From One Book Lover

Dulce Et Decorum Est Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of disappointed shells that dropped behind. GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; But someone still was yelling out and stumbling And floundering like a man in fire or lime.-- Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;...

I include for your considerations one of my favorite poems. Every time I read it, I feel like it reveals one more wonderful image previously unnoticed. And yes, I include it every year. I shall continue to do so if I wish. It, simply, is that deserving. Visit Hedgehog Lover to enjoy a poem every day during National Poetry Month; however, I will post poems from time to time From One Book Lover during April. Poetry is that deserving. Thank you for reading it! XIII (Dedications) I know you are reading this poem late, before leaving your office of the one intense yellow lamp-spot and the darkening window in the lassitude of a building faded to quiet long after rush-hour. I know you are reading this poem standing up in a bookstore far from the ocean on a gray day of early spring, faint flakes driven across the plains' enormous spaces around you. I know you are reading this poem in a room where too much has happened for you to bear where the bedclothes lie in sta...

The seder's order The songs we join in are beeswax candles burning with no smoke a clean fire licking at the evening our voices small flames quivering. The songs string us like beads on the hour. The ritual is its own melody that leads us where we have gone before and hope to go again, the comfort of year after year. Order: we must touch each base of the haggadah as we pass, blessing, handwashing, dipping this and that. Voices half harmonize on the brukhahs. Dear faces like a multitude of moons hang over the table and the truest brief blessing: affection and peace that we make. by Marge Piercy , from The Crooked Inheritance courtesy The Poetry Foundation  Stop by Hedgehog Lover to get a poem a day during National Poetry Month!

Richard My bones, scripted in light, upon cold soil, a human braille. My skull, scarred by a crown, emptied of history. Describe my soul as incense, votive, vanishing; your own the same. Grant me the carving of my name. These relics, bless. Imagine you re-tie a broken string and on it thread a cross, the symbol severed from me when I died. The end of time – an unknown, unfelt loss – unless the Resurrection of the Dead … or I once dreamed of this, your future breath in prayer for me, lost long, forever found; or sensed you from the backstage of my death, as kings glimpse shadows on a battleground. by Carol Ann Duffy, Poet Laureate of England  Read by Benedict Cumberbatch at the Richard III reburial service Celebrate National Poetry Month: visit Hedgehog Lover to enjoy a poem a day in April.

Full disclosure: I read only 571 of the 800 pages of Natchez Burning , and that was because the central story regarding long-unsolved civil rights crimes in Mississippi and the men who perpetrated them was really, really exciting. However, I stopped reading long after I should have. I found Greg Iles' depiction of women in this novel sexist. Men were characters with purpose, whose actions defined them and whose purpose was clear. Not so for women. In Natchez Burning , women are caricatures who smell like sex and whose actions are not honest or honorable. Women are described regularly with ample adjectives: beautiful, ambitious, desirable, wild, sexual or ruthless. Their actions need adjectives and adverbs, and they're reduced to hormones and a uterus. At first, I thought it was the failure of the characters. I thought maybe that is just how Penn Cage saw them. Maybe Penn Cage was the sexist. Alas, I should have taken a clue when Albert needed to turn on a fan to get a w...

Reincarnation Who would believe in reincarnation if she thought she would return as an oyster? Eagles and wolves are popular. Even domesticated cats have their appeal. It’s not terribly distressing to imagine being Missy, nibbling kibble and lounging on the windowsill. But I doubt the toothsome oyster has ever been the totem of any shaman fanning the Motherpeace Tarot or smudging with sage. Yet perhaps we could do worse than aspire to be a plump bivalve. Humbly, the oyster persists in filtering seawater and fashioning the daily irritations into lustre. Dash a dot of Tabasco, pair it with a dry Martini, not only will this tender button inspire an erotic fire in tuxedoed men and women whose shoulders gleam in candlelight, this hermit praying in its rocky cave, this anchorite of iron, calcium, and protein, is practically a molluskan saint. Revered and sacrificed, ...

I was warned. Strangers and friends alike, people who share my taste in books and those who have no idea what I read, sent up red flags. "You will be furious by the ending of Gone, Girl ," they said, to a one. Yet, I did not listen. Hey, I survived My Sister's Keeper and Bridge to Terabithia (and so did the "throw across the room" books, but only because they were library books). I mean, how bad could Gone, Girl be? Worse than you'd imagine. I will try to analyze my disappointment without spoilers, but I may give away more of the plot than you wish to know. If you intend to read this book, proceed with caution. (I may discuss a few other airborne books, so be forewarned.) Let's start with the basics: Amy disappears under suspicious circumstances. The police see Nick as the most logical suspect. Both Nick and law enforcement uncover information and evidence that points to him. He looks guilty — but is he? The story is told in two voices....