Sarah’s Musings on Katherine Mansfield and her poem “The Meeting”

Katherine Mansfield and “The Meeting” – Listening Beneath the Words

I am pleased to introduce a new thread within Rebecca’s Reading Room, one that occasionally brings conversations from The Book Dialogue into this quieter reading space. My sister Sarah and I host The Book Dialogue, a podcast devoted to books, poetry, and the shared pleasure of reading together. From time to time, I’ll be inviting readers of the Reading Room to linger with these conversations here, allowing them to unfold slowly on the page, just as they once did in voice.

In this offering, Sarah recites and reflects on “The Meeting” by Katherine Mansfield, a writer whose work, both in prose and poetry, attends closely to the inner life. Mansfield’s words do not announce their meaning; they invite us to step nearer, to listen more carefully.

A Brief Portrait of Katherine Mansfield

Born Kathleen Mansfield Beauchamp in Wellington, New Zealand, Katherine Mansfield (1888–1923) left her homeland as a young woman to pursue a literary life in Europe. She became one of the most influential voices of literary modernism, admired for her ability to capture fleeting emotional moments with remarkable clarity and restraint.

Mansfield’s life was shaped by restlessness, intense relationships, financial uncertainty, and prolonged illness. Tuberculosis marked her later years, often forcing her into periods of isolation and separation from those she loved. Yet it was within these constraints that her writing deepened, turning ever more attentively toward the subtleties of feeling, anticipation, and inner conflict.

Though she is best known for her short stories, Mansfield also wrote poetry that mirrors the same qualities of compression, emotional precision, and an acute sensitivity to moments that hover just before change.

The Meeting

by Katherine Mansfield

We started speaking,
Looked at each other, then turned away.
The tears kept rising to my eyes.
But I could not weep.
I wanted to take your hand
But my hand trembled.
You kept counting the days
Before we should meet again.
But both of us felt in our hearts
That we parted for ever and ever.
The ticking of the little clock filled the quiet room.
“Listen,” I said. “It is so loud,
Like a horse galloping on a lonely road,
As loud as a horse galloping past in the night.”
You shut me up in your arms.
But the sound of the clock stifled our hearts’ beating.
You said, “I cannot go: all that is living of me
Is here for ever and ever.”
Then you went.
The world changed. The sound of the clock grew fainter,
Dwindled away, became a minute thing.
I whispered in the darkness. “If it stops, I shall die.” 

https://youtu.be/C8Rbny7ILeY?si=CTrx1VIl5Di2WaZV

“The Meeting” was written during the final years of Mansfield’s life, around 1918–1920. By this time, much of her experience was defined by waiting. Waiting for health, for companionship, for moments of closeness that were often delayed or imperfectly realized. The poem is not directly about a specific biographical event, nor is it an elegy. Instead, it arises from an emotional landscape Mansfield knew well. A life lived in intervals. Rather than dramatizing reunion or fulfillment, she turns her attention to the threshold. The moment of approach, the quiet expectancy before connection.

This restraint was central to her modernist sensibility. Mansfield believed that meaning resides not in grand declarations, but in what is held back, felt, and sensed beneath the surface. After experiencing profound loss, including the death of her beloved brother during the First World War, she no longer trusted permanence. Presence became precious. Anticipation carried weight. In “The Meeting,” what matters is not what happens next, but what is felt in the waiting.

Hearing “The Meeting” read aloud allows its stillness to emerge more fully. The poem does not rush toward resolution. It lingers, asking us to remain present with uncertainty, with feeling that has not yet found its form. In this way, the poem aligns beautifully with the spirit of The Book Dialogue, a conversation between two sisters who value listening as much as speaking, and who believe that literature is not something to be mastered, but met.

Perhaps every meaningful poem is a meeting of this kind, shaped by what the writer has endured, and completed only when a reader is willing to arrive slowly.

Rebecca

Dear March -Come in by Emily Dickinson

Welcome to Rebecca’s Reading Room. This is a quiet place where poems are read slowly, not for answers, but for companionship. Here, we return to familiar voices not to explain them away, but to listen again, to notice what they say differently as we ourselves change. In this room, poems are not relics or assignments. They are guests. They arrive when they are ready, carrying something meant for us now.

Today, I invite you to sit with a poem by Emily Dickinson, a poem that opens a door rather than making a declaration, and welcomes a season as one might welcome a friend.

Dear March—Come in—
How glad I am—

Emily Dickinson opens this poem not with observation, but with welcome. March is not a date on a calendar or a meteorological shift. It is a visitor at the door. Slightly breathless. Hat still on. Carrying news.

“Put down your Hat—
You must have walked—
How out of Breath you are—”

Spring, in Dickinson’s hands, does not arrive polished or triumphant. It arrives on foot. This is the season before certainty, before colour fully commits itself, before the world decides what it will become. March is effort, movement, intention, not yet ease. She asks after March as one would ask after a friend returning from a long journey:

“Dear March, how are you, and the Rest—
Did you leave Nature well—”

There is tenderness here, and curiosity. Even Nature, Dickinson suggests, was not fully prepared.

“The Maples never knew that you were coming—
I declare—how Red their Faces grew—”

The image is quietly delightful: trees blushing, caught unaware. Colour arrives before announcement. Before readiness.

“There was no Purple suitable—
You took it all with you—”

March has borrowed the colours we expect later. Spring, at this moment, is promise rather than fulfilment. Hints rather than declarations. Then, inevitably, another knock at the door.

“Who knocks? That April—
Lock the Door—
I will not be pursued—”

How refreshing this refusal feels. April, so often celebrated, must wait. Dickinson is occupied with March, with conversation, with the delicate work of transition. This poem honours the in-between, the threshold season that asks nothing of us except attention. The closing lines deepen the poem’s quiet wisdom:

“That blame is just as dear as Praise
And Praise as mere as Blame—”

March brings balance. It strips judgement of its urgency. Once this guest has arrived, trifles fall away. What matters is presence, not verdict.

“Dear March—Come in—” reminds us that some moments should not be rushed or improved upon. Some seasons are meant to be welcomed, sat with, listened to. March is not yet bloom, not yet abundance, but it is essential. Without it, nothing else follows. March has come in. The door is closed to haste. And upstairs, there is still so much to tell.

Until the next page turns,

Rebecca

https://open.spotify.com/episode/445YeZZFMBZb4NDWD6usQO?si=mQUUU1fASku7GmrVG-aIeg&t=0&pi=z3Nn8Xy3SwKR2

https://youtu.be/KUsRgMuXJPk?si=AeVmOg3hv2iQGIrD

Dear March—Come in—
How glad I am—
I hoped for you before—
Put down your Hat—
You must have walked—
How out of Breath you are—
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest—
Did you leave Nature well—
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me—
I have so much to tell—

I got your Letter, and the Birds—
The Maples never knew that you were coming—
I declare – how Red their Faces grew—
But March, forgive me—
And all those Hills you left for me to Hue—
There was no Purple suitable—
You took it all with you—

Who knocks? That April—
Lock the Door—
I will not be pursued—
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied—
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come

That blame is just as dear as Praise
And Praise as mere as Blame—

Dear March – Come In by Emily Dickinson – Rebecca's Reading Room

October by Robert Frost

October: A Celebration of Quiet Resilience

When I first recited “October” in 2020, the world was standing still. Streets were empty, gatherings were postponed, and even the air seemed to hesitate. Yet in that pause, poetry found its voice again. Frost’s gentle invocation to ‘retard the sun with gentle mist’ became a kind of prayer. Not for escape, but for endurance.

Resilience does not always roar. Sometimes, it whispers ‘slow, slow.’ It asks us to hold on just a little longer, to find beauty even in uncertainty. In Frost’s world, the falling of each leaf is not a loss but part of the rhythm of survival. Each pause, each delay, each quiet act of attention becomes an affirmation that life continues in tender, imperfect, and enduring ways.

https://youtu.be/fXtzCRWjXu0?si=3bpLzZakJ6cft2Pt

Looking back now, “October” reminds me how we learned to adapt: to find comfort in small rituals, to connect through words when touch was forbidden, and to let art and poetry become our gathering places. The mist that Frost imagined became, for us, a shelter with a soft veil through which we could still see light.

October

By Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

So today, as leaves again turn to gold and wind stirs through the trees, I read “October” not as a farewell, but as a renewal. It is a reminder that even in seasons of loss, resilience grows quietly, leaf by leaf, word by word, morning by morning.

October by Robert Frost – Rebecca's Reading Room

Until the next page turns,

Rebecca

#Autumn #PoetryInTheAfternoon #PoetryInTheEvening #PoetryRecitation #PoetrySalon #RebeccaSReadingRoom #RobertFrost

The Bard’s Corner – Finding Ourselves in Shakespeare’s Sonnets

The Bard’s Corner: Finding Ourselves in Shakespeare’s Sonnets

Welcome to The Bard’s Corner—a new podcast series within Rebecca’s Reading Room, where we listen anew to the voice of William Shakespeare. Not as a distant literary figure confined to dusty libraries and exam rooms, but as a companion whose words still walk beside us.

“From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die…”
— Sonnet 1

William shakespeare

For many, Shakespeare feels like an academic mountain—imposing, admirable, and far away. But I believe we’ve been looking at the summit instead of stepping onto the path. When we return to his sonnets with fresh eyes and open hearts, we discover not a test to be passed, but a mirror held up to life itself.

We begin our journey with Sonnets 1 and 2—two deceptively simple poems that form the foundation of the entire sonnet sequence. These are not love poems in the traditional sense. They are pleas, reflections, and quiet reckonings. They speak of beauty, legacy, and the passage of time. And as we listen, we begin to hear something else: the questions we ask ourselves each day.

What will I leave behind?
Is my life meant to be shared, not hoarded?
How do I honour time without fearing it?

In Sonnet 1, Shakespeare urges the young man to pass on his beauty through future generations—a metaphor for legacy, for choosing life over isolation. In Sonnet 2, the tone darkens: forty winters are coming. The mirror will one day hold a different face. What will remain?

These questions may be wrapped in iambic pentameter, but they are not abstract. They are deeply human.

The Bard’s Corner is an invitation to return to these verses not with a scholar’s gaze, but with a seeker’s heart. To read Shakespeare not just for what he meant in 1609—but for what he might mean to us now, in this moment, in this life.

Sonnet 1 features a heartfelt conversation with my sister Sarah. We explore the meaning behind Shakespeare’s opening lines and reflect on how beauty, legacy, and connection shape our lives today. It was a joyful recording—full of insight, laughter, and the quiet discovery that Shakespeare speaks to sisters, too.

https://youtu.be/a47u7NQnizI?si=uCgergehtrakiO-d

Sonnet 2, on the other hand, is a quieter moment. Just me, in nature, and Shakespeare’s voice carried forward. A simple recitation. A short reflection. A moment of pause.

https://youtu.be/1pTaTO7vwII?si=FEzLQq8AY_o_-_fk

These two episodes offer a glimpse into what The Bard’s Corner hopes to become: not a lecture, but a shared listening space. A room where Shakespeare isn’t confined to the classroom, but invited into the kitchen, the garden, the quiet hours of the morning.

If you’ve ever felt that Shakespeare belonged to someone else—some professor, some actor, some distant past—this is your place to reclaim him. Join me, and let’s find ourselves in his words.

We don’t read Shakespeare to understand the past. We read him to understand ourselves.”

Sonnet # 2: When Forty Winters Shall Besiege thy Brow – The Bard's Corner

#Poetry #PoetryRecitation #RebeccaSReadingRoom #SarahAhmadi #Sonnet1 #Sonnet2 #TheBardSCorner

S6 E8: Celebrating Helen Hoyt

Celebrating Helen Hoyt: A Summer Conversation between Sarah and Rebecca

It was a golden afternoon in the heart of summer when we met to celebrate a quiet but powerful voice in American poetry—Helen Hoyt. As sisters and co-hosts of The Book Dialogue, we’ve often found ourselves drawn to poets who speak across time, whose words seem to reach out and take our hands. Helen Hoyt is one of those voices.

Our connection began months earlier on Rebecca’s Reading Room, where we recorded a joint recitation of Annunciation—a poem that shimmered with quiet awe and grace. That reading opened a door into Helen’s poetic world, one marked by restraint, dignity, and deep interior vision.

What followed was something we never expected.

Rebecca received a handwritten letter from Helen Hoyt’s granddaughter, Lulii Lyman, who had listened to our reading. Enclosed with her note was a rare copy of A Girl in the City, a collection of Hoyt’s poems written between 1912 and 1919 during her years in Chicago, and published decades later in 1970. Lulii’s words have stayed with us.

“Rebecca, I know my Grandmother would love for you to have one of her poetry books. She would also appreciate that you have kept her name and writings alive. Love, Lulii.”

That generous act became the seed of a new conversation. On a sunlit day, we gathered again—this time to read Ellis Park, one of the poems from A Girl in the City. It was a deeply personal moment for Rebecca. She was living in Edmonton at the same age Helen was when she wrote this poem, and she found herself walking the same emotional terrain described in the poem. Helen’s voice, so clear and interior, mirrored feelings Rebecca remembered from that time in her life.

https://youtu.be/DB_w_6qhQjE?si=vL70tSXuETItybq9

Our conversation, captured in this latest episode of The Book Dialogue, is not only about poetry—it’s about memory, legacy, and the invisible threads that connect us across generations and geography.

This post marks the beginning of a new series where we’ll continue to explore Helen Hoyt’s work. Through her poems, we are reminded that even quiet voices carry forward, shaping lives and lighting paths long after they are written.

Stay tuned for more reflections and episodes. We are honoured to walk alongside Helen Hoyt’s voice, one poem at a time.

Sarah & Rebecca

Ellis Park

Little park that I pass through,
I carry off a piece of you
Every morning hurrying down
To my work-day in the town;
Carry you for country there
To make the city ways more fair.
I take your trees,
And your breeze,
Your greenness,
Your cleanness,
Some of your shade, some of your sky,
Some of your calm as I go by;
Your flowers to trim
The pavements grim;
Your space for room in the jostled street
And grass for carpet to my feet.
Your fountains take and sweet bird calls
To sing me from my office walls.
All that I can see
I carry off with me.
But you never miss my theft,
So much treasure you have left.
As I find you, fresh at morning,
So I find you, home returning —
Nothing lacking from your grace.
All your riches wait in place
For me to borrow
On the morrow.

Do you hear this praise of you,
Little park that I pass through?

https://anchor.fm/s/107374d0/podcast/rss

#Episode8 #IMRecitingPoetry #Poetry #PoetryRecitation #PoetrySalon #Season6

The Valuable Time of Maturity by Mário Raul de Morais Andrade

One of my earliest poetry recitations was of The Valuable Time of Maturity by the Brazilian literary giant, Mário Raul de Morais Andrade. The poem arrived in my inbox serendipitously a few years ago —sent by my mother, as if she knew I needed to read those words at that very moment.

Its heartfelt message resonated deeply. As I continue to navigate life’s winding path, Andrade’s eloquent reflections on time, maturity, and meaningful connection have only grown in significance. With each passing year, I find myself returning to his verses with a new understanding—an expanded awareness of how precious our time truly is.

His words remind me to savour the present, to invest in relationships that matter, and to seek depth over distraction. In a world that often rushes us forward, this poem calls us gently back to what endures.

Thank you for joining me to celebrate life!

Rebecca

https://youtu.be/VRmp5Fow3dA?si=MzvaDKtELqWWVWpz

The Valuable Time of Maturity

by Mário Raul de Morais Andrade

I counted my years and discovered that I have
less time to live going forward than I have lived until now.

I have more past than future.
I feel like the boy who received a bowl of candies.
The first ones, he ate ungracious,
but when he realized there were only a few left,
he began to taste them deeply.

I do not have time to deal with mediocrity.
I do not want to be in meetings where parade inflamed egos.

I am bothered by the envious, who seek to discredit
the most able, to usurp their places,
coveting their seats, talent, achievements and luck.

I do not have time for endless conversations,
useless to discuss about the lives of others
who are not part of mine.

I do not have time to manage sensitivities of people
who despite their chronological age, are immature.

I cannot stand the result that generates
from those struggling for power.

People do not discuss content, only the labels.
My time has become scarce to discuss labels,
I want the essence, my soul is in a hurry…
Not many candies in the bowl…

I want to live close to human people,
very human, who laugh of their own stumbles,
and away from those turned smug and overconfident
with their triumphs,
away from those filled with self-importance,
Who does not run away from their responsibilities ..
Who defends human dignity.
And who only want to walk on the side of truth
and honesty.
The essential is what makes
life worthwhile.

I want to surround myself with people,
who knows how to touch the hearts of people ….
People to whom the hard knocks of life,
taught them to grow with softness in their soul.

Yes …. I am in a hurry … to live with intensity,
that only maturity can bring.
I intend not to waste any part of the goodies
I have left …
I’m sure they will be more exquisite,
that most of which so far I’ve eaten.

My goal is to arrive to the end satisfied and in peace
with my loved ones and my conscience.
I hope that your goal is the same,
because either way you will get there too .. ” 

Mário Raul de Morais Andrade
(Oct 9, 1893 – Feb 25, 1945)
Brazilian poet, novelist, musicologist, art historian and critic, photographer”

Mario Raul de Morais Andrade

Mário Raul de Morais Andrade (1893–1945) was a Brazilian poet, novelist, and musicologist, widely regarded as one of the founding figures of Brazilian modernism. A visionary thinker, Andrade was deeply invested in shaping a unique Brazilian cultural identity—one rooted not in European imitation but in the vibrant, diverse traditions of his homeland. His work reflects a profound respect for Brazil’s indigenous peoples, particularly the Tupi and Guarani cultures, whose music, language, and folklore he championed throughout his career.

His groundbreaking poetry collection, Paulicéia Desvairada (1922), revolutionized Brazilian poetry. A central figure in São Paulo’s avant-garde for two decades, Andrade’s expertise spanned numerous disciplines, establishing him as Brazil’s national polymath. He spearheaded the Week of Modern Art in 1922, a pivotal event in Brazilian literature and visual arts, and authored the acclaimed novel Macunaíma in 1928. His work encompassed Brazilian folk music and poetry, and he later became the founding director of São Paulo’s Department of Culture, solidifying his role in shaping Brazil’s artistic modernity.

The Valuable Time of Maturity is a deeply personal and introspective prose-poem often shared as a reflection on aging, authenticity, and the preciousness of time. Though its exact origin has been debated—with some attributing it as a paraphrase or adaptation—it continues to resonate with readers around the world for its poignant honesty and life-affirming message.

In this poem, Andrade speaks not of regret, but of clarity—a clarity that comes with age and experience. He writes of choosing depth over pretense, sincerity over performance, and meaningful encounters over the noise of obligation.

“Benediction” by Georgia Douglas Johnson – Rebecca's Reading Room

#Brazil #MárioRaulDeMoraisAndrade #Poetry #PoetryInTheEvening #PoetryRecitation #RebeccaSReadingRoom

As If The Sea Should Part

As If The Sea Should Part

by Emily Dickinson

As if the Sea should part
And show a further Sea—
And that—a further—and the Three
But a presumption be—

Of Periods of Seas—
Unvisited of Shores—
Themselves the Verge of Seas to be—
Eternity—is Those—

As If the Sea Should Part” is one of Emily Dickinson’s brief but resonant meditations on infinity. In just a few spare lines, she invites us to imagine the ocean parting—not to reveal solid ground, but yet another sea, and another, in an endless unfolding. The image is at once majestic and quietly unsettling, suggesting that what lies beyond is not finality, but continuation.

Unlike many of her more syntactically intricate poems, this piece is striking in its clarity and restraint. But its brevity does not diminish its depth. Emily gently presses on the boundaries of human understanding—where perception ends and the infinite begins. It is a moment of awe, distilled.

From a historical perspective, “As If The Sea Should Part” aligns with the Romantic era’s preoccupation with the sublime and the natural world. Emily’s profound wonder at the boundless ocean and the suggestion of an unseen realm beyond it captures the Romantic aspiration to surpass the constraints of human comprehension.

My takeaways from “As If The Sea Should Part” by Emily Dickinson

As I recited this poem, I felt a profound sense of awe and contemplation—about the vastness of the natural world, the mysteries of existence, and the limits of what we can truly comprehend. The line “Themselves the Verge of Seas to be—Eternity—is Those” stirred something deep within me. Emily’s words became an invitation to explore my relationship with the unknown, not with fear, but with wonder. She reminded me that poetry doesn’t always resolve mystery—it gives us space to dwell within it.

Emily invited me to explore my relationship with the unknown and the profound.

Thank you for joining me in the Poetry Salon. I look forward to continuing our poetic journey together.

Rebecca

https://youtu.be/LTAQ-BBnMB8?si=O9o0yDEJe2Yquk3e

#AsIfTheSeaShouldPart #EmilyDickinson #Poetry #PoetryInTheAfternoon #PoetryRecitation #Victoria

Facing My Fears: A Poetry Meditation by Colleen M. Chesbro

Fear is a powerful emotion that arises in response to perceived threats or dangers. It is an instinct that has evolved to protect us from harm. When we encounter something that triggers fear, our bodies prepare us for fight or flight.

Facing My Fears by Colleen M Chesebro offers a poetry meditation on the power of releasing our anxieties – to embrace freedom to live with joy and hope.

Please join me in reciting, Facing My Fears by Colleen M Chesebro

https://anchor.fm/s/4e4af350/podcast/rss

Facing My Fears

by Colleen M Chesebro

How do I look deeply into the eyes of my fears?

How do I respond to the knowing
when it speaks what I don’t want to hear?

How do I release the anxiety
when the deception is part of me?
Bone-hollow, blood-filled, illusionary.

The shadows of fear follow me,
distractions of the truth—hot lies,
burdensome chains that bind

When I release the fear, I’m reborn,
Like the Phoenix, I spread my wings:
flight bound, homeward I soar,
surrounded in a mantle of light.

https://youtu.be/WqQJJLcJMAI?si=fzir_DJoPa5SiNgj

Thank you for joining me in the Poetry Salon,

Rebecca

#ColleenMChesbro #FacingMyFears #Meditation #PoetryInTheAfternoon #PoetryRecitation

Dorothy Dances by Louis Untermeyer

Louis Untermeyer’s poem “Dorothy Dances” captures the essence of youthful exuberance and the fleeting nature of joy. The poem vividly portrays the character of Dorothy, who embodies innocence and a carefree spirit. Through rich imagery and rhythmic cadence, Untermeyer captures the dance as a metaphor for life’s ephemeral moments.

“Dorothy Dances” invites us to explore the interplay between innocence and the complexities of adult life. Reading this poem allows me to reflect on my own experiences of joy and loss. My key takeaways from “Dorothy Dances” are to appreciate the beauty of simplicity, the importance of cherishing moments of happiness, and an acknowledgment of the bittersweet transitions we all face as we age. Ultimately, “Dorothy Dances” serves as a poignant reminder to embrace life’s dance, with all its ups and downs.

https://youtu.be/5ezy65Frpes?si=HK01W4eHIRw58q3l

Dorothy Dances

By Louis Untermeyer

This is no child that dances. This is flame.
Here fire at last has found its natural frame.

What else is that which burns and flies
From those enkindled eyes…
What is that inner blaze
Which plays
About that lighted face?…
This thing is fire set free—
Fire possesses her, or rather she
Controls its mastery.
With every gesture, every rhythmic stride,
Beat after beat,
It follows, purring at her side,
Or licks the shadows of her flashing feet.
Around her everywhere
It coils its thread of yellow hair.
Through every vein its bright blood creeps,
And its red hands
Caress her as she stands
Or lift her boldly when she leaps.
Then, as the surge
Of radiance grows stronger
These two are two no longer
And they merge
Into a disembodied ecstasy;
Free
To express some half-forgotten hunger,
Some half-forbidden urge.

What mystery
Has been at work until it blent
One child and that fierce element?
Give it no name.
It is enough that flesh has danced with flame.

This poem is in the public domain.

Louis Untermeyer was an influential American poet, anthologist, and critic, born on October 1, 1885, in New York City. He played a significant role in the literary scene of the 20th century, known for his passionate advocacy of modern poetry and his extensive anthologies that introduced readers to contemporary poets. His anthologies, which debuted in 1919, quickly gained popularity in American educational institutions as textbooks. They played a significant role in elevating the profiles of literary figures like Amy Lowell and Robert Frost, while also challenging the perception of poetry as being overly pretentious.

Louis Untermeyer published numerous poetry collections, including “The New Era in American Poetry,” and was a prominent figure in the establishment of the Poetry Society of America. His work not only celebrated the art of poetry but also aimed to make it accessible to a broader audience, reflecting his belief in the power of poetry to inspire and connect people. Untermeyer passed away on December 18, 1977, leaving behind a rich legacy that continues to influence poets and readers alike.

Thank you for joining me in my reading room,

Rebecca

https://anchor.fm/s/4e4af350/podcast/rss

#DorothyDances #LouisUntermeyer #poem #poems #Poet #Poetry #PoetryInTheEvening #PoetryRecitation #RebeccaSReadingRoom #writing

Sunshine After Cloud by Josephine D Heard

Josephine Delphine Henderson Heard, an American poet linked to the Harlem Renaissance, made significant literary contributions that connect to earlier Black American writing traditions. Her poetry, characterized by directness and traditional forms like sonnets and ballads, explores themes of nature, faith, and racial identity, mirroring the sociopolitical context of her era. While her style was not as experimental as some later Harlem Renaissance poets, Heard’s work remains timeless due to its focus on universal human experiences.

Though not widely recognized, Josephine Heard’s work captures the essence of human emotion and connection. One of her notable poems, “Sunshine After Cloud,” highlights themes of reconciliation and the importance of cherishing relationships over dwelling on past grievances. Through her writing, Josephine encourages readers to embrace happiness and forgiveness, illustrating her deep understanding of the complexities of life and love.

“Sunshine After Cloud” reminds us that time is precious.

The speaker’s invitation to reconcile and let go of past grievances speaks to the transient nature of life, urging both individuals to recognize the value of their shared moments. The line “Time is so precious, you and me; / Must spend ours doing better” reminds us that time is limited and should be dedicated to nurturing relationships rather than clinging to resentment. This awareness prompts a shift in perspective—from focusing on misunderstandings to embracing joy and connection.

In a world that often rushes forward, I am learning to acknowledge that every moment I experience is precious. Embracing kindness, reconciliation, and forgiveness is transformative.

https://anchor.fm/s/4e4af350/podcast/rss

Sunshine After Cloud

by Josephine D. Heard

https://youtu.be/kwuc4e8eAzc?si=3PlIfY6PL92Z12B9

#JosephineDHeard #poem #poems #Poet #Poetry #PoetryInTheAfternoon #PoetryRecitation #PoetrySalon #SunshineAfterCloud #writing