The Poetry Forum’s next meeting will be Monday, August 18 at 4 pm in the Winter’s Room, Main Library. The subject will be Wordsworth and the Romantic poets (by popular demand).
Please make plans to join us!
Read the poem of the month below. . .
The Poetry Forum is a chance for anyone and everyone to read, discuss, explore or just listen to poetry in a relaxing setting. No level of expertise is required, only an interest in and a desire to share and enjoy new and favorite poems and poets with others.
Lifelong poetry lover or just curious?
Focusing on published works, the Poetry Forum is a chance for anyone and everyone to read, discuss, explore or just listen to poetry in a relaxing setting. No level of expertise is required, only an interest in and a desire to share and enjoy new and favorite poems and poets with others.
At each meeting, members of the group have the chance to offer their favorites or share “found” pieces, followed by a discussion of a featured poet.
The only real rule is to have fun. Hosted by Ani Apelian, the Poetry Forum meets the third Monday of every month in the Winters Room in the main library building, to read and discuss published poets.
No need to register. Those wishing to attend need only to show up at 4pm to join in the discussions. For further information contact Mr. Shawn Newcomer at 326-0536 or by email.
August Poem of the Month
Coming and Going
by Tony Hoagland
My marriage ended in an airport long ago.
I was not wise enough to cry while looking for my car,
walking through the underground garage;
jets were roaring overhead, and if I had been wise
I would have looked up at those heavy-bellied cylinders
and seen the wheelchairs and the frightened dogs inside;
the kidneys bedded in dry ice and Styrofoam containers.
I would have known that in synagogues and churches all over town
couples were gathering like flocks of geese
getting ready to take off, while here the jets were putting down
their gear, getting ready for the jolt, the giant tires
shrieking and scraping off two
long streaks of rubber molecules,
that might have been my wife and I, screaming in our fear.
It is a matter of amusement to me now,
me staggering around that underground garage,
trying to remember the color of my vehicle,
unable to recall that I had come by cab—
eventually gathering myself and going back inside,
to get the luggage
I would be carrying for the rest of my life.