Billy Collins website:
http://www.billy-collins.com/TED talk:
http://blog.ted.com/2012/02/28/poems-in-motion-billy-collins-at-ted2012/
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_BXZjTETLQM
Everyday Moments Caught in Time
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddw1_3ZVjTE
WRITING:
Select 3 poems by Billy Collins. Write a poem modeled on and in response to Billy Collins.
Here's an example of mine in response to poet William Stafford:
Traveling Through The Dark
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
William Stafford
Intrusion
for William Stafford
Traveling through the dark along the Seaway Trail,
we sense a family of deer, frozen at the edge
of the highway, staring back
at the headlights of our jeep--
their eyes wakeful, wary.
And so I must think of your poem,
of how the road we travel narrows and ends,
and why I, too, must question my swerving.
Later that evening back at home,
phantom deer appear. Dreamlike,
they lurk at the very edge of consciousness,
silently watching a procession of ghostly vehicles
hurtle through the wilderness.
They wait and watch, bewildered
by these hardened shells
encasing our fragile hearts.
Marcy Gamzon
Intrusion
for William Stafford
Traveling through the dark along the Seaway Trail,
we sense a family of deer, frozen at the edge
of the highway, staring back
at the headlights of our jeep--
their eyes wakeful, wary.
And so I must think of your poem,
of how the road we travel narrows and ends,
and why I, too, must question my swerving.
Later that evening back at home,
phantom deer appear. Dreamlike,
they lurk at the very edge of consciousness,
silently watching a procession of ghostly vehicles
hurtle through the wilderness.
They wait and watch, bewildered
by these hardened shells
encasing our fragile hearts.
Marcy Gamzon
FINISH YOUR POETRY CYCLES--All cycles due today!
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