Poem of the Day

When your spirit is wealthy
you take gold lightly.
Ink dries when too thick;
a light wash is often deeper.

Leftover mist by the water
where red apricots flower in the forest.
By my ornamented house, the bright moon
and a painted bridge in greed shade.

Gold goblets are brimful of wine
as I play the zither to entertain my guests.
I feel so happy, fulfilled.
My heart is exhausted with joy.
-Sikong Tu

American Dream

What Teachers Make

Stuck defining your social worth by your pay check? Watch Taylor Mali at the Bowery Poetry Club:

The Monster's Name is Greed

-first stanza of poem "Greed" from the book Songs from the South-West Country, 1899, edited by Freeman Edwin Miller

Failures are Unforgettable

Back in April, I wrote about Geraldo and his spectacular failure at finding anything remotely dramatic in Al Capone's secret vault. I quoted Neil Steinberg the author of Complete and Utter Failure who said, “the definition of real failure is the presence of true consequences—a fall, as opposed to a neglect to climb.”

Today I came across a poem that explores just that concept, but in a far more personal way. Philip Schultz' latest book of poetry is named Failure and the on-line journal Failure Magazine recently printed an interview with the poet. (The links in the preceeding text are respectively to buy the book and to read the interview) The entire text of the title poem is reprinted at Failure Magazine, and you can read it there. I wanted to share one stanza with you that helps to sum up my fascination with the losers of history, the people who never quite got it together.

The Book of My Enemy

Books,computers and cars all share one trait. Their value plummets quickly after their initial release. (Please buy a copy of Bad Predictions for $5.00!)

While seeing a book you labored over for months or years relegated to the remainder bin is an author's misfortune, Clive James notes it's kind of a kick when it's someone else's book.

In fact, he was inspired enough by his literary schadenfreude to write a poem about it in his new book Opal Sunset. The New York Times printed the entire poem, but here is an excerpt:

The book of my enemy has been remaindered
And I am pleased.
In vast quantities it has been remaindered.
Like a van-load of counterfeit that has been seized
And sits in piles in a police warehouse,
My enemy’s much-praised effort sits in piles
In the kind of bookshop where remaindering occurs...