Happy Poetry Friday!
Margaret Simon shared an intriguing image from the Salish Sea this week for her THIS PHOTO WANTS TO BE A POEM post. I was so taken by the name Salish Sea, I had to look it up and see what this place looked like, it’s gorgeous. This is one of the images I found but I didn’t know if I could share it, it’s published by the magazine and site, Salish Magazine. Unfortunately I didn’t have time to participate in Margaret’s post, but was inspired to write a poem, thanks–and thanks also for hosting this weeks Poetry Friday Roundup at your blog Reflections of the Teche!
come to me
I can’t see.
filled with jewels
hide miniature caves.
and miles and miles and miles of sea
do unveil your potpourri…
© 2022 Michelle Kogan
This wonderful poem by Jorge Carrera Andrade landed in my email on Wednesday, from the Poetry Foundation…
BIOGRAPHY FOR THE USE OF BIRDS
Jorge Carrera Andrade
Translated by Steven Ford Brown
I was born in the century of the death of the rose
when the motor had already driven out the angels.
Quito watched as the last stagecoach rolled away,
and at its passing the trees ran past in perfect order,
and also the hedges and houses of new parishes,
at the threshold of the countryside
where cows were slowly chewing silence
as wind spurred on its swift horses.
My mother, clothed in the setting sun,
stored her youth deep in a guitar,
and only on certain evenings would she show it to her children,
wrapped in music, light, and words.
I loved the hydrography of rain,
yellow fleas on apple trees,
and toads that rang two or three times
their thick wooden bells.
The great sail of the air maneuvered endlessly.
The cordillera was a shore of the sky.
A storm came, and as drums rolled
its drenched regiments charged;
but then the sun’s golden patrols
Read the rest of the poem here.