Once Adrienne Rich got the pretty (though pointed) rhyming verse out of her system (and she did that early--her first book was published when she was still at Radcliffe) Adrienne Rich constructed a voice for herself that was equal parts lyric brilliance, surgically precise language, and undiluted rage. To call her a feminist poet, while probably accurate, diminishes her project. Yes, the overarching issue of her writing, perhaps its sole impetus, was the struggle to carve out a place for women in society and as such she can be seen as a political/activist poet, few if any of her poems can be read as merely political statements.

It’s like this: for a very long time, we are not here; then we are here but not for very long; then we are not here for the longest time. Some people know the general whereabouts of “not here.” Myself…I haven’t the foggiest.

What I do know is that the poet, Wislawa Szymborska, is not here anymore.

People who really knew her—the people who liked or didn’t like her cooking, who worried that she smoked too much, who had to sit and listen to her talk through the years of not writing after she won the Nobel Prize—will be allowed to cry and howl and shuffle around their flats in bedraggled flannel robes as long they need to. That is their right because they knew and loved her.

For many adults Christmas has become a rote observance of traditions wholly estranged from their original meanings. For others it is a sort of annual moral mulligan, a time to shower attention, gifts and good cheer on those who rightly deserve those things year-round. For still others it is a time to take stock of their lives—to measure themselves against the pervasive messages of the season and to inevitably judge themselves lacking.

You can see them in our landscape, in place names like Anahuac, Wichita Falls and Navasota. You can see them in our language, in the words shack, lagniappe and totem. They are in the food we eat—they were first to cultivate potatoes, corn, coffee, and chocolate. They had empires, architecture, science, mathematics and art to rival anything in their conquerors’ lands.

Frankenstein Friday! The last Friday of October celebrates the birth of Frankenstein in 1818 when Mary Wollenstonecraft Shelley wrote the story Frankenstein. To this day, Shelley's creation is still one of the most famous horror characters of all time.

Since Halloween is just around the corner, you can probably catch a few Frankenstein movies on TV. Or if you prefer to read, here are some books that we have checked in: 

When we think of the poet H. D. (born Hilda Doolittle) we see her as through a prism, or perhaps more fittingly as the subject of a cubist portrait. She is fragmentary--a series of planes that don't quite make a whole but which carry undeniable significance.

April is National Poetry month and we have created a special display for the kiddos. Grab a few books from our "Giving Words a Voice" poetry display and read some rhymes to your little ones.

One of my favorites is Jack Prelutsky's Scranimals