7 comments

1. 

   May 18, 2017 at 9:02 pm

   P. Venugopal says:

   inspiring

2. 

   May 18, 2017 at 10:23 pm

   cathym30 says:

   Hi Jamie – enjoyed the interview with Nicole. In 1986 when I was in the Faculty of Education one of my profs introduced me to this very simple little poem. I have shared it with many of my students over the years as a way to introduce poetry to them and inspire them to read poetry.

   Keep A Poem In Your Pocket
   By Beatrice Schenk de Regniers

   Keep a poem in your pocket
   And a picture in your head
   And you’ll never feel lonely
   At night when you’re in bed.

   The little poem will sing to you
   The little picture bring to you
   A dozen dreams to dance to you
   At night when you’re in bed.

   So – –
   Keep a poem in your pocket
   And a picture in your head
   And you’ll never feel lonely
   At night when you’re in bed.

   Cheers.
   Cathy

3. 

   May 19, 2017 at 8:07 am

   julskovac says:

   Jamie, thanks for this very inspirational podcast. One of my favorite poets is David Whyte. I bought his book “River Flow” a couple years ago. Even better is actually listening to him recite his own poetry.

   Here’s a link to a short video on YouTube where he talks about what is poetry – https://youtu.be/229boZXqLMw

   This Poem Belongs To You
   by David Whyte

   This poem belongs to you
   and is already finished,
   it was begun years ago
   and I put it away
   knowing it would come into the world
   in its own time.

   In fact you have already read it,
   and closing the pages of the book,
   you are now abandoning the projects of the day
   and putting on your shoes and coat
   to take a walk.

   It has been years since you felt like this.
   You have remembered what I remembered,
   when I first began to write.

4. 

   May 19, 2017 at 10:03 am

   Dianne_Dixon says:

   Oh my goodness Jamie, what an assignment you have left us with. Favourite poem! Wow! So, so many, how to choose? Am not sure I have ever met a poem I didn’t like, some were not ‘favourites’, were maybe disturbing, but made me think and so could not be discarded as unlikeable. So here are a few of my favourites. I pared this down from about twenty-five.

   First, this is framed and on my bedroom wall where I see it every day before I leave the room and begin my day.

    It Is I Who Must Begin

   Once I begin, once I try —
   here and now,
   right where I am,
   not excusing myself
   by saying things
   would be easier elsewhere,
   without grand speeches and
   ostentatious gestures,
   but all the more persistently
   — to live in harmony
   with the “voice of Being,” as I
   understand it within myself
   — as soon as I begin that,
   I suddenly discover,
   to my surprise, that
   I am neither the only one,
   nor the first,
   nor the most important one
   to have set out
   upon that road.
   Whether all is really lost
   or not depends entirely on
   whether or not I am lost.

   ~ Václav Havel ~

   Then, anything by Mary Oliver.

   TODAY

   Today I’m flying low and I’m
   not saying a word.
   I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.
T
   he world goes on as it must,

   the bees in the garden rumbling a little,

   the fish leaping,
   the gnats getting eaten.

   And so forth.
But I’m taking the day off.

   Quiet as a feather.

   I hardly move
   though really
   I’m traveling
a terrific distance.

   Stillness.
   One of the doors
   
into the temple.

   -by Mary Oliver

   And anything by David Whyte.

   Enough.

   These few words are enough.
   If not these words, this breath.
   If not this breath, this sitting here.
   This opening to life
   we have refused
   again and again
   until now.
   Until now

   David Whyte

   And so many more, a number by Canadian poets, some by friends, some classics and more.

   “Write it on your heart
   
that every day is the best day in the year.

   He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day

   who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety.
   Finish every day and be done with it.

   You have done what you could.

   Some blunders and absurdities, no doubt crept in.

   Forget them as soon as you can, tomorrow is a new day;
   
begin it well and serenely, with too high a spirit

   to be cumbered with your old nonsense.
   This new day is too dear,

   with its hopes and invitations,

   to waste a moment on the yesterdays.”

   ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

   Good Bones

   BY MAGGIE SMITH

   Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
   Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
   in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
   a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
   I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
   fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
   estimate, though I keep this from my children.
   For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
   For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
   sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
   is at least half terrible, and for every kind
   stranger, there is one who would break you,
   though I keep this from my children. I am trying
   to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
   walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
   about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
   right? You could make this place beautiful.

   “KEEPING QUIET” BY PABLO NERUDA

   Now we will count to twelve
   and we will all keep still.
   For once on the face of the earth,
   let’s not speak in any language;
   let’s stop for one second,
   and not move our arms so much.
   It would be an exotic moment
   without rush, without engines;
   we would all be together
   in a sudden strangeness.
   Fisherman in the cold sea
   would not harm whales
   and the man gathering salt
   would look at his hurt hands.
   Those who prepare green wars,
   wars with gas, wars with fire,
   victories with no survivors,
   would put on clean clothes
   and walk about with their brothers
   in the shade, doing nothing.
   What I want should not be confused
   with total inactivity.
   Life is what it is about;
   I want no truck with death.
   If we were not so single-minded
   about keeping our lives moving,
   and for once could do nothing,
   perhaps a huge silence
   might interrupt this sadness
   of never understanding ourselves
   and of threatening ourselves with death.
   Perhaps the earth can teach us
   as when everything seems dead
   and later proves to be alive.
   Now I’ll count up to twelve
   and you keep quiet and I will go.
   —from Extravagaria (translated by Alastair Reid, pp. 27-29, 1974)

   The Patience of Ordinary Things
   by Pat Schneider

   It is a kind of love, is it not?
   How the cup holds the tea,
   How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
   How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
   Or toes. How soles of feet know
   Where they’re supposed to be.
   I’ve been thinking about the patience
   Of ordinary things, how clothes
   Wait respectfully in closets
   And soap dries quietly in the dish,
   And towels drink the wet
   From the skin of the back.
   And the lovely repetition of stairs.
   And what is more generous than a window?

   From Another River: New and Selected Poems

   On the Beach at Night Alone

   BY WALT WHITMAN

   On the beach at night alone,
   As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song,
   As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the clef of the universes and of the future.

   A vast similitude interlocks all,
   All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets,
   All distances of place however wide,
   All distances of time, all inanimate forms,
   All souls, all living bodies though they be ever so different, or in different worlds,
   All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes, the fishes, the brutes,
   All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages,
   All identities that have existed or may exist on this globe, or any globe,
   All lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future,
   This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann’d,
   And shall forever span them and compactly hold and enclose them.

   Coconut
   by
   Paul Hostovsky
    
   Bear with me I
   
want to tell you

   something about

   happiness
   
it’s hard to get at
   
but the thing is
   
I wasn’t looking

   I was looking

   somewhere else
   
when my son found it
   
in the fruit section
   
and came running
   
holding it out

   in his small hands
   
asking me what

   it was and could we
   
keep it
   it only
   
cost 99 cents
   
hairy and brown
   
hard as a rock

   and something swishing
   
around inside

   and what on earth
   
and where on earth
   
and this was happiness
   
this little ball

   of interest beating
   
inside his chest

   this interestedness

   beaming ou
   t
from his face pleading
   
happiness

   and because I wasn’t

   happy I said
   
to put it back
   
because I didn’t want it

   because we didn’t need it
   
and because he was happy
   
he started to cry
right there in aisle
   
five so when we
   
got it home we
   
put it in the middle 
of the kitchen table
   
and sat on either
side of it and began

   to consider how
   
to get inside of it

   From Bending the Notes (Main Street Rag, 2008).

   And if you are still reading.

   “maggie and milly and molly and may
   
went down to the beach (to play one day
   )
and maggie discovered a shell that sang

   so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles,
   and

   milly befriended a stranded star whose rays five
   languid fingers were;
   
and molly was chased by a horrible thing

   which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:
   and

   may came home with a smooth round stone

   as small as a world and as large as alone.

   For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
   
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea.”

   -E.E. Cummings, “maggie and milly and molly and may”

   Even though there are so many more I want to share, this is it, time to stop.

   Recipes? It would take pages for those as well, but how about – fresh tomatoes, fresh basil, some fresh green onions and a a clove or two of garlic, all chopped together and then piled onto some good thick slices of a favourite crusty bread that has been dried out a little in a low oven. A glass of iced tea, a book and a chair on the deck. Heaven:)

   Dianne

5. 

   May 21, 2017 at 11:14 am

   Alexis says:

   Hi Jamie,

   This was so inspiring. I recently combined my love of writing with my passion for mental health into a blog. Gulotta’s blog reminds me of my humble beginnings. The blog is titled A Mile a Minute http://alexiszinkerman.wordpress.com, if you want to read it. I will definitely explore her site more later. Alexis

6. 

   May 22, 2017 at 11:54 am

   swanofdreamers says:

   Hi Jaime,

   I really enjoyed the podcast. I was raised by my mom to use my intuition. Yes, it has really been a great friend and asset to me in my creative life.

   I love poetry! So many that I adore. Here are my top three.

   I love Sonnet 43 by Shakespeare

   When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
   For all the day they view things unrespected;
   But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
   And darkly bright are bright in dark directed;
   Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
   How would thy shadow’s form form happy show
   To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
   When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so?
   How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
   By looking on thee in the living day,
   When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
   Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay?
   All days are nights to see till I see thee,
   And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

   Wild Nights – Wild Nights by Emily Dickinson (She is one of my absolute favorite poets.)

   Wild Nights – Wild Nights!
   Were I with thee
   Wild Nights should be
   Our luxury!

   Futile – the winds –
   To a heart in port –
   Done with the compass –
   Done with the chart!

   Rowing in Eden –
   Ah, the sea!
   Might I moor – Tonight –
   In thee!

   Longing by Matthew Arnold

   Come to me in my dreams, and then
   By day I shall be well again!
   For so the night will more than pay
   The hopeless longing of the day.

   Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times,
   A messenger from radiant climes,
   And smile on thy new world, and be
   As kind to others as to me!

   Or, as thou never cam’st in sooth,
   Come now, and let me dream it truth,
   And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
   And say, My love why sufferest thou?

   Come to me in my dreams, and then
   By day I shall be well again!
   For so the night will more than pay
   The hopeless longing of the day.

   My favorite recipe is the banana bread recipe I bake for my five year old son, Jacob. I do this by hand.

   1 and half cup of flour
   a pinch of salt
   Teaspoon of baking soda
   Half a cup of sugar
   Two or three very ripe bananas
   2/3 stick of butter
   A dash of Vanilla
   Half a bag of chocolate chips ( that’s optional, a must for Jacob)
   1 egg beaten
   Mash bananas well, put the sugar and butter, then the egg, vanilla, Now, throw in all the dry ingredients. Mix well then throw in the chips. Pour it all in your well greased pan. Bake for 50 minutes at 350 degrees. Let the banana bread cool completely before devouring.

   Until writing this, I had no idea I had committed it to memory so well.

   Hope this wasn’t too long. Take care.

   Best wishes,
   Shell

7. 

   May 24, 2017 at 3:35 pm

   Lynda says:

   My favorite poem is “If” by Rudyard Kipling. My favorite recipe is chicken soup. No recipe, actually. Just. chicken, vegetables and love!