Sonnet Week, Day 2: "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed and Why," Edna St. Vincent Millay

Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply;
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands a lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet know its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone;
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

"Farewell to Love," Michael Drayton (1563-1631)

Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part,
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me,
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes,
Now, if thou wouldst, when all have giv'n him over,
From death to life thou might'st him yet recover.

"Spring," Mary Oliver

I lift my face to the pale flowers

of the rain. They’re soft as linen,

clean as holy water. Meanwhile

my dog runs off, noses down packed leaves

into damp, mysterious tunnels.

He says the smells are rising now

stiff and lively; he says the beasts

are waking up now full of oil,

sleep sweat, tag-ends of dreams. The rain

rubs its shining hands all over me.

My dog returns and barks fiercely, he says

each secret body is the richest advisor,

deep in the black earth such fuming

nuggets of joy!

Tuesday Action List

Dan Martensen and Shannan Click at home with their dog.

Hi, everyone. Here are your blog assignments for today. It is important to me that today be a quiet work day; people will be trying to memorize their poems, writing, reading. Let the classroom be a quiet space so that these things can happen with focus and concentration.

Your tasks for today: (don't forget to add the label "Tuesday Response" to your post for action item #2, below)

1. One reading log entry.

2. One brief analytical paragraph about one of the following three homes. This may feel slightly new, but it is just another application of the process we began using with Gene Kelly's dancing, the "Falling Bough" painting, and the ATW essay.

Pick one of the following homes photographed by up-and-coming photographer Todd Selby and write a brief, 100 word response that discusses the effect created by its setting. Your claim should have two parts:

[General observations about Setting] verb [tone words that capture the mood of that home].

It is important that you dig into your tone sheet to find words that accurately convey the tone you're sensing as you look at these homes. Here is a sample claim that could apply to Homestead:

[Homestead High School's long expanses of white halls and bewildering floor plans, punctuated by dashes of colorful Art Club mural projects] create [a sense of cold, clinical formality and oppressed creativity.]

Choose one of these homes:

Pharrell Williams Modern Miami home of the well-known rapper known as Pharrell.

Dan Martensen and Shannan Click Upstate New York farmhouse of a photographer and his artist wife.

Jamie Isaia and Anthony Malat Interesting Brooklyn apartment of another arty couple.

3. Memorize your show for tomorrow. Do this throughout the day today. Read a few lines, work on your action list, look at a few more lines. At lunch today, try out a few lines for friends. Don't be afraid to take this seriously. As an audience, we want nothing more than to see that you care about what you are saying to us up there.

"Song of the Builders," Mary Oliver

Song of the Builders

On a summer morning

I sat down

on a hillside

to think about God -

a worthy pastime.

Near me, I saw

a single cricket;

it was moving the grains of the hillside

this way and that way.

How great was its energy,

how humble its effort.

Let us hope

it will always be like this,

each of us going on

in our inexplicable ways

building the universe.

About Mary Oliver

from The Poetry Foundation.

"Sleeping in the Forest," Mary Oliver

Sleeping in the Forest

I thought the earth remembered me,

she took me back so tenderly,

arranging her dark skirts, her pockets

full of lichens and seeds.

I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,

nothing between me and the white fire of the stars

but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths

among the branches of the perfect trees.

All night I heard the small kingdoms

breathing around me, the insects,

and the birds who do their work in the darkness.

All night I rose and fell, as if in water,

grappling with a luminous doom. By morning

I had vanished at least a dozen times

into something better.