A few months ago while thumbing through the books in my favorite used bookstore, I picked up a copy of Good Poems for Hard Times, selected and introduced by Garrison Keillor. I've been enjoying it tremendously. Reading it is like listening to hours of The Writer's Almanac. I can even hear Keillor's voice in my head while I read them. I would, however, love to hear the author read today's selection, as I imagine it spoken in one long, breathless sentence.
Ode to American EnglishThe round up is being hosted by Elaine at Wild Rose Reader. Do stop by for a taste of all the wonderful poetry being shared. Before you go, be sure to check out this week's poetry stretch results. Happy poetry Friday, all!
by Barbara Hamby
I was missing English one day, American, really,
with its pill-popping Hungarian goulash of everything
from Anglo-Saxon to Zulu, because British English
is not the same, if the paperback dictionary
I bought at Brentano’s on the Avenue de l’Opéra
is any indication, too cultured by half. Oh, the English
know their delphiniums, but what about doowop, donuts,
Dick Tracy, Tricky Dick? With their elegant Oxfordian
accents, how could they understand my yearning for the hotrod,
hotdog, hot flash vocabulary of the U. S of A.,
Read the entire poem.