Thursday, April 26, 2012

Poem in your Pocket

Today is Poem in your Pocket Day - thankfully my daily email from alerted me to that yesterday, and of course that got me thinking that this would be a great blog post.

But what poem to share? Poems I love tend to be gloomy (like Rilke's Autumn Day), or rather depressing (like Chidiock Tichborne's His Elegy), but Ted Kooser is also one of my favorite poets. I especially love his poems that capture the beauty and tenderness of domestic rural life. I was thinking of a poem I haven't found yet, but here's one that is exemplary of his work as it shows us how something as mundane as dishwater can shine, for one brief moment, with beauty and elegance.

Slap of the screen door, flat knock
of my grandmother's boxy black shoes
on the wooden stoop, the hush and sweep
of her knob-kneed, cotton-aproned stride
out to the edge and then, toed in
with a furious twist and heave,
a bridge that leaps from her hot red hands
and hangs there shining for fifty years
over the mystified chickens,
over the swaying nettles, the ragweed,
the clay slope down to the creek,
over the redwing blackbirds in the tops
of the willows, a glorious rainbow
with an empty dishpan swinging at one end.

So, rather than the usual stones in my coat pocket, I'm carrying around this dishwater poem today. Or rather, I'm adding it to the stones. Feel free to share if you've got a poem in your pocket today.


  1. Funny you should share a Ted Kooser poem. I am in the midst of reading his book The Poetry Home Repair Manual. I love the phrase A Poem In My Pocket!

  2. Your posts are always wonderful Annette. Thanks for the poem in your pocket.

  3. I didn't know it was Poem in your Pocket day!

  4. Nancy - nice coincidence that you are right now reading Kooser's Poetry Home Repair Manual. I read it a while back, and even though I am not a poet, I found a lot of his insights applicable to prose.

    The Desert Rocks - thanks and glad to have you stop by again.

    Kelly - I didn't know either until I got that email.