In July we’re exploring the theme The Cento. Maria Popova is “an interestingness hunter-gatherer and curious mind at large, who also writes for Wired UK and The Atlantic, and is an MIT Futures of Entertainment Fellow.” Post by Glynn Young, author of Dancing Priest.īuy a year of Every Day Poems, just $5.99- Read a poem a day, become a better poet. We could be creating an entire cottage industry here. In the meantime, I’m going to try it using only titles by Charles Dickens (he liked nouns, unfortunately for this purpose) and Mark Twain. A month of Rain poetry, on the spines, if you can find water in words. We’ll have a project coming in August on this. (I’ll be posting one using business titles at my blog later this morning.)īut try to see what poetry is waiting for you, staring at you each day from your bookshelf. Business publishers like to use action verbs in titles the literary set leans to nouns, phrases and rather dreamy sentences. I discovered that it’s easier – far easier – when you use business books. And the last is another title by Fred Chappell. The next one is my friend Samuel Peeples, noted above. The first line is a book by Fred Chappell. I tried one at home, and used these titles: It’s more “almost improv poetry.” You have to do some work to find titles that lend themselves to the idea of a poem and fit together. Of course, it’s not exactly improv poetry. The one pictured above is entitled “New York” and is the third in Popova’s series. She calls it “Book Spine Poetry, ” and she credits Nina Katchadourian at Sorted Books for the idea. Maria Popova at Brain Pickings has started a series of book spine poetry posts doing exactly that – assembling book titles that form poems, photographing them, and posting them. What I never realized was that I have a massive collection of improv poetry staring me in the face. I’ll meander among the titles, touching one here, recalling another there, like the old friends they are. Oh, and there is that tall bookshelf in my home office (another bedroom), and another shelf in a third bedroom, and that single shelf above my computer, and the four shelves, no, five shelves, in the basement. I wander around the upstairs bedroom at my house that holds eight, rather filled bookshelf units. You look at titles, occasionally pull out a volume, recall something that brings a smile, like The Man Who Died Twice by Samuel Peeples, the subject of my first published book review way back in 1976 (and I got paid for it, too). You wander around your library, or your basement, or your living room or den, all those places you have books.
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