Today’s poem might be a perfect companion to a bedtime-reading of Where the Wild Things Are on a balmy summer evening. This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today’s poem is another from Belloc–one of his Cautionary Tales for Children just in time for the beginning of a quiet summer (maybe?). This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today’s poem is a series of increasingly vital pleas. Happy reading.For more of Belloc’s advice to the young, find yourself a copy of Cautionary Tales for Children! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today we’re feeling out a Saturday bonus episode featuring a reading of “Morituri Salutamus” in its entirety. Happy reading! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today’s episode features selections from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s fifty-year retrospective on his own graduation, the lengthy speech-in-verse, “Morituri Salutamus: Poem for the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Class of 1825 in Bowdoin College.” Come back tomorrow to hear the poem in full. Happy reading! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today’s poem from Christina Rossetti is not about high school or college, but it might still be about graduation. Happy reading! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Konstantinos Petrou Kavafis, known, especially in English, as Constantine P. Cavafy and often published as C. P. Cavafy, was a Greek poet, journalist, and civil servant from Alexandria. A major figure of modern Greek literature, he is sometimes considered the most distinguished Greek poet of the 20th century.-bio via Wikipedia This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Matthew Zapruder is the author of six collections of poetry, most recently I Love Hearing Your Dreams, forthcoming from Scribner in September 2024, as well as two books of prose: Why Poetry (Ecco, 2017) and Story of a Poem (Unnamed, 2023). He is editor at large at Wave Books, where he edits contemporary poetry, prose, and translations. From 2016-7 he held the annually rotating position of Editor of the Poetry Column for the New York Times Magazine, and was the Editor of Best American Poetry 2022. He teaches in the MFA in Creative Writing at Saint Mary’s College of California.-bio via the poet’s website This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

About the creative process itself, John Ciardi argued in the Writer that “it isn’t easy to make a poem,” adding, “It is better than easy: it is joyously, consumingly difficult. As it is difficult, too, though without joy, to face one’s failures.” Noting that the creation of successful verse requires definite skill, he wrote: “I insist that a poet needs at least as much training as does a concert pianist. More, I think, but that is already too much for the ignorantly excited.” Believing that “the minimum requirement for a good poem is a miracle,” he explained: “The poem must somehow turn out better than anyone—the poet included—had any right to expect. No matter how small the miracle, the hope of it is my one reason for writing.” He also felt the poem’s strength will lead the writer unerringly: “The poet cannot know where he is going: he must take his direction from the poem itself.”-via Poetry Foundation This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today’s poems are all about the ineffable experience of spring. Happy reading! The 17th-century Japanese haiku master Bashō was born Matsuo Kinsaku near Kyoto, Japan, to a minor samurai and his wife. Soon after the poet’s birth, Japan closed its borders, beginning a seclusion that allowed its native culture to flourish. It is believed that Bashō’s siblings became farmers, while Bashō, at Ueno Castle in the service of the local lord’s son, grew interested in literature. After the young lord’s early death, Bashō left the castle and moved to Kyoto, where he studied with Kigin, a distinguished local poet. During these early years Bashō studied Chinese poetry and Taoism, and soon began writing haikai no renga, a form of linked verses composed in collaboration. The opening verse of a renga, known as hokku, is structured as three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables. In Bashō’s time, poets were beginning to take the hokku’s form as a template for composing small standalone poems engaging natural imagery, a form that eventually became known as haiku. Bashō was a master of the form. He published his haiku under several names, including Tosei, or “Green Peach,” out of respect for the Chinese poet Li Po, whose name translates to “White Plum.” Bashō’s haiku were published in numerous anthologies, and he edited Kai Oi, or Seashell Game (1672), and Minashiguri, or Shriveled Chestnuts (1683), anthologies that also included a selection of his own work. In his late 20s Bashō moved to Edo (now a sector of Tokyo), where he joined a rapidly growing literary community. After a gift of bashō trees from one student in 1680, the poet began to write under the name Bashō. His work, rooted in observation of the natural world as well as in historical and literary concerns, engages themes of stillness and movement in a voice that is by turns self-questioning, wry, and oracular. Soon after Bashō began to study Zen Buddhism, a fire that destroyed much of his city also took his house. Around 1682, Bashō began the months-long journeys on foot that would become the material for a new poetic form he created, called haibun. Haibun is a hybrid form alternating fragments of prose and haiku to trace a journey. Haibun imagery follows two paths: the external images observed en route, and the internal images that move through the traveler’s mind during the journey. Bashō composed several extended haibun sequences starting in 1684, including Nozarashi Kiko, or Travelogue of Weather-Beaten Bones (1685); Oi no Kobumi, or The Knapsack Notebook (1688); and Sarashina Kiko, or Sarashina Travelogue (1688). His most well-known haibun, Oku no Hosomichi, or Narrow Road to the Interior, recounts the last long walk Bashō completed with his disciple Sora—1,200 miles covered over five months beginning in May 1689. While their days were spent walking, in the evenings they often socialized and wrote with students and friends who lived along their route. The route was also planned to include views that had previously been described by other poets; Bashō alludes to these earlier poems in his own descriptions, weaving fragments of literary and historical conversation into his solitary journey. Bashō revised his final haibun until shortly before his death in 1694. It was first published in 1702, and hundreds of editions have since been published in several languages.-bio via Poetry Foundation This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe