New Poet Lauriate Named

The PBS News Hour interviews the new U.S. Poet Laureate.

Congratulations, Mr. Levine.

Working-Class Poet Levine Named Nation's Next Laureate

Errata

It seems I neglected to report that, in the Spring, I sold, yes sold, for real, cash money, my two, interrelated Sestinas, "The Troubadour's Song" and "The Lady's Song," to Breath and Shadow an online, semi-pro journal. Here's the link:

http://www.abilitymaine.org/breath/spr11e.html

Prize Winners

Here are the poems that took First And Second Prize in this year's NFB Writers Division Poetry Contest.

When You Were Mine

When you were mine every day was Summer
The night always overflowed with stars
Each kiss and every touch was newborn magic
Nothing blocked our way; the world was ours.

When you were mine the shadows couldn’t scare us
The future spread before us bright and clear
My light was just your smile; my music was your laughter,
Nothing else meant anything to me.

There’s nothing now except your memory
My heart is bleak as Winter but still sometimes
You call to me across the years and again
I’m with you in the sweet days when you were mine.

It Doesn't Matter Any More

The afternoon’s last sunlight lies in bars across the floor
Soon it fades and melts away as twilight falls once more.
This used to be the time of day I always loved the most,
But now it’s just the nightfall, that doesn’t matter any more.

The dawn is soft with silver mist and soon the rain appears
It blurs the edges of the day and merges with my tears.
This used to be the time of day you always held me close.
But now it’s just the morning that doesn’t matter any more.

My friends say that I should find a new love.
They tell me I’ll be happy once again.
But my heart could never part with you, Love
Where’s happiness when the world is cold and dead?

So now I watch the nights and days go spinning by.
At times I cry, but mostly I just wonder why,
Why you were taken from my arms when we finally had it all
I love you so but now, it doesn’t matter any more.

Ring Out, Wild Bells!

photo by listener

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

- Alfred, Lord, Tennyson: In Memoriam A.H.H., CVI

Auld Lang Syne

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup of kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

And there's a hand my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o thine,
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup of kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

- Robert Burns

Voice of Palestine Silenced

Darwish, poet of the Palestinian cause, dies after surgery
By Mohammed Assadi in Ramallah
Monday, 11 August 2008

Mahmoud Darwish, whose poetry encapsulated the Palestinian cause, is to get the equivalent of a state funeral in the West Bank following his death this weekend – an honour only previously accorded to the PLO leader Yasser Arafat.

Tributes for Darwish poured in yesterday, a day after he died, at the age of 67, from complications following heart surgery in a hospital in Houston, Texas.

"He translated the pain of the Palestinians in a magical way," said Egypt's vernacular poet Ahmed Fouad Negm. "He made us cry and made us happy and shook our emotions. Apart from being the poet of the Palestinian wound, which is hurting all Arabs and all honest people in the world, he is a master poet."

Darwish's funeral in Ramallah tomorrow will be the first sponsored by the Palestinian Authority since Arafat died in 2004. The Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas declared three days of national mourning. People gathered on Saturday night in the darkened streets of Ramallah, holding candles and weeping.

May he rest in peace. And, may his people find peace and freedom.