[New post] Just Wondering: Will you post a poem about Ocean Grove? 2014.
Blogfinger posted: " From Leslie Cannon: My sister-in-law sent me this poem, which she said reminded her of Ocean Grove, but after reading it, I am convinced it was written about OG. I hope you will publish it, so others can enjoy it. Editor's note: The" https://blogfinger.net
The Great Auditorium in Ocean Grove. By Paul Goldfinger. Click image to enlarge.
From Leslie Cannon:
My sister-in-law sent me this poem, which she said reminded her of Ocean Grove, but after reading it, I am convinced it was written about OG. I hope you will publish it, so others can enjoy it.
Editor's note: The poem "One Summer" by W.S. Merwin was indeed about Ocean Grove, and we did post it on Blogfinger a couple of years ago. Merwin is a famous poet who has won a Pulitzer Prize twice. He has been the United States Poet Laureate and he has published over 50 books.
Since I can't locate our post, I will do so again now, since Leslie Cannon has contacted us. Merwin's poem will resonate for anyone who loves this town. Except, for me, the part about "Aida." We once saw that long extravaganza at Lincoln Center and, horrors, we left before the end. God knows how many more animals they were going to bring on stage.
Ocean Grove has been admired by other poets, and we have recently posted two poems by Charles Pierre. Painters and photographers have also been inspired by the Grove. See our piece tomorrow about Stephen D'Amato's latest OG painting. ---Paul Goldfinger, Editor @Blogfinger
ONE SUMMER
It is hard now to believe that we really
went back that time years ago to the small town
a mile square along the beach and a little more
than a century old where I had been taken
when I was a child and nothing seemed to have changed
not the porches along the quiet streets
nor the faces on the rockers nor the sea smell
from the boardwalk at the end of the block
nor the smells from the cafeteria in a house
like the others along the same sidewalk
nor the hush of the pebbled streets without
cars nor the names of the same few hotels
nor the immense clapboard auditorium
to which my mother had taken me
to a performance of Aida
and you and I walked those streets in a late
youth of our own and along the boardwalk
toward music we heard from the old carousel
by W.S. Merwin
Published in The American Poetry Review, Nov.-Dec., 2010
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