Names written in the pale sky. Names rising in the updraft amid buildings. Names silent in stone. Or cried out behind a door.


Notes:

  • Post Title: From Billy Collins’ poem “The Names” dedicated to the victims of September 11 and to their survivors.
  • Photo Source: New York Post, Photos on the World Trade Center Attacks.

Lightly Child, Lightly

But tomorrow, dawn will come the way I picture her,
barefoot and disheveled, standing outside my window
in one of the frail cotton dresses of the poor.
She will look in at me with her thin arms extended,
offering a handful of birdsong and a small cup of light.

~ Billy Collins, from “Tuesday, June 4th, 1991


Notes:

  • Photograph by Eric Antoine with la main ambrotype (via see more)
  • Quote via Memorylandscape
  • Prior “Lightly child, lightly” Posts? Connect here.
  • Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”

Sunday Morning

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze
that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house
and unlatch the door to the canary’s cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,
a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies
seemed so etched in sunlight…
so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting
into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.

– Billy Collins, from “Today” in Poetry Magazine,  April 2000


Notes: Photo: Kittux with Canary. Quote: Thank you Whiskey River

head up in the bright morning air

swan

But earlier this week on a wooded path,
I thought the swans afloat on the reservoir
were the true geniuses,
the ones who had figured out how to fly,
how to be both beautiful and brutal,
and how to mate for life.

Twenty-four geniuses in all,
for I numbered them as Yeats had done,
deployed upon the calm, crystalline surface—

forty-eight if we count their white reflections,
or an even fifty if you want to throw in me
and the dog running up ahead,

who were at least smart enough to be out
that morning—she sniffing the ground,
me with my head up in the bright morning air.

– Billy Collins, Genius from Aimless Love: New and Selected Poems


Notes:

 

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