Poetry on the Grand River

Not just any old conversation will do . . .

This entry was posted in Environment, Men, poetry, rivers and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Poetry on the Grand River

  1. penncosect24 says:

    To your river poetry, may I add Isaiah Beethovan’s story from Edgar Lee Master’s Spoon River Anthology?

    They told me I had three months to live,
    So I crept to Bernadotte,
    And sat by the mill for hours and hours
    Where the gathered waters deeply moving
    Seemed not to move:
    O world, that’s you!
    You are but a widened place in the river
    Where Life looks down and and we rejoice for her
    Mirrored in us, and so we dream
    And turn away, but when again
    We look for the face, behold the low-lands
    And blasted cotton-wood trees where we empty
    Into the larger stream!
    But here by the mill the castled clouds
    Mocked themselves in the dizzy water;
    And over its agate floor at night
    The flame of the moon ran under my eyes
    Amid a forest stillness broken
    By the flute in a hut on the hill.
    At last when I came to lie in bed
    Weak and in pain, with the dreams about me,
    The soul of the river had entered my soul,
    And the gathered power of my soul was moving
    So swiftly it seemed to be at rest
    Under cities of cloud and under
    Spheres of silver and changing worlds —
    Until I saw a flash of trumpets
    Above the battlements over Time!

    The rhythm of paddling lends itself to poetry! Or song — look no farther than the songs of the voyageuers who traveled the lakes and rivers of North America!

    A parent who recited the poems of A. E. Housman must have been special for you. Poetry, humor and canoeing — what a great way to spend time together as brothers. Thanks for sharing this post. I thought it was wonderful.

  2. Reblogged this on The Cedar Journal and commented:
    Ahhh… canoeing with these guys must be a hoot. I am so glad they share their adventures.

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