All posts by Nichole

A lovely poem for a quiet evening

American Life in Poetry: Column 266
by Ted Kooser, US Poet Laureate

The great American poet William Carlos Williams taught us that if a poem can capture a moment in life, and bathe it in the light of the poet’s close attention, and make it feel fresh and new, that’s enough, that’s adequate, that’s good. Here is a poem like that by Rachel Contreni Flynn, who lives in Illinois.

The Yellow Bowl

If light pours like water
into the kitchen where I sway
with my tired children,

if the rug beneath us
is woven with tough flowers,
and the yellow bowl on the table

rests with the sweet heft
of fruit, the sun-warmed plums,
if my body curves over the babies,

and if I am singing,
then loneliness has lost its shape,
and this quiet is only quiet.

Poem ©2009 by Rachel Contreni Flynn, whose newest book, “Tongue,” is forthcoming from Red Hen Press. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.

This week, it’s a frozen pizza!

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Monday: Chicken meatballs.

We’re going to have these on pita bread with tzatziki sauce. I’m really glad I didn’t have to say that to you, because I have no idea how to pronounce it.

Tuesday: Bangers & mash.

Petey loved this so much when we had it on St. Patrick’s Day. It’s also exceptionally simple. Win and win.

Wednesday: Mac & cheese & peas.

The peas are added on an as-needed basis. That is to say, I add them to Pete’s after it’s in his bowl, so that nary a vegetable touches Poppy’s food.

Thursday: Breakfast for dinner.

Either omelets or scrambled eggs with veggie sausages.

Friday: Pizza

I’m beginning to wonder whether we’ll have a week without macaroni & cheese and/or pizza.

“My guilt is all I have left.”

"Ironweed"The ML100 continues to depress! William Kennedy’s “Ironweed” tells the story of Francis Phelan, a homeless man who has been almost entirely consumed by guilt. Ultimately, it’s a story about redemption, but the reader has to slog through quite a lot of sadness and destruction (and ghosts) to get to it. There wouldn’t really be a story at all without that slogging, though, so I suppose that was the whole point. I wasn’t deeply touched by the story, but it wasn’t bad.

I’m still trying to work out on what merits the Modern Library chose their Top 100. So far, it seems to be closed-off characters and a heavy dose of long, rambling internal monologues.