there is something about spring that evokes poetry. i don’t know why. maybe it is because both seem to be ephemeral. in any case the beginning of April, other than the occasional prank, reminded me of a few lines (other than the first line of T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland)
sometimes when the wind is right it seems
that every word has been spoken to me.
–Jane Kenyon, Campers Leaving: Summer 1981
Try to remember, every April, not this one only
you feel you are walking underwater
in a lake stained by your blood.
–Denise Levertov, Talking to Oneself
hmm. maybe ephemeral wasn’t the word I was looking for. mercurial might be a better choice. there was one glorious week of sunshine and warmth, then four straight days of nonstop rain, a little early for April showers, but a good taste of what was to come in the following month.
but wait. April is also national poetry month. and April 17th is a day where you put a poem in a pocket and share it with your family and friends. You can find more about the celebration here, along with a daily poem for this month.
I think I’ll celebrate by leaving bits of poetry here and there in my little corner of blogsphere. A poetry garden, maybe.