The Pot of Gold

I discovered the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and I wasn't even looking for it.  I was going through a bunch of old VCR's that I taped ten or eleven years ago to see if I could find a few to get rid of.  Instead I found one I will keep forever.  Bill Moyer had taped a show untitled Fooling With Words.  It was about the largest poetry festival in the United States, located in Waterloo, New Jersey.  Over 12,000 people were in attendance listing to music, reading poetry and just visiting with the many famous poets.  What a special time, wish I had been there,.

I enjoyed most of the poets reading their poetry, but when they announced that the next reader was a ninety year old man, I thought, what could an old guy lik that write anything I would like (after all I am only 85.)  Surprise----- this frail looking cutie had a fantastic personality, read better than all the other poets put together, and his poetry was soooooooo good.  At least, I though so.l  He puts irony, pathos and humor into his poetry and really makes you feel and think.  I would like to share one of the poems he read and see if you like it.

     Haley's Comet

Miss Murphy in first grade
wrote its name in chalk
across the board and told us
it was roaring down the stormtracks
of the Milky Way at frightful speed
and if it wandered off its course
and smashed into the earth
there'd be no school tomorrow.

A red-bearded preacher from the hills
with a wild look in his eyes
stood in the public square
at the playground's edge
proclaiming he was sent by God
to save every one of us,
even the little children.
"Repent, ye sinners," he shouted,
waving his hand-lettered sign.

At supper I felt sad to think
that it was probably
the last meal I'd share
with my mother and my sisters;
but I felt excited too
and scarcely touched my plate.
So mother scolded me
and sent me early to my room.
The whole family's asleep
except for me.  They never heard me steal
into the stairwell hall and climb
the ladder to the fresh night air.

Look for me, Father, on the roof
of the red brick building
at  the foot of Green Street-----
that's where we live, you know , on the top floor,
I'm the boy in the white flannel gown
sprawled on this course gravel bed
searching the starry sky,
waiting for the world to end.

The poet is Stanley Kunitz.  In 2000 he was  named Poet Laureate of the United States.  He was 95 at the time and was considered the most distinguished living American poet.  He kept writing and reading his poetry until his death at 100 years old. (Wow, what a man.)

I will be searching the library for some of his books. Most of the reviews I have read say his later works were much better than his earlier books, so I think I will start with the latter.  Hope you enjoy him if you are a poetry lover.

Until we meet again,
Be kind to one another.