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Articles About First Lines :: Page 2
What happens to those who came before us also happens to us. In a poem by villager Maxine Skuba, world history and personal history touch hands.
This month’s poems come from longtime villager Rubin Battino, who has been writing three-line poems for decades. “We hit it off,” he said of the short form, his own adaptation of haiku.
“There’s just no accounting for happiness,” begins a poem I love by Jane Kenyon. Happiness in this poem is a gift, a grace, as it seems to be in this month’s poem from musician Carl Schumacher.
Spring. We become aware of it not just by the calendar, but more viscerally by signs. By firsts, as in this poem by local writer and teacher Ed Davis.
There is enormous freedom in a poem. It is the same freedom found within the human mind. This month, a poem, or a spacious poem-prayer, by villager Moriel Rothman-Zecher.
Mary Oliver is the lovely, lambent consciousness of every poem she wrote in praise of heron and hawk, windflower and black oak, lightning and first snow. It is she who went out into the world, she who scribbled notes.
For friends and poets Anne Randolph and Mary Donahoe, poetry was a natural part of the women’s bond. This month’s column presents a poem by each: “Mary’s Garden,” by Randolph, and “Carolina Wren,” by Donahoe.
The News is launching a monthly poetry column, “First Lines.” Each month, we’ll publish a poem written by a local poet.