I read the poem titled “The Girl Who Should Have Been a Boy” by Alethea Kehas, who writes at The Light Behind the Story. This was at an event in Hartford called “Other People’s Poetry.” The rule is that you can’t read your own poems, so I was happy to read from this magnificent anthology.
The anthology is available here. Thanks as always to Gabriela Marie Milton for publishing this wonderful book.
How exciting to participate in a radio show! I was able to read the poem that will be in the collection Hidden in Childhood. Thank you to Gabriela Marie Milton for this amazing opportunity! Great poets and great poems 🙂
I read Whitman’s poem last night. Really a worthwhile read.
This is what you shall do:
Love the earth and sun and the animals,
Despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks,
Stand up for the stupid and crazy,
Devote your income and labors to others,
Hate tyrants, argue not concerning God,
Have patience and indulgence toward the people,
Take off your hat to nothing known or unknown,
Or to any man or number of men,
Go freely with powerful uneducated persons,
And with the young and with the mothers of families,
Read these leaves in the open air,
Every season of every year of your life,
Reexamine all you have been told,
At school at church or in any book,
Dismiss whatever insults your own soul,
And your very flesh shall be a great poem,
And have the richest fluency not only in its words,
But in the silent lines of its lips and face,
And between the lashes of your eyes,
And in every motion and joint of your body.
I picture you sitting at your desk In your room in the apartment Or maybe at a table in the corner By the window. It’s the window that’s the key. What you hear through it Will change you. Right now, you are looking at us below Through the screen Its thin metal grill Pixelates us into small boxes That disappear to your sight As you gaze through them At the people gathered on chairs and benches. At first, it's just people at a fire pit. But then a woman steps up to a microphone That you hadn’t seen before. You catch glimpses of her words Mingling with the roar of motorcycles Inarticulate distant shouting Sirens far away. The woman steps away from the mic. You expect applause, But this audience snaps its fingers. You don’t know why they do it, But it’s different And difference attracts you. You lean in closer, tilt your head, So your ear is nearly pressed to the screen Like an elderly woman Leaning into her iPhone. Still, you only hear shards of words. “The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame.” They rear in front of you, these eyes, So monstrous that they are alight with fire. They will be with you for days Lighting your way with wild rage. More snapping. A woman sits, A man rises to the microphone. He reads: “There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create.” Murder AND create? How can they be in the same line? Because of this, you will play with opposites for weeks. Love and hate, good and evil, pleasure and pain. Until you see the things between, The beloved, The neglected, The destroyed. You listen all night As each of us rise to read a poem. And though you can only hear pieces The words glitter Like the shattered glass necklace That littered the sidewalk On your morning walk to school Catching the first rays of sun As it rose over the skyscrapers behind you. You type the words you hear Into your phone And poems appear. Your future begins as you read them As worlds unfold Rise up Crash down Stretch before you like seas of grass, Seas of water. This night echoes into your future Until one day You have the courage to write a poem. It is about opposites. About sirens and Sirens. The kind you run from And the kind you run to, Caught by an irresistible call.Continue reading
Mark Bozeman 