THIRTY POEMS IN 30 DAYS

APRIL is here, and so is Poetry Month. There's a chockfull of poetry events, wherever I look—on the Internet, or in the local haunts. Here in San Jose, there's been a spurt of poetry, thanks to Nils Peterson, revered Poet Laureate of Santa Clara County.

Shortly after he was nominated Poet Laureate in early 2009, he consolidated the 100-line poem, The Family Album, Santa Clara County , he put out a call for submission of poems about the County.

The winners will be announced at the end of the month, but in the meanwhile, he's had this brilliant idea of publishing a poem a day—Thirty Poems in 30 Days—on his website, www.nilspetersonpoet.wordpress.com.

Now that is something worth looking forward to the entire month of April, instead of just dreading Tax time. Certainly a better way of putting money where your mouth is.















IN APRIL
by James Hearst


This I saw on an April day:
Warm rain spilt from a sun-lined cloud,
A sky-flung wave of gold at evening,
And a cock pheasant treading a dusty path
Shy and proud.

And this I found in an April field:
A new white calf in the sun at noon,
A flash of blue in a cool moss bank,
And tips of tulips promising flowers
To a blue-winged loon.

And this I tried to understand
As I scrubbed the rust from my brightening plow:
The movement of seed in furrowed earth,
And a blackbird whistling sweet and clear
From a green-sprayed bough.


From The Complete Poetry of James Hearst, edited by Scott Cawelti
and published by the University of Iowa Press.
Used with permission. All rights reserved.(www.poets.org)

ALONE

I wrote this poem at Soda Springs in 2006, when I had the opportunity to attend a weekend poetry retreat at the home of one of my workshop buddies. I enjoyed the company of my poet friends and the wonderful time at this little town not too far from Lake Tahoe. I went for a walk down the trail behind the cottage, but shortly thereafter, I found myself quite lost. This wasn’t just about not finding my way back, but about losing myself in the future. The thought of being alone just stabbed at me. And yet, in a way, I felt liberated.

Standing alone on this hill at Soda Springs

I feel as if I’ve been here
before the rest of the people arrived

on the earth, before man was created
or children were born.

I know what it feels like
to be the only person around for miles.

I’ve distanced myself from all I know
and there’s no more reason for fear

because I am now past all the cares
and the worries and can move on

without a load—free to move wherever
I please, or stop, or change my course.

I am no longer responsible for anyone.
I am only responsible for myself.

To myself I remain responsible.