Some smarty pants once said that most people who write poems have never read one! But why should people choose between the two? I heartily recommend doing both. But it is probably a good idea to read some first. Poems have a way of speaking to the heart that no other genre can quite manage. And if your memories of poetry consist of pulling a line apart to find similes, metaphors, and personification, then give yourself a break. Just read some poems. Don’t worry about finding any literary devices. Don’t even worry about finding the “right” meaning. Just enjoy!

Lucky for all NSCC poetry lovers, our college literary journal, Tetrahedra, is now available for your reading pleasure. Pick up a copy in the library and enjoy some poetry, essays, stories, and artwork by NSCC students, faculty, and staff. There will be a reception and reading from Tetrahedra contributors on Monday, April 20, in S118 at 1 p.m.

And here’s a taste of the treats in store for you in this year’s Tetrahedra. This poem is by Valerie Belew, Dean of English and Humanities. (Any spelling errors, mistyped words, or spacing problems are the Jolly Librarian’s.)

China

Saving myself like new placemates and for what?

A visit from the Queen of England or Shakespeare’s ghost?

 

Much more than the thought of Chinet plates

Or good plastic cutlery

I am

More than a good place setting

Or crystal stemware

More than someone’s dream wrapped warped in

Good china and best intentions

 

Here the dream sits idle, a reminder of what was

And what will never be

Pink, unnatural flowers wind themselves inside the gold

Circle of plates and cups and bowls

As if to hold in the separation

The moment in time when

We at least agreed upon something

And thought the pattern would somehow

Transfer into our lives

 

Long after the severed, dead wishful thinking

Is eventual and buried

The plate, the bowl, the teacup still live on

Experiencing the now, the present hopes

For more than Mikasa and Lenox

 

Someone else’s treasure, not mine

Commandeered the process

Murdering the person and leaving

The gold flatware and lovely plates

For use at a later time

 

And yet I am all this broken china

Too sharp to pick up and too stubborn

To move myself

 

I am the gold-plated knife stuck in myself

I am the crystal stemware traded long ago

So we could pay the rent

I am the musty box that housed

The dishes and golden-ware

For so many years

 

Until the desires for pragmatism pried

Me from my shell

And forced me to use the past

As a lovely table setting for friends

And family

Less the sorrow and losing

 

I should have three sets by now.

 

 

Valerie Belew