Poems for Life (3 page)

T
o
B
E
S
OMEBODY

Little girl

Dreaming of a baby grand piano

(Not knowing there's a Steinway bigger, bigger)

Dreaming of a baby grand to play

That stretches paddle-tailed across the floor,

Not standing upright

Like a bad boy in the corner,

But sending music

Up the stairs and down the stairs

And out the door

To confound even Hazel Scott

Who might be passing!

Oh!

Little boy

Dreaming of boxing gloves

Joe Louis wore,

The gloves that sent

Two dozen men to the floor.

Knockout!

Bam! Bop! Mop!

There's always room,

They say
,

At the top.

— Langston Hughes

M
ARTIN
C
HARNIN

Dear Rebecca,

My poem is—

L
AUGHING
D
OWN
L
ONELY
C
ANYONS

Fear corrodes my dreams tonight,

and mist has grayed the hills,

mountains seem too tall to climb,

December winds are chill.

There's no comfort on the earth,

I am a child abandoned,

Till I feel your hand in mine

and laugh down lonely canyons.

Snow has bent the trees in grief,

my summer dreams are dead,

Flowers are but ghostly stalks,

the clouds drift dull as lead.

There is no solace in the sky,

I am a child abandoned.

Till we chase the dancing moon

and laugh down lonely canyons.

Birds have all gone south too soon,

and frogs refuse to sing,

Deer lie hidden in the woods,

the trout asleep till spring.

There is no wisdom in the wind —

I am a child abandoned

Till we race across the fields

and laugh down lonely canyons.

Darkness comes too soon tonight,

the trees are silent scars,

rivers rage against the rocks,

and snow conceals the stars.

There's no music in the air

I am a child abandoned

Till I feel my hand in yours

and laugh down lonely canyons.

— James Cavenaugh

To some it may seem soupy — but the images hit me hard when I first saw it … and it comes very close to being lyric — a thing I am partial to.

Best,

M
ARIO
C
UOMO

Dear Grade V:

I am happy to participate in your project. I have a favorite quotation from a poem called “Outwitted,” by Edwin Markham. This particular stanza sums up the strategy of inclusiveness that I employ at every opportunity in my political life:

He drew a circle that shut me out,

Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.

But Love and I had the wit to win,

We drew a circle that took him in!

I hope this has been useful. Thank you for asking. Best wishes for a successful project.

Sincerely,

D
AVID
D
INKINS

Dear Rebecca:

It is with pleasure that I respond to your request for my favorite poem for the book that your class is compiling to raise money for refugee children. May I applaud you and your classmates on having chosen to devote yourselves to so worthwhile a project.

In my life, of course, I have read many lovely and moving poems. The one I am sending you seems particularly apt for a book intended to benefit children. “Stars” by the great American poet Langston Hughes is a poem that works on the psyche on several levels at the same time. On one level, it is simply about the beauty of a moment in space and time. On another, it is about the Village of Harlem, a special place with a unique history. On a third level, “Stars” is about having a dream and striving to realize that dream. Finally, the poem evokes the presence and danger of obstacles to achieving our dreams. Moreover, “Stars,” like all great works, is one in which new meaning can be uncovered with each reading.

The text of the poem is printed below. Please accept my warm wishes for the success of your humanitarian enterprise.

Sincerely,

S
TARS

O, sweep of stars over Harlem streets,

O, little breath of oblivion that is night.

A city building

To a mother's song.

A city dreaming

To a lullaby.

Reach up your hand, dark boy, and take a star.

Out of the little breath of oblivion

That is night,

Take just

One star.

— Langston Hughes

E. L. D
OCTOROW

Dear Lily,

A poem I have always loved is “A Blessing,” by James Wright. I've enclosed a copy here in case you're not familiar with it. In the poem, a man walks into a field to look at two ponies grazing there at twilight. I can't be sure if this is my favorite poem, but I do know that it is one that I return to year after year and say to myself with undiminished awe.

James Wright is an American poet from Ohio who lived until 1980. I knew him when we were students at Kenyon College — he was writing poems even then, as a young man.

My best wishes to you, Lily, and to your classmates. All together you are doing a wonderful thing with your project.

A B
LESSING

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,

Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.

And the eyes of those two Indian ponies

Darken with kindness.

They have come gladly out of the willows

To welcome my friend and me.

We step over the barbed wire into the pasture

Where they have been grazing all day, alone.

They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness

That we have come.

They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.

There is no loneliness like theirs.

At home once more,

They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.

I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,

For she has walked over to me

And nuzzled my left hand.

She is black and white,

Her mane falls wild on her forehead,

And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear

That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.

Suddenly I realize

That if I stepped out of my body I would break

Into blossom.

–James Wright