Stay ConnectedThe Daily Poem offers one essential poem each weekday morning. From Shakespeare and John Donne to Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson, The Daily Poem curates a broad and generous audio anthology of the best poetry ever written, read-aloud by David Kern and an assortment of various contributors. Some lite commentary is included and the shorter poems are often read twice, as time permits.
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Today’s poem is by Frédéric-Louis Sauser (1 September 1887 – 21 January 1961),[1] better known as Blaise Cendrars, a Swiss-born novelist and poet who became a naturalized French citizen in 1916. He was a writer of considerable influence in the European modernist movement.
—Bio via Wikipedia
Today’s poem is by Roald Dahl[a] (13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990), a British popular author of children's literatureand short stories, a poet, and wartime fighter ace.[1][2] His books have sold more than 300 million copies worldwide.[3][4] Dahl has been called "one of the greatest storytellers for children of the 20th century".[5]
Dahl's short stories are known for their unexpected endings, and his children's books for their unsentimental, macabre, often darkly comic mood, featuring villainous adult enemies of the child characters.[10][11] His children's books champion the kindhearted and feature an underlying warm sentiment.[12][13] His works for children include James and the Giant Peach, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Matilda, The Witches, Fantastic Mr Fox, The BFG, The Twits, George's Marvellous Medicine and Danny, the Champion of the World. His works for older audiences include the short story collections Tales of the Unexpected and The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More.
—bio via Wikipedia
Today’s poem is by Thomas Stearns Eliot OM (26 September 1888 – 4 January 1965), a poet, essayist, publisher, playwright, literary critic and editor.[1] Considered one of the 20th century's major poets, he is a central figure in English-language Modernist poetry. Through his trials in language, writing style, and verse structure, he reinvigorated English poetry. He also dismantled outdated beliefs and established new ones through a collection of critical essays.[2]
Eliot first attracted widespread attention for his poem "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" from 1914 to 1915, which, at the time of its publication, was considered outlandish.[5] It was followed by The Waste Land (1922), "The Hollow Men" (1925), "Ash Wednesday" (1930), and Four Quartets (1943).[6] He was also known for seven plays, particularly Murder in the Cathedral (1935) and The Cocktail Party (1949). He was awarded the 1948 Nobel Prize in Literature, "for his outstanding, pioneer contribution to present-day poetry".[7][8]
—Bio via Wikipedia
Today’s poem is by Mary Jane Oliver (September 10, 1935 – January 17, 2019) , an American poet who won the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize. Her work is inspired by nature, rather than the human world, stemming from her lifelong passion for solitary walks in the wild. It is characterized by a sincere wonderment at the impact of natural imagery, conveyed in unadorned language. In 2007, she was declared to be the country's best-selling poet.
—Bio via Wikipedia
Today’s poem is by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (née Moulton-Barrett; 6 March 1806 – 29 June 1861), an English poet of the Victorian era, popular in Britain and the United States during her lifetime.
In the 1840s, Elizabeth was introduced to literary society through her distant cousin and patron John Kenyon. Her first adult collection of poems was published in 1838, and she wrote prolifically between 1841 and 1844, producing poetry, translation, and prose. She campaigned for the abolition of slavery, and her work helped influence reform in the child labour legislation. Her prolific output made her a rival to Tennyson as a candidate for poet laureate on the death of Wordsworth.
Elizabeth's volume Poems (1844) brought her great success, attracting the admiration of the writer Robert Browning. Their correspondence, courtship, and marriage were carried out in secret, for fear of her father's disapproval. Following the wedding, she was indeed disinherited by her father. In 1846, the couple moved to Italy, where she would live for the rest of her life. They had a son, known as "Pen" (Robert Wiedeman Barrett Browning) (1849–1912). Pen devoted himself to painting until his eyesight began to fail later in life; he also built up a large collection of manuscripts and memorabilia of his parents; however, since he died intestate, it was sold by public auction to various bidders, and scattered upon his death. The Armstrong Browning Libraryhas tried to recover some of his collection, and now houses the world's largest collection of Browning memorabilia.[3] Elizabeth died in Florence in 1861.[1][4] A collection of her last poems was published by her husband shortly after her death.
Elizabeth's work had a major influence on prominent writers of the day, including the American poets Edgar Allan Poe and Emily Dickinson. She is remembered for such poems as "How Do I Love Thee?" (Sonnet 43, 1845) and Aurora Leigh(1856).
—Bio via Wikipedia
Today’s poem is by Wendell Erdman Berry (born August 5, 1934), an American novelist, poet, essayist, environmental activist, cultural critic, and farmer.[1] Closely identified with rural Kentucky, Berry developed many of his agrarian themes in the early essays of The Gift of Good Land (1981) and The Unsettling of America (1977). His attention to the culture and economy of rural communities is also found in the novels and stories of Port William, such as A Place on Earth (1967), Jayber Crow (2000), and That Distant Land (2004).
He is an elected member of the Fellowship of Southern Writers, a recipient of The National Humanities Medal, and the Jefferson Lecturer for 2012. He is also a 2013 Fellow of The American Academy of Arts and Sciences and, since 2014, a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters.[2] Berry was named the recipient of the 2013 Richard C. Holbrooke Distinguished Achievement Award.[3] On January 28, 2015, he became the first living writer to be inducted into the Kentucky Writers Hall of Fame.[4]
— Bio via Wikipedia
Today’s poem is by Seamus Justin Heaney MRIA (13 April 1939 – 30 August 2013), an Irish poet, playwright and translator. He received the 1995 Nobel Prize in Literature.[1][2] Among his best-known works is Death of a Naturalist (1966), his first major published volume. Heaney was and is still recognised as one of the principal contributors to poetry in Ireland during his lifetime. American poet Robert Lowelldescribed him as "the most important Irish poet since Yeats", and many others, including the academic John Sutherland, have said that he was "the greatest poet of our age".[3][4] Robert Pinskyhas stated that "with his wonderful gift of eye and ear Heaney has the gift of the story-teller."[5] Upon his death in 2013, The Independent described him as "probably the best-known poet in the world".[6]
—Bio via Wikipedia
Today’s poem is by Rita Frances Dove (born August 28, 1952), an American poet and essayist. From 1993 to 1995, she served as Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress. She is the first African American to have been appointed since the position was created by an act of Congress in 1986 from the previous "consultant in poetry" position (1937–86). Dove also received an appointment as "special consultant in poetry" for the Library of Congress's bicentennial year from 1999 to 2000.[1] Dove is the second African American to receive the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, in 1987, and she served as the Poet Laureate of Virginia[2] from 2004 to 2006. Since 1989, she has been teaching at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville, where she held the chair of Commonwealth Professor of English from 1993 to 2020; as of 2020, she holds the chair of Henry Hoyns Professor of Creative Writing.[3]
—Bio via Wikipedia
Today’s poem is by Zbigniew Herbert (IPA: [ˈzbiɡɲɛf ˈxɛrbɛrt] (listen); 29 October 1924 – 28 July 1998), a Polish poet, essayist, drama writer and moralist. He is one of the best known and the most translated post-war Polish writers.[1][2] While he was first published in the 1950s (a volume titled Chord of Light was issued in 1956), soon after he voluntarily ceased submitting most of his works to official Polish government publications. He resumed publication in the 1980s, initially in the underground press. Since the 1960s, he was nominated several times for the Nobel Prize in Literature.[3] His books have been translated into 38 languages.[4]
Herbert claimed to be a distant relative of the 17th-century Anglo-Welsh poet George Herbert.[5]
—Bio via Wikipedia
Today’s poem is by William James Collins, aka Billy Collins, (born March 22, 1941) is an American poet who served as the Poet Laureate of the United States from 2001 to 2003.[1] He was a Distinguished Professor at Lehman College of the City University of New York, retiring in 2016. Collins was recognized as a Literary Lion of the New York Public Library (1992) and selected as the New York State Poet for 2004 through 2006. In 2016, Collins was inducted into the American Academy of Arts and Letters.[2] As of 2020, he is a teacher in the MFA program at Stony Brook Southampton.
— Bio via Wikipedia
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