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In Art By Jennifer Graham

Emily Dickinson Poem: Will there really be a morning?

February 18, 2021 1 Comment

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Emily Dickinson was loving, kind, and a bit of a prankster. “Will there really be a morning” is a poem she wrote on the back of a cake recipe. A cake recipe?! What if it hadn’t been found? I learned about this while looking up the poem and ran across Hidden Kitchens produced by The Kitchen Sisters. Their series featured the story of Emily and the poem on NPR’s Morning Edition which we can listen to below. BLACK CAKE: EMILY DICKINSON’S HIDDEN KITCHEN ON NPR’S MORNING EDITION Posted by The Kitchen Sisters on Dec 27, 2016 in Hidden Kitchens, Hidden World of GirlsListen to the podcast about Dickinson’s black cake recipe and her life at the below link to their podcast. http://www.kitchensisters.org/present/black-cake-emily-dickinsons-hidden-kitchen/ Will there really be a morning? by Emily Dickinson Will there really be a “Morning”?Is there such a thing as “Day”?Could I see it from the mountainsIf I were as tall as they? Has…

In Art By Jennifer Graham

Night Walk Poem by Sylvia Plath

February 11, 2021 1 Comment

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By Sylvia PlathOctober 4, 1958 Flintlike, her feet struck such a racket of echoes from the steely street,tacking in moon-blued crooks from the black stone-built town, that she heard the quick air ignite its tinder and shake a firework of echoes from wall to wall of the dark, dwarfed cottages.But the echoes died at her back as the walls gave way to fields and the incessant seethe of grasses riding in the full of the moon, manes to the wind, tireless, tied, as a moon-bound seamoves on its root. Though a mist-wraith wound up from the fissured valley and hung shoulder-high ahead, it fattened to no family-featured ghost, nor did any word body with a namethe blank mood she walked in. Once past the dream-peopled village, her eyes entertained no dream, and the sandman’s dust lost lustre under her footsoles. The long wind, paring her person downto a pinch of flame, blew its burdened whistle in the whorl of her ear, and, like a scooped-out…

In Art By Jennifer Graham

The Lake by Edgar Allan Poe

February 10, 2021 1 Comment

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The LakeEdgar Allan Poe – 1809-1849 In youth’s spring it was my lotTo haunt, of the wide earth a spotThe which I could not love the less,So lovely was the lonelinessOf a wild lake, with black rock bound,And the tall pines that tower’d around. But, when the night had thrown her pallUpon that spot, as upon all,And the mystic wind went byMurmuring in melody -Then – ah then I would awakeTo the terror of the lone lake. Yet that terror was not fright.But a tremulous delight – A feeling not the jewelled mineCould teach or bribe me to define -Nor Love – although the Love were thine. Death was in that poison’d wave —And, in its gulf, a fitting graveFor him who thence could solace bringTo his lone imagining -Whose solitary soul could makeAn Eden of that dim lake. https://youtu.be/3OKdS85iPo4 You might enjoy our post Evening Star Written by Edgar Allan…

In Art By Jennifer Graham

Robert Frost: “Acquainted with the Night”

February 4, 2021 No Comments

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Acquainted with the Night BY ROBERT FROST I have been one acquainted with the night.I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane.I have passed by the watchman on his beatAnd dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feetWhen far away an interrupted cryCame over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-bye;And further still at an unearthly height,One luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night. Source: PoetryFoundation.org You might also enjoy our posts Robert Frost: Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, The Road Not Taken, Mending Wall, and Ghost House. Robert Frost in 1943. (Eric Schaal/The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty Images)

In Art By Jennifer Graham

Wild Nights – Wild Nights by Emily Dickinson

February 3, 2021 3 Comments

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Wild Nights — Wild Nights!Were I with theeWild Nights should beOur luxury! Futile — the Winds —To a Heart in port —Done with the Compass —Done with the Chart! Rowing in Eden —Ah, the Sea!Might I but moor — Tonight —In Thee! Source: PoetryinVoice.com To learn more about Emily Dickinson you can visit our blog post “A Short Bio on Emily Dickinson and the Poem that Captured Me”. Photo by Wendy Maeda/The Boston Globe via Getty Images You might also enjoy Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, The Road not Taken, Ghost House, and Mending Wall.

In Art By Jennifer Graham

Amanda Gorman reads the inauguration poem, “the Hill we climb”

January 21, 2021 No Comments

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https://youtu.be/LZ055ilIiN4 This young lady is only 22 years old and recites her original poem for the inauguration. Ms. Gorman is the National Youth Poet Laureate. What amazing talent she has and she made history today. One to listen to in the years to come. Gorman made history on Wednesday by becoming the youngest person ever to write and recite a poem during an inauguration. The Los Angeles native described her background in the powerful composition as a “skinny Black girl, descended from slaves and raised by a single mother [who] can dream of becoming president, only to find herself reciting for one.”ET Online article by Desiree Murphy Cover image credit: CONVIRON ALTATIS

In Art By Jennifer Graham

Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

December 13, 2020 2 Comments

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Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening BY ROBERT FROST Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. Source: PoetryFoundation.org This photograph was taken in 1915 to publicize the American release of Frost’s first book of poetry, “A Boy’s Will”.NH Historical Society Granite State Stories: Robert Frost publishes ‘New Hampshire’ Published: 6/29/2018 The Granite State’s most celebrated poet, Robert Frost, wrote works that…

In Art By Jennifer Graham

The Night is Darkening Around Me by Emily Bronte

November 21, 2020 No Comments

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The night is darkening round me,The wild winds coldly blow;But a tyrant spell has bound me,And I cannot, cannot go. The giant trees are bendingTheir bare boughs weighed with snow;The storm is fast descending,And yet I cannot go. Clouds beyond clouds above me,Wastes beyond wastes below;But nothing drear can move me;I will not, cannot go. Source: Poets of the English Language (Viking Press, 1950) Cover image credit:Photo by Lucas Ludwig on Unsplash

In Art By Jennifer Graham

Fall, Leaves, Fall by Emily Bronte

November 16, 2020 No Comments

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Fall, leaves, fallby Emily Bronte Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;Lengthen night and shorten day;Every leaf speaks bliss to meFluttering from the autumn tree.I shall smile when wreaths of snowBlossom where the rose should grow;I shall sing when night’s decayUshers in a drearier day. Source: Poets of the English Language (Viking Press, 1950) Featured imageCredit to: Autumn in Savernake Forest, near Marlborough, Wiltshire. Photograph: Anna Stowe/Alamy

In Art By Jennifer Graham

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

October 4, 2020 2 Comments

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The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveler, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I couldTo where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair,And having perhaps the better claim,Because it was grassy and wanted wear;Though as for that the passing thereHad worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally layIn leaves no step had trodden black.Oh, I kept the first for another day!Yet knowing how way leads on to way,I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sighSomewhere ages and ages hence:Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by,And that has made all the difference. Robert Frost in 1943. (Eric Schaal/The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty Images) Cover photo credit: Jennifer Graham