hope.

The power of just one smile
is that it does not belong to one man,
charged on this day to accept the great burden
of leadership and generations–
(bring us your tired, your weak, your poor in spirit).

The power of that one smile is that it inspires mine.
And yours.
And yours and yours.
And yours and yours and yours.

Just one smile inspires all of us
to believe again.
Not in a flag or a country or a world,
but in our own ability to change it,
and to shape it.
To believe again in a dream
of a world in which our character might be our capital
and smiles our currency.

Today, we smile.
Some through emotional tears,
many in ecstatic joy,
all in relief and celebration.

Today, we realize that the answer is not solely
“Yes, we can,”
or “have,”
or “did,”
or “will,”
but all those responses punctuated by our certain smiles.

Just one smile
provides relief.

Just one smile
proves we can overcome.

Just one smile
turns the other cheek
to years of heartbreak and struggle,
bullets and tears.

Just one smile
can make a difference.

And so, in these tough times
of darkness and despair,
when it seems impossible
to reach out to your neighbor
to offer your help
to make a difference,
remember that just one smile
can.
And does.
And will.

I.
The desert
is all you can see.
Monochromatic, golden-brilliant:
the sun glares down on you so hard
your whole body squints.

You don’t remember how long you’ve been out here.
Your skin has leathered.
Your bones form odd angles and crevices beneath it.
It hurts to breathe.
The acrid air burns your lungs.

You mutter to yourself
under your breath.
You may be the only person
who has ever heard your voice.

Your lips are chapped,
cracked,
broken and bled and scabbed over.
You would cry if you could remember
what moisture was.

You shuffle-shamble along.
Sometimes a burst of energy makes you sprint;
most times you are deliberate and going is slow.
Eventually you stop,
thinking you cannot go on.
But there is still much to say,
and so,
unable to find a stick with which to trace in the sand,
you gnaw into your wrist,
letting your blood.
You stain the world.
Whorls and swirls and symbols,
And you write:

Read the rest of this entry »

I write to
And about
Will be someone.
Eventually, my lady, you
Will have a
Name,
A personality,
A face.
Eventually I will know
Just who you are,
You, about whom I have
Wondered for years.
Eventually I will not
Have to settle for a
Good time.
Eventually I will
Find you,
Know you when I
See you,
Hear you,
When your soft, light
Footsteps
Finally echo from my
Dreams to my floor.
Thank God I’m
Patient.

***

One of six poems in the collection, and one of the earliest overall. I wrote it during college, which is also true of “Inspiration Point,” “This Ain’t Wonderland,” and “A New Drink.” This was, of course, at a time when I thought every line of a poem should be capitalized (I’m no longer sure, and I’d concede this one might look better without the capped lines). These and my other college poems were the ones that came closest to not making it into the collection, in fact, because I thought so much else seemed so much stronger, but one of the good things about doing it in the first place was recording those times.

I think every writer has early work that makes them cringe a little. I know I have a novel on the top shelf of the closet in my parents basement, which will, as far as I’m concerned, remain there forever (or at least until they move), a big, thick, hunk of a novel I thought it took nearly a ream of paper to tell. I’m pretty sure it’s up near 500 single-spaced pages.

Better I offer you the poems than that, I think. The poems, it’s fun to see how I’ve grown.

The novel you might just bludgeon me with were I to try to sell it to you.

As well you should.

It’s nice to know, as well as a little ironic, that a couple of you cited this and other poetry as your favorite. We are so rarely good at judging what of our work will appeal to others.

***

Like this? Remember to buy the book; it’s only available for a limited time, and all proceeds go to the United Way NYC as tribute to those we lost on September 11th, 2001.

My classes at Regis began this week, at the same time that I set in motion my departure from Lulu and wound up the assignment I’ve been guiding my students through.

The class, so far: meh. I don’t have a business background and, indeed, never took any such courses in college, even despite two degrees and graduate school. Which means that, though I’m currently attending Regis, I’m really doing a conditional acceptance sort of thing. I have to pass a couple of Foundations of Business or somesuchlike courses.

Which would be fine. I get that I need to know stuff like statistics. And I can’t wait to get to marketing.

But–

(you knew there was going to be a but, right? Which gives me an opportunity to try out this “more” function thingy I’ve been wanting to use)

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Today’s post in honor of both Sunday and National Poetry Month.

Tim Minchin, performing Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” with Terry (Jerry?) Quinn:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSFCDhLhuB8]

And yes, it’s definitely poetry, because for those five minutes, Minchin and his partner made that small bar a church.

(for the record, Minchin was correct that Rufus Wainwright performed the song for the Shrek soundtrack; John Cale has covered it, though, as well–his appears on the Scrubs soundtrack)

Update, 5/20: thanks to Georgie, who notes Minchin’s duet partner as Geraldine Quinn.

Lots today at school, so, in honor of National Poetry Month, devotion to several-times-aforementioned Marty McConnell. A YouTube equivalent of a guest-post, because she.

Is.

Awesome.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3IJWZ89taIw]

That’s some poetry, right there.

I’ve been meaning to acknowledge April as National Poetry Month. Because it is.

Marty McConnell has been posting poems to her live journal every day. So far, this one is my favorite.

McConnell might well be my favorite poet ever. Few writers have ever hit me as hard as she does.

Enjoy.