Poem of the Week, by Günter Grass
It’s spring and ICE or not, things are heating up here at Poetry Hut central. Poems disappear at a rapid clip and I scurry to keep up: Print, Slice, Scroll, Rubber Band while bingeing a show. Passersby stop and choose a poem, read it, smile, shake their heads, put it in their pocket to take home. If you find yourself in south Minneapolis, stop by.
A few fun facts about operating a poetry hut:
1. People greatly prefer poems printed on neon paper. Violent pink and intense teal are always the first to go. Sadly for me I don’t like neon but I am here to serve the poetry public, so neon it is.
2. People do not like yellow poems. Yellow poems are always the last to go.
3. Some people read their poem, then carefully scroll it back up, replace the rubber band, and put it back in the hut. For some reason this goes straight to my heart.
4. Some passersby leave poems of their own making, written on scrap paper I leave in the hut. Others write down their own favorite poems, ones they must have memorized, like the beautiful poem below I found when returned from a run slow jog.
Poetry, oh poetry. It’s where loneliness goes to remind itself it’s not alone.
Happiness, by Günter Grass
An empty bus
hurtles through the starry night.
Perhaps the driver is singing
and is happy because he sings.
For more information about Günter Grass, please click here.
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Alison McGhee 