Have I mentioned lately . . .

. . . that Jimmer the fish is still alive? He's alive, I tell you. HE'S ALIVE!

And now for a surprising poem by John Updike

This was featured in The Writer's Almanac this morning (thanks, Annie, for introducing the Almanac to me!), and I was interested in this poem by Updike. I guess I haven't read enough of his work to know whether the theme is typical. Meanwhile (and wholly unrelated to Updike) Jimmer the Fish is still alive.

Religious Consolation

by John Updike

One size fits all. The shape or coloration
of the god or high heaven matters less
than that there is one, somehow, somewhere, hearing
the hasty prayer and chalking up the mite
the widow brings to the temple, A child
alone with horrid verities cries out
for there to be a limit, a warm wall
whose stones give back an answer, however faint.

Strange, the extravagance of it—who needs
those eighteen-armed black Kalis, those musty saints
whose bones and bleeding wounds appall good taste,
those joss sticks, houris, gilded Buddhas, books
Moroni etched in tedious detail?
We do; we need more worlds. This one will fail.

"Religious Consolation" by John Updike, from Americana and Other Poems. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2001.

Poems and other matters

Last night in my book group we reviewed Garrison Keillor's anthology GOOD POEMS and there were a few people in the group who just were not feeling the poetry love. Which is fine. We all have our individual tastes. Like I was saying to Sara Z the other day, I feel like the last American standing who has NOT read THE HUNGER GAMES. Why? Because I'm just not a fan of dystopian fantasy. So there you have it.

Still. What I realized last night is how much I love poetry, how nourishing I find it, how happy I am that people write and share it. My world would be a more dimly lit place without it. So carry on, my poet friends. You make me glad.

Meanwhile, the fish still lives. Oh yes. The fish lives on.