PHYLLIS BECK KATZ, POET
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Charles Wright, New Poet Laureate of the United States

6/12/2014

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Congratulations to  Charles Wright, new U.S. poet laureate!

ACROSS THE CREEK
IS THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER


No darkness steps out of the woods,

no angel appears.

I listen, no word, I look, no thing.

Eternity must be hiding back there, it’s done so before.

I can wait, or I can climb,

Like Orpheus, through the slick organs of my body.

I guess I’ll wait,

at least until tomorrow night, or the day after.

And if the darkness does not appear,

that’s a long time.

And if no angel, it’s longer still.

“Across the Creek Is the Other Side of the River” from “Caribou” by Charles Wright. Copyright © 2014 by Charles Wright.

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In Memoriam Maya Angelou 1928-2014

6/3/2014

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We have lost one of our great poets. 

In her memory, I am posting this poem in which Angelou’s voice rings out loud and clear.

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

     

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    Phyllis Katz: My Blog.

    This Blog begins with a description of my development as a poet, and goes on to discuss my teaching with Donald Sheehan, long-time director of The Frost Place. In subsequent entries I describe the summer programs at The Frost Place and The Fine Arts Work Center and discuss the reading and writing of poems.

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