Blatant Bibliophile Blog

…feeling the need to read

Archive for April, 2008

Here, Have a Poem

Posted by blatantbibliophiles on April 8, 2008


Today’s Poem-a-Day submission is by author Caroline Knox. To read an interview with Ms. Knox at the website Jubilat. Jubilat is devoted to the publication of not only the best in contemporary American poetry, but to placing it alongside a varied selection of reprints, found pieces, lyric prose, art, and interviews with poets and other artists.

Line Poem
by Caroline Knox

Long jetty, long shell-racked jetty, cracked warped planks.

Beautiful fish, beautiful sea-bass poached with an August tomato,
on an ironstone plate.

A snake’s slough, a snake’s spinal cord, a dry-rot stump.

A twill tape measure, an audiotape cassette unspooled and puckered,

Agate prayer beads, kazoos, whistles, rattles.

A bike chain and a bungee cord. A möbius strip and a broccoli elastic.

Split vanilla pod inset with paltry-looking flat oily brown seeds.

Egg-and-dart molding of vitreous fake sandstone. Contrails,
mares’ tails, mackerel sky.

Posted in Poetry, Reading | Tagged: , , , | Leave a Comment »

How About Some Poetry?

Posted by blatantbibliophiles on April 7, 2008


Alan Shapiro, today’s Academy of American Poets author, is the William R. Kenan Jr. Distinguished Professor of English and Creative Writing at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. He is the author of nine acclaimed books of poetry and a former recipient of the Kingsley Tufts Award and the Los Angeles Book Prize; he was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award. He was recently elected as a fellow in the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. Today’s poem, “Just,” is from Old War, recently published by Houghton Mifflin.

by Alan Shapiro

after the downpour, in the early evening,
late sunlight glinting off the raindrops sliding
down the broad backs of the redbud leaves
beside the porch, beyond the railing, each leaf
bending and springing back and bending again
beneath the dripping,
between existences,
ecstatic, the souls grow mischievous, they break ranks,
swerve from the rigid V’s of their migration,
their iron destinies, down to the leaves
they flutter in among, rising and settling,
bodiless, but pretending to have bodies,

their weightlessness more weightless for the ruse,
their freedom freer, their as-ifs nearly not,
until the night falls like an order and
they rise on one vast wing that darkens down
the endless flyways into other bodies.

Nothing will make you less afraid.

Posted in Poetry, Reading | Tagged: , , | Leave a Comment »

Posted by blatantbibliophiles on April 6, 2008


According to Contemporary today’s author, poet and novelist Ciaran Carson was born in Belfast, Northern Ireland, in 1948. After graduating from Queen’s University, Belfast, he worked for the Arts Council of Northern Ireland until 1998. He won an Eric Gregory Award in 1978.

His collections of poetry include The Irish for No (1987), winner of the Alice Hunt Bartlett Award; Belfast Confetti (1990), which won the Irish Times Irish Literature Prize for Poetry; and First Language: Poems (1993), winner of the T. S. Eliot Prize. His prose includes The Star Factory (1997) and Fishing for Amber (1999). His most recent novel, Shamrock Tea (2001), explores themes present in Jan van Eyck’s painting The Arnolfini Marriage. His translation of Dante’s Inferno was published in November 2002. His most recent collection is Breaking News (2003), winner of the Forward Poetry Prize (Best Poetry Collection of the Year).

Ciaran Carson is also an accomplished musician, and is the author of Last Night’s Fun: About Time, Food and Music (1996), a study of Irish traditional music. He lives in Belfast.

The Assignation
by Ciaran Carson

I think I must have told him my name was Juliette,
with four syllables, you said, to go with violette.

I envisaged the violet air that presages snow,
the dark campaniles of a city beginning to blur

a malfunctioning violet neon pharmacy sign
jittering away all night through the dimity curtains.

Near dawn you opened them to a deep fall and discovered
a line of solitary footprints leading to a porch:

a smell of candle-wax and frankincense; the dim murmur
of a liturgy you knew but whose language you did not.

The statues were shrouded in Lenten violet, save one,
a Virgin in a cope of voile so white as to be blue.

As was the custom there, your host informed you afterwards—
the church was dedicated to Our Lady of the Snows.

Posted in Poetry, Reading | Tagged: , , , | Leave a Comment »

Let’s Read Some Poetry!

Posted by blatantbibliophiles on April 5, 2008

Today’s Poem of the Day from The Academy of American Poets is by Claire Kageyama-Ramakrishnan. Born in Santa Monica and raised in Los Angeles, Born in Santa Monica and raised in Los Angeles, Claire Kageyama-Ramakrishnan received her B.A. in English from Loyola Marymount University in Los Angeles, and earned an M.F.A. in poetry from the University of Virginia, where she was a Henry Hoyns Fellow, and completed her M.A. in literature from the University of California at Berkeley. At the University of Houston she was a Cambor Fellow and earned a Ph.D. in literature and creative writing. She is a full-time instructor at Houston Community College, Central Campus. She lives in Houston with her husband, Raj, a scientist specializing in HIV/AIDS research at Baylor College of Medicine, and their three cats.

Terzanelle: Manzanar Riot
by Claire Kageyama-Ramakrishnan

This is a poem with missing details,
of ground gouging each barrack’s windowpane,
sand crystals falling with powder and shale,

where silence and shame make adults insane.
This is about a midnight of searchlights,
of ground gouging each barrack’s windowpane,

of syrup on rice and a cook’s big fight.
This is the night of Manzanar’s riot.
This is about a midnight of searchlights,

a swift moon and a voice shouting, Quiet!
where the revolving searchlight is the moon.
This is the night of Manzanar’s riot,

windstorm of people, rifle powder fumes,
children wiping their eyes clean of debris,
where the revolving searchlight is the moon,

and children line still to use the latrines.
This is a poem with missing details,
children wiping their eyes clean of debris—
sand crystals falling with powder and shale.

Posted in Poetry, Reading | Tagged: , , , | Leave a Comment »

Check Out Today’s Poem-A-Day Dose!

Posted by blatantbibliophiles on April 4, 2008


Today’s Academy of American Poets Poem-a-Day is by Raymond McDaniel. Mr. McDaniel is an English lecturer at the University of Michigan. A native of Florida, he now lives in Ann Arbor where he hosts a popular reading series at Shaman Drum Bookshop. His publications include two works of poetry, Murder (A Violet) and Saltwater Empire. He also writes about contemporary poetry for the poetry magazine The Constant Critic.

Assault to Abjury

by Raymond McDaniel

 Rain commenced, and wind did.
A crippled ship slid ashore.Our swimmer’s limbs went heavy. The sand had been flattened.

The primary dune, the secondary dune, both leveled.

The maritime forest, extracted.Every yard of the shore was shocked with jellyfish.

The blue pillow of the man o’ war empty in the afterlight.

The threads of the jellyfish, spent.

Disaster weirdly neatened the beach.

We cultivated the debris field.

Castaway trash, our treasure.

Jewel box, spoon ring, sack of rock candy.

A bicycle exoskeleton without wheels, grasshopper green.

Our dead ten speed.

We rested in red mangrove and sheltered in sheets.

Our bruises blushed backwards, our blisters did.

is it true is it true

God help us we tried to stay shattered but we just got better.

We grew adept, we caught the fish as they fled.

We skinned the fish, our knife clicked like an edict.

We were harmed, and then we healed

Posted in Poetry, Reading | Tagged: , | Leave a Comment »

Poem-A-Day: Day Three

Posted by blatantbibliophiles on April 3, 2008


Are you reading the Poem of the Day? Check here each day, or check The Academy of American Poets website at for their Poem-a-Day. You can subscribe to receive it by email! Here is today’s poem by poet Jane Mead. Sadly, there is not a bio of Ms. Mead on the website, so here is some info for you, scooped from a Wake Forest University news article by Vanessa Willis in 2002. Apparently Ms. Mead is a mystery lady!

Jane Mead, formerly Wake Forest University’s poet-in-residence, won a 2002 John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation Fellowship. The foundation annually awards the prestigious fellowships to support artists, scholars and scientists and their work. Past authors who have been Guggenheim Fellows include Eudora Welty, Langston Hughes and Vladimir Nabakov. Two collections of Mead’s poetry, House of Poured-Out Waters and The Lord and the General Din of the World, have been published. Mead previously won a grant from the Lannan Foundation in 1999, the Kathryn A. Morton Prize from Sarabande Books in 1995 and the Whiting Writer’s Award in 1992.

 The Origin
by Jane Meadof what happened is not in language—
of this much I am certain.
Six degrees south, six east—

and you have it: the bird
with the blue feathers, the brown bird—
same white breasts, same scaly

ankles. The waves between us—
house light and transform motion
into the harboring of sounds in language.—

Where there is newsprint
the fact of desire is turned from again—
and again. Just the sense

that what remains might well be held up—
later, as an ending.
Twice I have walked through this life—

once for nothing, once
for facts: fairy-shrimp in the vernal pool—
glassy-winged sharp-shooter

on the failing vines. Count me—
among the animals, their small
committed calls.—

Count me among
the living. My greatest desire—
to exist in a physical world.

Posted in Poetry, Reading | Tagged: , | 1 Comment »

Have You Tried GlassGiant, Bibliophiles?

Posted by blatantbibliophiles on April 3, 2008


Remember all the cool graphics you can make on ImageChef? Well, if you have already made millions of cool ImageChef images, you might also want to try GlassGiant. You can make lots of cool graphics, enjoy some “fun and games” (for example “Pumpkin Masher” and “Word Scrambler”) and even try your hand at “geek stuff” such as counting to 31 on one hand or making a trebuchet that can fire balls of Play-Doh! The images can be posted to your blog, website, or your MySpace or FaceBook page. I did have some issues with embedding to WordPress, but all I had to do was save my lovely image and upload it.

Posted in Web 2.0, Websites | Tagged: , , | Leave a Comment »

Poem of the Day: Day Two

Posted by blatantbibliophiles on April 2, 2008


Did you enjoy the Poem of the Day yesterday? In case you didn’t notice, it was by our nation’s Poet Laureate, Charles Simic. Here is today’s Poem of the Day, by poet Robert Creeley from Massachusetts. Click here to read a biography about Mr. Creeley at, the official website of The Academy of American Poets. You can also read an article on the website about Mr. Simic.  Hint: If you click on each author’s name under the title of her/his poem each day, you’ll get a link to his bio at the website! Enjoy!

The Charm
by Robert Creeley

My children are, to me,
what is uncommon: they are dumb
and speak with signs. Their hands

are nervous, and fit more for
hysteria, than goodwill or long
winterside conversation.

Where fire is, they are quieter
and sit, comforted. They were born
by their mother in hopelessness.

But in them I had been, at first,
tongue. If they speak,
I have myself, and love them.

Posted in Reading | Tagged: , | Leave a Comment »

Enjoy the First Poem of the Day from Poets.Org for National Poetry Month!

Posted by blatantbibliophiles on April 1, 2008


 Secret History
by Charles Simic

Of the light in my room:
Its mood swings,
Dark-morning glooms,
Summer ecstasies.Spider on the wall,
Lamp burning late,
Shoes left by the bed,
I’m your humble scribe.

Dust balls, simple souls
Conferring in the corner.
The pearl earring she lost,
Still to be found.

Silence of falling snow,
Night vanishing without trace,
Only to return.
I’m your humble scribe.

Posted in Reading | Tagged: , | Leave a Comment »

April is National Poetry Month

Posted by blatantbibliophiles on April 1, 2008

National Poetry Month

Don’t forget April is National Poetry Month. We’ll be celebrating all month long at the Creekview Grizzly Unquiet Library. You can also go to to sign up to receive a poem a day by email! . April 17 will be Poem in your Pocket Day. For more information about Poem in your Pocket Day, visit this page of All you do is select a poem you love during National Poetry Month and then carry it with you to share with family, and friends on April 17. Poems from pockets will be unfolded throughout the day with events in parks, libraries, schools, workplaces, and bookstores. According to the website, Poem In Your Pocket Day has been celebrated each April in New York City since 2002. Each year, city parks, bookstores, workplaces, and other venues burst with open readings of poems from pockets. Even the Mayor gets in on the festivities, reading a poem on the radio. For more information on New York City’s celebration, visit Poems have been stowed in pockets in a variety of ways, from the commonplace books of the Renaissance to the pocket-sized publications for Army soldiers in World War II. Have a story about the marriage of the poem and the pocket? Send them to How cool is that?

Posted in Reading | Tagged: , | 1 Comment »