101 Poems, Number 99

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

99: “Renascence,” 1917, by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892–1950)

A recent one I’ve memorized—

The longest, too—and I’m surprised:

I’m older now (to say the least)

And things adhere as if they’re greased.

Two hundred fourteen lines of verse!

It took me months—could it be worse?

I learned it just to please my wife,

Who changed my world, my view, my life.

She’d learned it many years ago—

And so I followed (somewhat slow

Am I). But now it’s there—in my head

Where it will live till I am … (you know—rhymes with head).

Rebirth is what the poem’s about—

The title tells us (little doubt!).

We read about a kind of death—

And then return of soul and breath.

Millay was in her twenties when

She wrote the thing with her sure pen.

And now it is a friend I phone

When I lie quietly alone.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 100

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

100: “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” 1823, by Clement Clarke Moore (1779–1863)*

Way back I had to memorize

This poem for a Christmas show—

Well, “show” is just the super-size

For classroom program, don’t you know?

The parents sat out in our seats—

And then my time arrived to speak.

I did okay—no real defeats—

Though afterwards I felt so weak.

I’d stumbled with those “dry leaves” lines—

I couldn’t picture what went on.

But parents’ smiles were welcome signs—

And, soon enough, the time was gone.

And when our grandsons joined us here,

I learned that poem once again,

Reciting it for Christmas cheer—

And now they know it—makes me grin.

*There has been some disagreement about authorship: The poem was originally published anonymously.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 101

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

101: “My Shadow,” 1885, by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-94)

“I have a little shadow that

Goes in and out with me”—

This is the first that I recall—

The first of poetry.

My grandma read these words to me

Before I even knew

What poems were—what words could be—

And what those words could do.

In Grandma’s rocker—on her lap—

We looked out to the street,

The words of Stevenson the air

We breathed. I felt complete.

And decades on I would recite

This poem to a child—

My grandson, Logan, newly born,

I swear that young boy smiled!

And now my grandma’s gone, of course.

It doesn’t seem too fair.

But in our living room? Right now?

That very rocking chair.

Link to poem.

Oops! I need another for the 101 books!

I goofed. I saw, editing the text, that I'd twice written about Brian Hall's Fall of Frost. Now, it's an excellent book--but not twice as good as any of the others!

So ... I needed to add another one to reach 101 ... and here it is.

101: The Moonstone, 1868, by Wilkie Collins (1824-89)

In boyhood I first learned his name—

And something of his lasting fame—

By playing Authors, game of cards

That featured writers (playwrights, bards).

But I read no book by the man

Till years had passed (oh Dan! oh, Dan!).

And Moonstone was among the first—

And at myself I cursed and cursed:

Why haven’t you read Collins yet?!

He’s ’bout as good as writers get!

And so he is—and I’ve read on.

The wonder—like a stunning dawn.

The Moonstone is a mystery—

That very quickly captured me.

Among the first detective tales—

And Collins’ tension never fails.

So on I’ll go—I’ll read them all—

In winter, summer, spring, and fall.

And think about that Authors game—

And Collins' warming, scorching flame.

101 Poems--Another Journey Begins

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

And now we start another trip

Aboard a literary ship—

But this time, it is poetry—

The poems that appealed to me

Since I was but a little boy

And silliness composed my joy.

I’m using no chronology—

Just as the things occur to me.

So—Shakespeare and some Robert Frost—

And nursery rhymes (what do they cost?)—

And limericks and famous verse

That I still choose to keep, rehearse.

And all  of these I’ve memorized—

The poems that I’ve read and prized.

So climb aboard the ship, my friends—

Enjoy yourself! (That all depends,

Of course, on me ….)

101 Books ... The End?

Favorite Books Throughout My Life

The End?

And so our book-y journey’s done—

It’s mostly been (for me!) some fun.

Revisiting some books I read

And loved—oh, really quite a spread!

But looking back, I feel some shame:
So many I ignored—of name!

Like Philip Roth and Franzen, too—

And Henry Roth (enough for you?).

Perhaps I’ll take this trip again—

Some other books from Way Back When.

And try not to ignore some Greats

Before that journey terminates.

Another series will commence

Before return—this makes some sense?

Tomorrow, then, please check this site—

Determine if the next is right

For you.

101 Books, Number 1

Favorite Books Throughout My Life

1: The Awakening, 1899, by Kate Chopin (1850–1904)

I learned about this book from Joyce—

Who captured Chopin’s unique voice

There in her dissertation and

In essay, book.* I understand

The things I do about Chopin

Because of Joyce. (And as a man

I needed help—as most men do.

For of some things we have no clue!)

And later I would get to teach

This book**—and tried my best to reach

The youngsters who were in my class—

See: Most of whom were keen to pass!

I loved the book—not hard to say.

Chopin shows there is not one way

To view the life of women. She

Showed shadows of identity.

For Edna*** is just so complex—

A woman who can just perplex

If we do not perceive her heart—

And that, for readers, is the start.

*The Awakening: A Novel of Beginnings, 1993

**At Western Reserve Academy, 2001–11

***Edna Pontellier is our doomed heroine.

101 Books, Number 2

Favorite Books Throughout My Life

 

the books I read looked like these

2. The Lord of the Rings, 1937–49), by J. R. R. Tolkien (1892–1973)

Let’s go back to the seventies—

I ate these books like chunks of cheese.

Consumed them with a fury, Yo.

Like fresh-baked bread from sourdough.

I read them several other times.

(Oh, not the worst of human crimes.)

My wife and son would love them, too—

And his sons (both!) would follow through.

The movies? Well, we saw them, sure.

And loved the look—so true and pure.

But we had no addiction, no—

We had no Frodo overflow.

My son and grandsons? Different tale.

The stories are a holy grail.

Again, again they screen the things.

And each time just more pleasure brings.

I read some other fantasies—

Le Guin and others—and was pleased.

But transformation to a freak?

It didn’t happen (not this geek).

101 Books, Number 3

Favorite Books Throughout My Life

3: The Fall of Frost, 2008, by Brian Hall (1959–)

While searching for a book to use

With English classes that I taught,

I found this brilliant novel, whose

Fine author, Hall, had picked the plot

Of Robert Frost’s poetic life.

And since I taught some Robert Frost—

(His lines can cut just like a knife—

He knew what human life can cost.)

And Hall’s account is brilliant, so

I used it with my classes, then

Invited Hall to visit*—go

Along with us as we, again,

Would read a book, then meet in class

The author, who would help us see

What writing takes—the sass, the brass—

And help us solve the mystery.

*Brian Hall visited Western Reserve Academy on April 14, 2010.

101 Books, Number 4

Favorite Books Throughout My Life

4: Jim Bowie: Boy with a Hunting Knife, 1953, by Gertrude Hecker Winders (1897–1987)

I read this book so long ago—

I loved those tales—the Alamo

And all that Davy Crockett stuff.

I really could not get enough.

It was, of course, Walt Disney’s fault—

He opened up to me the vault

That held those Davy Crockett tales—

And Big Mike Fink—and so the scales

Of ignorance fell from me eyes.

And I read on and on (so wise!)

About Jim Bowie and his mates—

Who at the Alamo their fates

Encountered. Though they surely pled

For their brave lives. No use. They’re dead.

But they lived in on boys like me

Who ran around so happy, free,

And acted out the Alamo—

Though we would always win, you know?

With us, the Alamo withstood

Attacks from guys who just weren’t good.

Much later on I read much more

And found out that my brain, so poor,

Had failed to see Jim Bowie’s flaws.

(A slaver!). Broke some humane laws.

But still—excitement in my life!

And I would buy a Bowie knife,

Which still lies in my dresser drawer—

I’m not sure what to use it for!

101 Books, Number 5

Favorite Books Throughout My Life

5: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, 1885, by Mark Twain (1835–1910)

I can’t believe I could forget

This wrenching novel that is set

In times we really can’t forget.

The novel stirs emotions strong—

In that, there’s really nothing wrong—

To read good books you must be strong.

It’s slavery at issue here—

And Twain’s position is so clear:

We cannot have such evil here.

His speaker is but just a boy

Whose language can, we know, annoy.

But he grows up, this orphan boy.

He comes to see Jim as a man—

That hadn’t been his boyhood plan,

To see a slave and see a man.

But near the end, the novel breaks—

The best of writers make mistakes—

And even finest china breaks.

The message, though, is firm and clear:

We all are humans living here;

We need to scrub all bias clear.

We need the death of slavery—

We need to make all people free.

If not? Then we’re in slavery.

We’re chained to ignorance and hate—

Those things must go (there’s no debate).

For life’s too short to stew in hate.

101 Books, Number 6

 Favorite Books Throughout My Life

6: Fifteen, 1956, by Beverly Cleary (1916–)

This book was fairly new the year

I (sneaking) checked it out.

I sneaked because I feared my friends

Would find what I’m about.

It was my early high school years

When I first read Fifteen,

And, as I have revealed above,

I wished not to be seen

In company with such a book—

“For girls”—that was the rap—

Which subsequently I well would learn

Was just a load of crap.

The story of a teen romance—

It suffered a near-break.

But soon the whole thing all worked out—

It was a mere mistake

That nearly upset apple carts

All over their romance.

But Stan (the guy!) was true to her—

And thus completes the dance.

I read it once again, I’ll say,

Some decades after this.*

And there it was—as I recalled—

That first romantic kiss!

*for my memoir Turning Pages: A Memoir of Books and Libraries and Loss (Kindle Direct, 2012)

101 Books, Number 7

Favorite Books Throughout My Life

7: Rin Tin Tin: The Life and the Legend, 2011, by Susan Orlean (1955–)

This dog I met in boyhood days—

That TV show that ran some years.*

I watched that show—the guns would blaze—

But Rinty soon assuaged all fears.

The show began when I was nine—

I watched it every week I could.

The plots, I learned, were asinine.

To me—back then?—far more than good!

I later wrote a book review**

Of this superb old Rinty tale.

And met the writer (what a queue!)***

And read her other works—cocktail!

It’s always nice to meet the one

Who’s written words that you admire.

Yes, that is just the sort of fun

To please old Daniel Osborn Dyer!

*The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin, 1954–59
** Oct.2, 2011--Cleveland Plain Dealer

***At the Cleveland Museum of Art, where she showed and talked about an old film about the dog. November 13, 2011 (and, yes, she signed!)

101 Books, Number 8

Favorite Books Throughout My Life

8: Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, 1939, by Virginia Lee Burton (1909–68)

I loved this book—Mike Mulligan.

I read it often, just for fun.

I always felt a little thrill

There at the end when it was done.

An appetite is hard to fill

For readers who have climbed the hill

Of some book that they love. I know

The feeling that this is—the thrill.

The story went to yes from no—
A way I didn’t think to go. 

The shovel’s life just took a turn—

(Perhaps I was a little slow?)

Yes, he became a furnace. Burn!

And that is what he did to earn

His living then. And good Old Mike

Would really help the shovel learn.

So there are books I’d really like—

From childhood on, when just a tyke,

I read my books and rode my trike

And knew the writer bowled a strike!

101 Books, Number 9

Favorite Books Throughout My Life

9. In a Tangled Wood: An Alzheimer’s Journey, 1996, by Joyce Dyer

A book connects in many ways—

But some just lingers—some just stays.

And so it is with this true text

That shows a struggle—what comes next.

Joyce writes about her mother, who

Lost all her memories, through and through.

And by the end—in near defeat—

She knew no food—nor how to eat.

And Joyce records it lovingly—

A daughter blessed with eyes to see

The truth of even painful things—

She speaks in prose that weeps and sings.

For Joyce has just such gentle hands—

What piercing prose requires, demands.

For any work of human art

Requires a very human heart.

101 Books, Number 10

Favorite Books Throughout My Life

10: In Search of Lost Time, 1913–27, by Marcel Proust (1871–1922)

Now this is one I can’t forget—

I’ve very nearly reached the end

Of my account of this, the set

Of books on which I do depend.

I don’t know French, and so I had

To read translation—still a feat

(I praise myself? That’s kind of bad!)

That I would like—yes!—to repeat.

It wasn’t all that long ago*

That I decided I should read

These books that are so much aglow

With genius—this is guaranteed.

I read them very slowly, for

I didn’t want to miss a thing.

And so I sailed from comfort’s shore

With Proust, a literary king.

I’ve read no better books than these—

No, these sit on the highest rung

Where blows the very freshest breeze

That bears the music hearts have sung.

*I read them between February 2 and March 29, 2006

101 Books, Number 11

Favorite Books Throughout My Life

11: The Portable Edgar Allan Poe, 2006 (orig. pub date: 1945), by Edgar Allan Poe (1809–49)

It’s really hard for me to think

Of time so long ago

When I had never heard of him,

Of Edgar Allan Poe.

It seems as if I’ve always known

About his famous tales—

They scared me long before I read

Them, and the scales

Of innocence fell from my eyes.

Before I’d read a word

Of his amazing poetry,

I knew about that bird,

That raven and its “Nevermore!”

Oh, such a great surprise

The first time that I read those words

I’d later memorize.

My classes later read some tales*—

We memorized some verse.

We read of death and loss and fear

And horror and of curse.

Such happy things to teach about!

But students liked to read

The workings of his unique mind—

Yes, that I must concede.

I wrote his bleak biography

Not all that long ago**

And got to visit many sites

Once frequented by Poe.

I stood in awe in Baltimore

Where his remains now lie

And thought about creative minds

And how they find the sky

And live there for eternity—

As long was we can read.

Their works are planets, glowing stars—

And all of them we need.

** “The Tell-Tale Heart,” “The Purloined Letter,” and others

**Edgar Allan Poe: A Biography (Kindle Direct, 2012), a YA title

101 Books, Number 12

Favorite Books Throughout My Life

 

what a 1st printing looks like,
sans its simple brown dust jacket

12: The Call of the Wild, 1903, by Jack London (1876–1916)

It really was a stroke of luck

When I met London’s dog—that Buck.

It was a new anthology

For middle school that greeted me

When I returned in ’82

To teach again (I wasn’t through!).

And, yes, that book—Call of the Wild,

I had not read since, as a child,

I read it in a comic book,

And that was all—the only look

I’d given it till ’82.

So what was I supposed to do?

I dived right in—began to swim.

Of London? I learned much of him.

And soon I was a maniac,

Pursing everything re: Jack

And his most famous doggy tale.

Oh, I was younger then—and hale—

And headed to the Yukon—twice!—

Against some wiser, calm advice.

I hiked the trails; I saw the sites;

Jack London ate my days and nights.

I fell into the awesome sway

Of a professor*—what a day

When Earle found room beneath his wing

For me (who hardly knew a thing).

A decade passed. I wrote some books.**

And then I felt the London hooks,

Well, loosen—just a little bit.

And Mary Shelley? My new hit.

I can’t forget the fun and luck

I had those days when I met Buck!

*Prof. Earle C. Labor—the principal London scholar in the world.

**The Call of the Wild, by Jack London, with an Illustrated Reader’s Companion, ed. Daniel Dyer (University of Okla Press, 1995); Jack London: A Biography (Scholastic Press, 1997)