June 12

 Tyler Barton moderated poems on June 12 at Writers and Books in view of the Flower City Poetry Festival

Mimesis by Fady Joudah

 

My daughter

wouldn’t hurt a spider

That had nested

Between her bicycle handles

For two weeks

She waited

Until it left of its own accord

If you tear down the web I said

It will simply know

This isn’t a place to call home

And you’d get to go biking

She said that’s how others

Become refugees isn’t it?

 

from Alight. Copyright © 2013

 

Postcards from Everywhere and Nowhere

 

Dear Cousin,

I just landed.

At the airport, a picture

of a ship

crowning a wave.

A figure

on the prow waits,

like you on the tarmac

looking somewhere

ahead.

I waved and you did

not wave back.

Maybe you couldn't

see me.

 

**

Dear Cousin,

1 chant, I'm home,

every day.

How many times

will it take

to feel it?

The monarchs

are starting

to cocoon.

Do you know

if, when they

transform,

they forget their past?

 

**

Dear Cousin,

Papers are  important

in this land.

 

My neighbor told

me about Chinese

paper sons who invented

new identities

so they could stay.

 

I think of the paper

dolls we played with,

how we unfolded each tab of the wedding

dress and turned it into confetti.

 

**

Dear Cousin,

What happens when

your genetic

code is grafted

in two languages?

Does it mean

the patterns

never stop

shifting?

Yesterday we had

an earthquake

in San Diego

and I heard

the earth grinding

its teeth,

as if to speak.

 

**

Dear Cousin,

 

My son asked

if citizen is 

a foreign

word.

 

I was tempted to say yes.

 

I told him

there was once a city

whose people 

were not alien.

 

They belonged.

 

Oh, so where do we

belong?  He asked

 

Reckless Sonnet No. 8 by Kimiko Hahn

My father, as a boy in Milwaukee, thought

the cicada's cry was the whir from a live wire--

not from muscles on the sides of an insect

vibrating against an outer membrane. Strange though

that, because they have no ears, no one knows why

the males cry so doggedly into the gray air.

Not strange that the young live underground sucking sap from tree roots

for seventeen years. A long, charmed childhood

not unlike one in a Great Lake town where at dusk

you'd pack up swimsuit, shake sand off your towel

and head back to the lights in the two-family houses

lining the streets. Where the family sat around the radio.

And the parents argued over their son and daughter

until each left for good. To cry in the air.

 

-- from The Artist’s Daughter, (W.W Norton & Company, 2002

 

Proof ~ Cornelius Eady  Listen to Cornelius recite it: at minute 3:00 on the this hyperlink Poem

 

Zohran Mamdani Inaugural Poem, New York, January 1, 2026

 

You have to imagine it.

Who said you were too dark,

too large, too queer, too loud.

Who said you were too poor,

Too strange, too fat.

You have to imagine it.

Who said you must keep quiet.

Who heard your story,

then rolled their eyes.

Who tried to change your name to invisible.

You’ve got to imagine.

Who heard your name and refused to pronounce it.

Who checked their watch and said not now.

James Baldwin wrote, “The place in which I’ll fit

will not exist until I make it.”

New York, city of invention,

roiling town,

refresher and renewer.

New York, city of the real,

will the canyons whisper in a hundred tongues.

New York, where your lucky self

waits for your arrival,

where there is always soil for your root.

This is our time,

the taste of us, the spice of us,

the hollers and the rhythms

and the beats of us.

In the echo of our ancestors

who made certain we know who we are.

 

City of insistence,

city of resistance.

You have to imagine

an army that wins without firing a bullet,

a joy that wears down the rock of no.

Up from insults,

up from blocked doors,

up from trick bags,

up from fear,

up from shame,

up from the way it was done before.

You have to imagine

that space they said wasn’t yours,

that time they said you’d never own,

the invisible city lit,

on its way.

This moment is our proof.

 

Nutshell of discussion of this poem at O Pen, Pittsford Library, Jan. 14, 2026 -- Kitty Jospé

Proof:  Curiously, I had heard at first, the title as Truth, knowing the context of this poem delivered by Rochester native, Cornelius Eady on the occasion of Zohran Mamdani's Inauguration as mayor of NYC.

note: third stanza, 10th line: the first word is not will but where. 

One person felt it was a beautiful love poem to this city, the starting point of so many who have immigrated to this country.  The lines are humble, yet powerful, with the repeated "you have to imagine"

shifting to an almost imperative "you've got to imagine".  What reassurance wrapped in the repeated "who said" as he rolls out dismissive talk that tries to invisibilize  those who are not part of the powerful and privileged.  The inclusion of the James Baldwin quote, with visceral touches of details describing those who have risen up from slavery, "the taste of us, the spice of us, the hollers and rhythms of us" lead to the repeated "up from" -- to a new hope infused with joy "that wears down the rock of no."  

There is a sense of the city lit by itself, an insistence hammering out the celebration many felt with the election of Obama, that yes, the election of a Black Man to an important public office is absolute proof that all "can make it". 

 It's inspiring for all of us to imagine all the "lucky selves waiting for our arrival, with soil for our roots".

  

O Pen, June 10

 

A thank you to Barb for moderating these on June 10  (see June 10) 

JUNE LIGHT by Richard Wilbur,  JUNE SUNSET by Sarojini Naidu, 1917,  Casey at the Bat by Ernest Lawrence Thayer, 1888, FLAGS by Elana Bell; A Child is Something Else Again by Yehuda Amichai translated by Chana Bloch; 

Judith was reminded of this poem reading the Richard Wilbur. 

 

From One Person, Sonnet sequence by Elinor Wylie

 

Now shall the long homesickness have an end

Upon your heart, which is a part of all

The past no human creature may recall

Save you, who are persuasive to unbend

The brows of death, and name him for a friend:

This ecstasy is supernatural;

I have survived to see the heavens fall

Into my hands, which on your hands depend.

 

Time has prepared us an enduring bed

Within the earth of this beloved land; 

And, lying side by side and hand in hand,

We shall lie coeval with the happy dead

Who are ourselves, a little earlier bound

To one another’s bosom in the ground.

JUNE LIGHT by Richard Wilbur, 

Your voice, with clear location of June days,

Called me outside the window.  You were there,

Light yet composed, as in the just soft stare

Of uncontested summer all things raise

Plainly their seeming into seamless air.

 

Then your love looked as simple and entire

As that picked pear you tossed me, and your face

As legible as pearskin’s fleck and trace,

Which promise always wine, by mottled fire

More fatal fleshed than ever human grace.

 

And your gay gift—Oh when I saw it fall

Into my hands, through all that naïve light,

It seemed as blessed with truth and new delight

As must have been the first great gift of all.

 

June 3 + 5

“Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.-- Carl Sandburg

Revolt or Rot, Lover! by Brian Potts; A Witnessing by Ted Kooser; Migration by Jenny George; For/Against Summer, A Spell by Valzhyna Mort; On Growing Old  by John Masefield; An Emeritus Addresses the School by John Ciardi ;  Some Rules by Wendy Cope 

      

Revolt or Rot, Lover! -- To read or not to read an author's bio, is perhaps an optional question,

but brings up the debate about whether a "work of art should speak for itself". (see Death of the

Artist) We have seen in our discussions so many times that knowing more about the poet or the

circumstances of the poem helps round out the understanding of what is on the page. The poet

who penned this writes a mockery of a bio, in the spirit of revolt. Using abab rhyme in sonnet

form, the poet cleverly turns the tables in the last couplet to have the last laugh and confirm a

subtle chuckle in the exclamation point after the palindromic title. We enjoyed imagining the

scene of a demonstration, the placard, the quick sketch of the girl holding it, with the outward

signs of sympathetic rebellion (Che Guevara t-shirt) and perhaps implied elite standing ruffled

with righteousness. The third quatrain is less clear. The 3 lines after the question, "What's

wrong now" could be part of the question or her answer. Death of legalese, unmasked love,

endless global peace are all good. What exactly has gone backward? The poet opens up a bigger

question about protest, rebellion, as fixing the palindrome by reversing will not change a thing.

A Witnessing: The first and last word of this six couplet poem is alone. Interesting that for some

readers, the ending couplet has a positive spin, a mindful moment with no distractions, which

brings us closer to nature. The enjoyment of the personification and images of the 4 + couplets

describing the tussling of trees, for some outweighs the effect of the reader feeling as exhausted

as the trees. For others, the poem feels overwritten, and as the Arab poet last week suggests,

goes beyond the blanket. If the poem had ended with the blustery wind stumbling away/and it

was all over, one wouldn't connect to the title. Is there a religious connotation intended? or a

counter-meaning ? Witnessing is often associated with Christian religion, as proof and testimony

of God's work in the world. If the poem started without "Alone at my window" would the final

alone change?

I think of Carl Sandburg saying: “Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting

to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the

unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.--

How might you apply this to Kooser's snapshot of a moment witnessed?

Migration. I do recommend listening to Jenny George reading the poem. She stresses 3rd line

the "in" on back IN life. This emphasizes the repeated, italized back in, back in -- the return of

the crows and spring, alive again after a long winter. Crows carry diverse implications across

cultures and contexts, serving as symbols of wisdom, transformation, spiritual messages, and

death, however only some actually migrate and not as far as songbirds.

The indented words are examples of parts of aliveness with mention of water, and a jarring

juxtaposition of blood on snow as an example of beauty. The wooden rattles we thought of being

the bare branches.

"Crows like restless souls wanting back in life" is a provocative image, but

puzzling like the juxtaposition of beauty with drops of bright/blood. It might be helpful to

examine the two sets of lines, the left-justified broken into groups of 3 and 5 . The indented 8

lines, are broken into a 5 line question and 3 fragments on 3 lines starting with an em-dash as if

taking a large gulp of air. The second em-dash interrupts "to be startled by beauty" interrupted in

turn with a seeming contradiction and a period. A small 3-word fragment of an afterthought

elaborates perhaps what we want in life: to be radiant.Although I didn't bring it up, I am reminded 

of the story of Snow White and the opening the lines, "three drops of blood fell on the snow-white linen"... 

and Snow White's mother imagines her daughter's beauty would be "lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow". 

She escapes her evil step-mother, temporarily, living with those 7 dwarves, but put into a sleep by a poisoned

apple broken only by the kiss of a prince and returns to life.

For/Against Summer, A Spell: Do listen audio and read about the poet Valzhyna Mort .

As a bilingual poet, writing first in her native Belarus, she picks up the theme of death, whether

it be a plague or war. The anaphor and accumulating repeat of the word despite relentlessly

hammers. We noted her subtle change of voice repeated in the line despite the planted crosses

and flowers cut. She creates a steady rhythm, original compounds such as sorrowship dues,

speech-made wind; sore-throat roosters and swallows infuses the 14 lines with alliterations,

rhyming. We noted the bite into paradox: bile in the buttercup; the repeat of chill, chill extended

to children; the repeat of winter first of hearts, then winter of children.

In the title, For/against Summer interlaces both what should make you be in favor, or opposed.

Summer should be indifferently independent to a war, to sorrow. Indeed, despite the continual

back and forth of seasons, life/death in a spell of time, there is a mournful stress on the losses as

summer returns. Summer, season that normally casts a spell of growth of what will be a good

harvest, and yet, nothing can break the destructive spell.

We agreed that this sonnet was incredibly moving and a powerful example of a form beautifully

crafted.

On Growing Old: Masefield( 1878-1967) wrote this when he was 41 years old, in 1919. He did

live another 48 years, but one senses in this poem, the measured wisdom of an older man who

has made peace with the inevitable. Perhaps the poignant sadness is memory of all those taken

down in World War I. It would seem that the 28 lines are a double sonnet. It opens and closes

addressing Beauty (both capitalized). If broken into 2 parts, the first seems an autumnal

reflection on Beauty, memory of "the fire of it before the embers". The second part implores

Beauty not to forsake us, recognizing that it be the source of wisdom and passion that allow us to

make peace with all else.

An Emeritus Addresses the School: John Ciardi (1916-1986) is well known for his book

published in 1957, How Does a Poem Mean. Notice, if asking "What does a poem mean?", there

is a danger of summarizing with the aim of arriving at an answer. Instead, Ciardi explores the

mechanics and effects such as emotional resonance which encourages greater participation of the

reader.

In this poem, the irony of an Emeritus giving a speech, not intended for delivery to a graduating

class, pokes fun at the times and role of school. Written in 1974, the mockery of the "altitude of

Intro Psych" or indulgence in Indian mysticism (perhaps implying the use psychedelics) where

nouveau-glib means outdated avant-garde ends with a cryptic description of what happens to

"elite" graduates decades latter. The poem ends by returning to the death-wish-- and what it is

we really are wishing whether a sophomore or facing a terminal illness or old age on the brink of

death or simply caught up in wishing for something different. It is quite a contrast to themessage 

and delivery of the Masefield advice on how to face aging. The mindfulness

mentioned at the end corresponds to the title of the collection from which this poem comes. The

Little That Is All.

Some Rules: A villanelle is a highly structured form with specific rules. The form allows the

"two rules", stated in the first stanza on lines 1 and 3, to end the poem side by side. There is also

the advice first line of the 4th and 5th tercets. As one person commented, the poem is more than

"gimmicky" and is creative with the "unk" sounds, which are far from the flowery latinate

vocabulary in English! One person was reminded of Polonius and his advice in Hamlet. The

advantage here, is that it's far less long-winded, with a bit of tongue-in-cheek.

Nutshell of May 27-29

At the Entrance of a Love Poem, I Hesitate by Maya C. Popa; Keep My Poems  by Yahya Ashour;

The Writer by William Bronk; Playtime by William Bronk  (to pair with the entire sculpture garden) ;

The Tally Stick  by Jarold Ramsey (pair with Nathan Mabry )

Brahma  by Ralph Waldo Emerson (pair with Jun Kaneko, Untitled, “Dango”

One Heart by Li-Young Lee,  ( paired with Tony Cragg, Versus )

 Excerpt from Nocturno de San Ildefonso by Octavio Paz (paired with Pia Camil, Lover’s Rainbow     

 Equus by Mary Hood (paired with Wailana

At the Entrance: This poem intrigued everyone, and we easily could have spent an afternoon

appreciating the multiple directions and possibilities of it offers for our understanding.

The title is unusual: A love poem entrance? How might you explain entering a love poem?

Why does the poet hesitate? Is she unsure of the poem, of love, or perhaps offput by the vast

treasury of love poems already written?

Each couplet begs multiple questions, and invites multiple responses, but most everyone agreed,

it did not feel like an exercise in frustration.

again", with regret? What is the implication of leaving through the window?

2nd Couplet: It's a fragment but implies the state of being in love, and then the "after", which

underscores the power of love, even if over, it is a primal shaping force. The word remainder,

could also be "what's left" as in math which echoes in the penultimate couplet as well

(multiplying gravities).

3rd couplet: a welcome image (whale turning slowly mistake for a continent) to explain "the

change" that love sets in motion, and yet as clueless as the gulls.

4th couplet. puzzling. What is the exquisite inquiry? If you don't know, but feel a response, is

that enough? Does it dissolve any question?

The next 5 couplets address the nature of a love poem, it would seem from a writer's point of

view. What are the conventions? Do they do the trick or is she mocking them? One person

wondered if Shakespeare were not doing the same thing in "Shall I compare thee to a summer's

day." How can form, convention "keep up" (note the enjambment/stanza break to emphasize

lagging behind) the heart's multiplying gravities?

The image of a gallery of mirrors, the final mention of "likeness" as a life gives a sense of

process and shaping, where the "we" of the poem could be the poet's lover or special person.

Although using the past tense, one senses it will be on-going and the poem ends on a positive

note.

One could spend a long time discussing how one knows who someone is-- starting with one's

own self. What lies behind a desire to write love poems. There is a lovely authenticity about

Maya Popa. Click the hyperlink to find out more about her, her PhD on wonder in poetry.

Keep My Poems: This title at first blush does not seem to have anything to do with the didactic

implications of form in poetry in the proverb the poet's father used (according to the note, for all

but poetry). How does the poet mean "Keep My Poems"? To whom is he speaking? He speaks

of parts of poems exposed, or tucked in, and uses the verb "lies", which could imply the sense of

poetry not telling truth, but given the context of the stanza, most probably is showing "how

poetry lies in a poet's satisfaction with their blanket". He uses for himself, the verb "pursuit"

which could harken to the historic etymology of going towards (pro) and sequi (to follow). For

those after lines which don't "fit their blankets" he uses the verb "hunt". Is he contrasting his

pursuit of "tender lines, for the sake of beauty"

, with those seeking outside their blankets? The

harsh verb, "amputate" and noun "butcher" evoke jarring images and we wondered if influenced

by his background as exile from Gaza. Yahya Ashour indeed visibly "chops" with two lines of

1only two syllables: exposed in 2nd stanza and for lines in the 3rd stanza, enjambed to that don't

fit their blankets. There are hundreds of different forms poetry can take, which determine the

nature of the message. Free verse has no rules, no set meter, no rhyme scheme, and no structural

requirements. but relies entirely on the natural rhythm of speech, natural pauses, and the poet's

choice of line breaks.

Pairing of poems on Poets Walk with sculptures in the MAG (Memorial Art Museum)

Sculpture Garden

If you wish a complete list of the 114 poems on Poets Walk, with the "poem tile prompts" kindly

let me know. I had done a lot of work with such pairing when Poet and Story walk were initiated

in 2008 as docent, to help appreciate such sculptures as Wailana, Unicorn Family, Creation

Myth, Vertical Ventaglio, 2 lines up-excentric, soliloquy. The poetry chosen for the walk is from

19th and 20th century poets who have a connection with Rochester, whether a visiting lecturer,

connected to BOA publications, DIAL magazine, Rochester Poets, founded in 1920 as the

Rochester, New York, chapter of the Poetry Society of America, or Just Poets (founded in 2004).

The pairings are merely suggestions, and are not intended to establish a formal connection to

either the poems and the sculptures. The poem tiles themselves were the "pithiest" language of

each poem chosen by the designer of the walk to suggest an array of themes

Playtime by William Bronk (1918-1999)

We wondered if "resumes" was the noun, resumé not the verb. The poem indeed hints at the

game of life and applies to the nature of art as a conversation, or theatre.

The Tally Stick by Jarold Ramsey (link to 1985 Rochester Review in which it is printed.)

We thought of a totem pole as the collection of our stories carved in Mountain mahogany (a

Northern Mexican wood, also found in the American SW). Arrowheads, crosses, events, history,

evidence of "the Year the World Went Wrong", wars. The metaphor of lengthening runes of our

lives suggests ancient secrets and mysteries. And yet, mention of regrets is followed by the

positive note, of the last 5 lines holding this tally stick, encouraging us to re-examine the signs.

Paired with the Nathan Mabry, an incongruous pairing of an oversized old man's head on a

young body, the outstretched arms are reminiscent of Plato (pointing up) and Aristotle (pointing

down), famously depicted at the center of Raphael's 1509 Renaissance fresco, The School of

Athens. Plato (pointing to the heavens) represents his theory of "Forms," suggesting that true

reality and universal truths exist in an ideal, spiritual realm beyond our physical world. Aristotle

(pointing to the earth): Symbolizes his focus on empiricism, observation, and the material world,

indicating that truth is found by studying the physical nature around us.

Brahma: written in 1856, and published in the November 1857 issue of The Atlantic.[1] It is

named for Brahman, the universal principle[2] of the Vedas. The sacred seven symbolizes

powerful deities who aspire for a higher state of being but are hindered by their desires. This

highlights the contrasts between spiritual aspirations and the limitations of earthly cravings.

Paired with the Dango (dumpling in Japanese) by Japanese-American Jun Kaneko.

I hyperlink for those interested in a little more depth.

Versus by Tony Cragg: + Li-Young Lee, One Heart. I showed the importance of walking around a

sculpture, as depending on the angle, one will have a very different view... just as in poetry. We

didn't have time to discuss the poem.

2Lines from Octavio Paz + Pia Camil, Lover's Rainbow.

Lover’s Rainbow at the MAG is a 42-foot-wide, 16 1/2-ft tall arc of painted stainless steel rebar. compare with the

one on US-Mexico Border https://desertx.org/dx/archive/lovers-rainbow

1 https://zonaoctaviopaz.com/detalle_conversacion/151/nocturno-de-san-ildefonso/

Equus by Mary Hood, paired with Wailana which in Hawaiian means tranquil waters.

The poem is in 4 stanzas, and written after the selection of poets/poems for poets walk.

I want to stress that Poets Walk is not a definitive compendium of poems! It so happens that this ekphrastic is one of

the best I have seen for this powerful sculpture by Deborah Butterfield.

Below is the entire poem.

Equus by Mary Hood

to Jody.

Head bowed a scaffolded horse

mummers the ghostly song of wind

moving through skeletal bronze-

is she hurt, exhausted. starved?

something seems not quite right.

Like a found poem with the familiar

refashioned, she was first constructed

of the commonplace, wood, scrap

metal, branches, junkyard stuff, plastic

a collage of the ordinary

then forged in bronze.

In winter snow gathers on her back.

In summer her patina blazes with sunlight.

In spring she gleams with rain droplets-

a horse for all seasons.

She has survived many years

but there comes a time.

She stands alone, riderless, tackless.

She has always been riderless

never owned by anyone but the wind

And if she were to loosen her hoofs

walk off into the distance she would

lift off, smoothly, flowingly

with the fluidity of winged

Pegasus.

Mary, a local poet, is a professor emerita of University of West Florida and has published several collections of

poetry and general articles on conservation and the environment and numerous scientific technical articles in the

field of microbial ecology. You will see it is dedicated to Jody, one of Mary's graduate students who went on to get a

PhD in microbiology and a successful career as a professor at University South Fl and then Dean, a mother,

grandmother, writer. also a championship equestrian rider…. such a beautiful soul..