Presidents Day: Duty to Posterity

Abraham Lincoln ~
born 12 February 1809 - died 15 April 1865
16th President of the United States of America ~
from 4 March 1861 – until his death
Ben, Gerry, and Sam ~ Spring Break 2004
At the Lincoln Memorial

" 'Tis our task to transmit to the latest generation:
a political edifice of liberty and equal rights,
gratitude to our [founders],
justice to ourselves,
duty to posterity,
and love for our species in general."

Summarized from Lincoln's Lyceum Address
Springfield, Illinois ~ 27 January 1838

*******************

The following poem has been on my blog before,
but never on Presidents Day!
You Were Wearing

You were wearing your Edgar Allan Poe printed cotton blouse.
In each divided up square of the blouse was a picture of Edgar Allan Poe.
Your hair was blonde and you were cute. You asked me,
"Do most boys think that most girls are bad?"
I smelled the mould of your seaside resort hotel bedroom on your hair held in place by a John Greenleaf Whittier clip.
"No," I said, "it's girls who think that boys are bad."
Then we read Snowbound together
And ran around in an attic, so that a little of the blue enamel was scraped off my George Washington, Father of His Country, shoes.

Mother was walking in the living room, her Strauss Waltzes comb in her hair.
We waited for a time and then joined her, only to be served
tea in cups painted with pictures of Herman Melville
As well as with illustrations from his book Moby Dick
and from his novella, Benito Cereno.
Father came in wearing his Dick Tracy necktie: "How about a drink, everyone?"
I said, "Let's go outside a while."
Then we went onto the porch and sat on the Abraham Lincoln swing.
You sat on the eyes, mouth, and beard part, and I sat on the knees.
In the yard across the street we saw a snowman holding a garbage can lid smashed into a likeness of the mad English king, George the Third.

by Kenneth Koch, American poet, playwright, professor 1925 - 2002

More by Kenneth Koch [pronounced "coke"]:
The Syntax of Love
House Sisters

Dream House

814: Dream House
Certainly in my life, there are a couple of old houses that I would like to re-visit, to be greeted with open arms by the current resident and welcomed inside to relive my past. Houses that come back to me in dreams. Looking for poems that capture those mixed feelinsg of inaccessibility and familiarity, I came across this website of the best old house poems ever:

Love After Love
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

by Derek Walcott, b. 1930
Saint Lucian poet and playwright; professor at the University of Essex
1992 Nobel Prize Recipient

To My Old Addresses
. . . O
My old addresses! O my addresses! Are you addresses still?
Or has the hand of Time roughed over you
And buffered and stuffed you with peels of lemons, limes, and shells
From old institutes? If I address you
It is mostly to know if you are well.
I am all right but I think I will never find
Sustenance as I found in you, oh old addresses
Numbers that sink into my soul
Forty-eight, nineteen, twenty-three, O worlds in which I was alive!

by Kenneth Koch, 1925 - 2002 [pronounced "coke"]
American poet, playwright, professor
(see previously posted poem by Koch & another by Larkin)

These poems and more can be found on my
NEW FORTNIGHTLY BLOG POST
~ House Sisters ~

The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker:
A Fortnightly [every 14th & 28th] Literary Blog of
Connection & Coincidence; Custom & Ceremony

P.S.
You'll notice that this week, I posted early -- on March 12th --
in celebration of my friend Vicky's birthday!
Happy Birthday to my House Sister!

The Syntax of Love

who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you . . .

~ e. e. cummings ~

Still Life #30 (Museum of Modern Art)
by Tom Wesselmann, 1931 - 2004
American collage artist, painter, sculptor
Something about this picture reminds me of one my favorite poems. I think it must be the window and the green grass, where perhaps the Sentences and Nouns are lying silently. And I suspect that the pot of flowers on the window sill might be on the verge of changing color due to some kind of factory or other, not far off there in the distance.

Permanently

One day the Nouns were clustered in the street.
An adjective walked by, with her dark beauty.
The Nouns were struck, moved, changed.
The next day a Verb drove up, and created the Sentence.

Each Sentence says one thing -- for example,

"Although it was a dark rainy day when the Adjective walked by,
I shall remember the pure and sweet expression on her face
until the day I perish from the green, effective earth."

Or, "Will you please close the window, Andrew?"

Or, for example, "Thank you, the pink pot of flowers on
the window sill has changed color recently to a light
yellow, due to the heat from the boiler factory which
exists nearby."

In the springtime the Sentences and the Nouns lay silently on the grass.
A lonely Conjunction here and there would call, "And! But!"
But the Adjective did not emerge.

As the adjective is lost in the sentence,
So I am lost in your eyes, ears, nose, and throat --
You have enchanted me with a single kiss
Which can never be undone
Until the destruction of language.

by Kenneth Koch, 1925 - 2002 [pronounced "coke"]
American poet, playwright, professor

These poems and more can be found on my
NEW FORTNIGHTLY BLOG POST
~ The Syntax of Love ~

The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker:
A Fortnightly [every 14th & 28th] Literary Blog of
Connection & Coincidence; Custom & Ceremony

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

YOU WERE WEARING
You were wearing your Edgar Allan Poe printed cotton blouse.
In each divided up square of the blouse was a picture of Edgar Allan Poe.
Your hair was blonde and you were cute. You asked me,
"Do most boys think that most girls are bad?"
I smelled the mould of your seaside resort hotel bedroom on your hair held in place by a John Greenleaf Whittier clip.
"No," I said, "it's girls who think that boys are bad."
Then we read Snowbound together
And ran around in an attic, so that a little of the blue enamel was scraped off my George Washington, Father of His Country, shoes.

Mother was walking in the living room, her Strauss Waltzes comb in her hair.
We waited for a time and then joined her, only to be served
tea in cups painted with pictures of Herman Melville
As well as with illustrations from his book Moby Dick
and from his novella, Benito Cereno.
Father came in wearing his Dick Tracy necktie: "How about a drink, everyone?"
I said, "Let's go outside a while."
Then we went onto the porch and sat on the Abraham Lincoln swing.
You sat on the eyes, mouth, and beard part, and I sat on the knees.
In the yard across the street we saw a snowman holding a garbage can lid smashed into a likeness of the mad English king, George the Third.

by Kenneth Koch, American Poet, 1925 - 2002


This humorous yet earnest sartorial poem reads like a shopping list of all the things you might like to pick up at the souvenir gift shop, especially if you were on vacation in Washington, DC.

I'm sure I could use a George III garbage can (to hold my recycling!), and some George Washington shoes would be trendy. John Greenleaf Whittier hair clips and Herman Melville tea cups would make great gifts for my girlfriends. And I'm pretty sure I had one of those Edgar Allan Poe blouses back when I was in 4th grade.

Shopping On The Streets Of Frederick, Maryland
As a matter of fact, on this trip, I did purchase some terrific "Savage Soaps" from Le Savon, The Soap Company. So many choices! I finally picked a bar of the politically correct "Whitehouse" soap and a bar of the inspiring "Barbara Fritchie Fromme Pear." The fragrance is mesmerizing and the packaging is irresistible! At airport security they double-checked my bag to get a closer look at my all-American soaps. Not to worry, it turns out you can transport them in your carry-on; and when you finally get them home, everyone will be delighted!

All I need now is a "Kenneth Koch" beach towel, and I think I'm set.

"How about a drink, everyone?"








Then we went onto the porch . . .









...and sat on the Abraham Lincoln swing.







Also in Frederick: The Barbara Fritchie House


"Shoot if you must this old gray head,
But spare your country's flag she said."

from the poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
American Quaker Poet, 1807 - 1892