Poems to Live By

By Robert DiYanni, New York University

Preface

 

I came late to writing poetry. I began composing poems in earnest about six months into the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020. I wrote a few poems inspired by and referencing the pandemic, but my initial inspiration was three villanelles I have always admired: Elizabeth Bishop’s “One Art,” Theodore Roethke’s “The Waking,” and Wendy Cope’s “Ted Williams Villanelle.”

One morning in the pre-dawn dark, lines from these poems began echoing in my mind: Bishop’s “The art of losing isn’t hard to master,” Roethke’s “I learn by going where I have to go,” and Cope’s “Don’t let anybody mess with your swing.” These lines would not let me go until I began writing villanelles of my own inspired by these artful examples of the form. And once I started, I felt impelled to continue. I found the rhymes and repeating lines of the villanelle form congenial. I have written close to a hundred villanelles now.

Although a few of these follow the form carefully and strictly, I take small liberties in most of them, primarily by omitting the rhyme on the second line of each of the poem’s three-line stanzas. So most of my villanelle-inspired poems included in this volume are what I call “near-villanelles.”

About two dozen of these were written in response to a request by then New York University Provost, Katy Fleming, for a weekly zoom meeting she held for staff during the pandemic. The first for those meetings, “The Art of the Mustache,” I wrote as a substitute for wearing a funny mustache to the meeting. I have included this poem in the book’s first part rather than with the others inspired by the Provost, which are gathered in Part V: Poems for Provost Meetings.

While writing my villanelles, I occasionally needed more room than the form’s 19 lines provide, and so I wrote some villanelle-like poems with an extra stanza or two. Occasionally I needed to write even longer poems, some of which retained the villanelle’s three-line stanzas, but which went on considerably beyond the form’s five-tercets, poems that only occasionally ended the way villanelles do—with a quatrain that brings together the first and third rhyming lines as a concluding couplet.

Although I continued to add to my villanelle collection, I began writing poems in other forms as well, initially about books and writers, sometimes imitating the writer’s styles and poetic structures, sometimes incorporating their subjects and thematic preoccupations. I also began writing double-dactyl poems, I learned about in college, and which follow a set of formal rules, beginning with the words “higgledy-piggledy,” and include a person’s name in the same double-dactyl meter: an accented syllable followed by two unstressed syllables—for example, EM i ly DICK in son and PAM e la AND er son. As with the villanelles I wrote, my double-dactyl poems often approximate but don’t adhere strictly to the rules for this playful form.

And so, you will find here villanelles and near-villanelles, double-dactyl poems and their close approximations, along with others that conspire with these forms and still others that don’t. You will encounter serious poems and humorous ones, brief snapshots and longer considerations. What’s absent are familiar forms, such as the sonnet, for example, as well as the ballad and the haiku.

I have grouped the poems in part by their forms and in part by their subjects or topics. I had fun writing them, and I hope you enjoy reading them.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

 

Part I: “The Art of”… Poems

Part II: Poems About Teaching and Learning

Part III: Poems About Reading and Writing

Part IV: Poems About Writers and Books

Part V: Poems for Provost Meetings

Part VI: Pandemic Poems

Part VII: Poems About Music and People

Part VIII: Family Remembrance Poems

Part IX: Poems Celebrating Businesses and Services

Part X: Double Dactyl Poems

Part XI: Miscellaneous Poems

Part I  “The Art of” Poems

 

1. The Art of Going

 

“I learn by going where I have to go,”

writes Theodore Roethke in “The Waking.”

“The art of losing isn’t hard to master,”

 

avers Liz Bishop’s speaker in “One Art.”

These lessons in living we aim to master

as we try to learn where we need to go—

 

and whether we can measure up to

the wisdom reflected in these words.

(If, indeed, losing is an art to master.)

 

How can we know what we need to do,

and if we can master what needs mastering?

We learn by going where we need to go.

 

“Don’t let anybody mess with your swing,”

Wen Cope writes in her “Ted Williams Villanelle.”

The key to the art of hitting—from a master.

 

We won’t let anybody mess with our swing.

We learn by doing what we need to do.

We learn by going where we have to go—

and hope losing is an art we can master.

 

---

 

2. The Art of Doing

 

We learn by doing what we have to do.

This much we know with solid  certainty—

And that the art of losing isn’t hard to master.

 

We mustn’t let anybody mess with our swing,

but do our work our way—that’s the thing.

We learn by doing what we need to do.

 

Just make a plan and do our thing—and keep

on trying, however hard to learn

the art of losing. Become a master.

 

Roethke wakes us to the blessings nature brings.

Bishop grasps the losing art as master.

Cope knows we learn by doing what we do.

 

The trick? Know where to look, how to find

teachers and mentors skilled in the knowledge

that losing need not be a disaster.

 

We learn by going where we have to go,

and not let anyone mess with our swing.

We learn by doing what we need to do and

hope that losing is an art we can master.

 

---

 

3. The Art of Loving

 

The art of loving we should learn always.

Love’s old sweet song in reciprocity.

We learn by loving what real love conveys.

 

We learn by loving to embrace each

other’s distinctive personality.

The art of loving we must learn all ways.

 

How to grow through love—we’ll find a way.

By chance and luck and special gift of grace

we’ll learn the varied roles that true love plays.

 

We learn by going where we need to go

to find the way to love’s deep mystery—

through loving others in many ways.

 

Not loving is no option for those who care.

Lives bereft of love are hollow, barren, bare.

We glimpse the facets that love surveys

 

in those who respond to its demands.

The love we give returns a hundredfold.

The art of loving we should seek always.

We learn by loving what real love conveys.

 

---

 
4. The Art of Hating

The art of hating is a terrible delight.

Hating stirs the passions—kerosene on a fire.

Hating turns bright day to endless night.

 

Those we hate, we hate for reasons dire.

Those who hate us conceal their reasons why.

The art of hating is a terrible delight.

 

The pleasure of hating eats into the heart.

Those we hate we cannot flout outright.

Hating turns bright day to endless night.

 

Hatred destroys those who hate far more

than the loathéd object of irate rage.

The art of hating is a terrible delight.

 

Hatred devours those who hate, eats them alive,

begets in them unending misery.

Hatred turns bright day to endless night.

 

Those whom we hate we likely once have loved.

Through hate our spite augments their influence.

The art of hating is a terrible delight.

Hatred turns bright day to endless night.

 

---

 

5. The Art of Failing

 

The art of failing isn’t hard to master.

Just draft your project with the aim to fail.

Then fail better and fail faster. Skirt disaster.

 

Success is fine, but no match for failing well.

Fail better, fail faster, and be smart.

The art of failing isn’t hard to master.

 

So Samuel Beckett says about his art.

Perfection eludes us at every turn.

So fail better and smarter to forestall disaster.

 

You won’t get anything right from the start.

Don’t try. Forgive yourself; make a mess.

Avoid duress. Fail smarter to prevent disaster.

 

Failure, not success, is what you’re after.

That’s where the surprises lurk—the discoveries.

The art of failing isn’t hard to master.

 

Court failure. Don’t fear its painful pleasure.

Follow missteps—embrace them, take their measure.

The art of failing you can learn to master.

Fail better, smarter, faster. Avert disaster.

 

 

---

 

6. The Art of Thinking

 

The art of thinking isn’t easy to master.

To think well is hard and takes humility.

Thinking is a skill we all should master.

 

Many claim they know how to think and need

not study fallacies. Not for them this work,

yet he art of thinking is no easy matter.

 

Some are confident that they know everything

and needn’t bother with thinking strategies.

Yet thinking is a skill they’ve yet to master.

 

Others suppose they are profound thinkers,

yet care not a whit for arduous thought.

The art of thinking is not so easy to master.

 

The worst are the presumptive arrogant

who think all people dolts except themselves.

Thinking is a skill they’ll never master.

 

Think critically and creatively,

fast and slow, into and out of the box.

The art of thinking is pretty hard to master.

Thinking well helps forestall disaster.

 

 

---

 

7. The Art of Lying

 

The art of lying isn’t hard to master.

That’s the problem; everybody does it.

Lying breaches trust and leads to disaster.

 

To lie is easy; the truth is more difficult.

We lie to save face, avoid admitting guilt.

The art of lying isn’t hard to master.

 

True ease in lying comes from art, not chance.

As those move easiest who have learned to dance.

Lying, though, breaches trust and courts disaster.

 

The web abets lies with anonymity.

Liars spread falsehoods there all too easily.

The art of lying is much too simple to master.

 

Trolls and bots abound with scores of fakes and frauds—

False news, lies about Jews and other hated groups.

Lying razes trust and faith, breeds disaster.

 

Can we separate the false from the true?

Can we catch the liar in the lie?

Liars breach trust, sow discord, incite disaster.

The art of lying is far too easy to master.

 

---

 

8. The Art of Trying

 

The art of trying demands effort to master.

To try time after time requires grit and

fortitude, even courage to master.

 

Try hard, even harder, then step away.

Do something else, take on some other task.

The art of trying takes time to master.

 

Persist. Don’t desert your task at the first sign

of difficulty. Relish the challenge.

The art of trying wants patience to master.

 

Frustration is a given. So is struggle.

Work through those necessities fearlessly.

The art of trying demands effort to master.

 

Tired of trying? Don’t give up or in.

Fight on. Resist the temptation to quit.

The art of trying requires grit to master.

 

Who said that things would come easily?

Life’s rife with challenges, roadblocks, obstacles.

The art of trying takes courage to master.

Keep on trying. Become a master.

 

---

 

9. Ars Vivendi

 

The art of living is an art worth learning.

Long life provides a chance to master

the tests and trials that living generates.

 

We learn by living what we have to learn—

all things needful for joy and contentment.

The art of living is an art worth learning.

 

We learn to manage and survive life’s challenges:

Doses of sorrow tinged with pain;

trials and tests in life predominate.

 

How to make our way in work and play?

How to grow in sense and sagacity each day?

The art of living is an art worth learning.

 

For all we have is life, its meaning ours to make.

We live once only and negotiate

the tribulations living initiates.

 

We learn by doing what we need to do.

We learn by going where we have to go.

The art of living is an art worth learning:

To survive the tests and trials living generates.

 

---

 

10. Ars Moriendi

 

The art of dying can be hard to master.

Montaigne says that to philosophize is to

learn how to die. His essays show us the way.

 

Each day we live we march toward life’s conclusion.

The price of living, in fact, is dying.

The art of dying is no easy matter.

 

We long to live, for life is all we know.

How to delay death’s distressing embrace?

No one wants to die. Some writers show us how

 

to enjoy life more, even while knowing

that it ends in the grave after all.

The art of dying is hard to master.

 

We learn by doing what we need to do.

We learn by going where we have to go.

Live each day; read Montaigne’s essays now.

 

We step through life, hoping all the while

the reaper grim will grant a brief reprieve.

The art of dying is surely hard to master.

Can Montaigne’s essays help us, show us how?

 

---

 

11. The Art of Waiting

 

The art of waiting is hard to master.

We’re all impatient. We want things done right now.

Patience is a virtue—it prevents disaster.

 

Waiting is not in our genes, our DNA.

We fidget, bothered by the need to wait.

The art of waiting is tough to master.

 

Who likes to wait in line? We certainly do not.

We want the line to move ever faster.

Patience is a virtue that staves off disaster.

 

Impatience is the norm, the default nowadays.

The internet is built for speed, so that

the art of waiting is surely hard to master.

 

To wait means reflecting, pausing to think

for a tad more than a millisecond.

Patience is a virtue that forestalls disaster.

 

Slow down. Hit pause. Take a moment to reflect.

Imagine life before the internet.

The art of waiting is not easy to master.

Patience, though difficult, prevents disaster.

 

---

 

12. The Art of Trusting

 

The art of trusting is a risky art.

Is it, in fact, an art at all?

Believing too easily leads to regret.

 

It’s human nature to trust people’s honesty.

Not all deserve such trust. Some people lie.

The art of trusting is a complex art.

 

We believe that people tell the truth most times.

And though they do some times, they often lie.

Making belief the default leads to regret.

 

Everybody lies at least some of the time.

Some people lie at will every time.

The art of trusting is a chancy art.

 

Become a skeptic—on occasion at least.

Nonbelief is instinctive to those who know

believing carelessly leads to regret.

 

How to know when to trust and when to doubt?

Discerning truth from lies—who knows how?

The art of trusting is a hazardous art.

Believing too freely can lead to regret.

 

---

 

13. The Art of Doubting

 

The skeptic questions what we think we know.

Faith and trust in facts need proof to survive.

Doubt is required for knowledge to grow.

 

Science requires evidence to convince

us of what’s true and what’s falsely claimed.

The skeptic questions what we think we know.

 

Historians seek truth and question the past.

But history favors privilege and power.

Doubt is required for knowledge to grow.

 

What does it mean to understand any thing?

Our knowledge is limited, filtered, partial.

The skeptic questions what we think we know.

 

We know what we know we’re inclined to say.

But how do we know? What warrant do we have?

Doubt is required for knowledge to grow.

 

It’s not easy to know what we do and don’t.

We should challenge what we think is true—and not.

The skeptic questions what we think we know.

Doubt is required for knowledge to grow.

 

---

 

14. The Art of Arguing

 

The art of arguing is hard to master.

The goal is not to win at all costs.

Argument without fairness is a disaster.

 

It’s one thing to club an opponent blind.

But shouldn’t we consider the other side?

The art of arguing is hard to master.

 

Concession, rebuttal, the ceaseless war

of ideas is always in play.

Tact and fairness can forestall disaster.

 

Everything’s an argument, some contend.

Yet this isn’t so; contention is not all.

Discourse is complex, hard to master.

.

You say this, I say that—we disagree

on principles and practices and more.

Arguing can often lead to disaster.

 

Argument’s aims are limited and clear.

But other values can predominate.

The art of argument is hard to master.

Fairness, accuracy, tact—or disaster.

 

---

 

15. The Art of Mentoring

 

The art of mentoring is hard to master.

A mentor supports and nurtures in equal measure.

Mentoring is required to avoid disaster.

 

The mentor is a coach and helper first.

The mentor’s role? To guide and acculturate.

The art of mentoring is hard to master.

 

The mentor builds trust and leads by example.

Give the mentee leeway—but not too much.

The art of mentoring is hard to master.

 

Students need room to grow and explore,

to test and stretch themselves on their own.

The mentor steps in to avoid disaster.

 

Finding the balance, the just-right blend

of guidance and restraint—the Goldilocks zone.

The art of mentoring is hard to master.

 

A student needs a mentor who shows care,

listens, questions, and teaches with skill.

The art of mentoring is hard to master.

Good mentoring matters. It averts disaster.

 

---

 

16. Art of the Proposal

 

A book proposal is not easy to write.

It takes time and care and thought galore.

How can you get a book proposal just right?

 

Decide, first, who the book will be for.

What audience will your book attract?

A book proposal isn’t easy to write.

 

Consider, next, why we need the book at all.

What will be different, special about it?

How can you write a proposal that’s just right

 

for the audience and purpose you insight-

fully imagine? What approach should you take?

A good book proposal isn’t easy to write.

 

And let’s not forget the market analysis.

What’s the competition? Where does your book fit in?

How can you write a proposal that’s right?

 

Audience and purpose and market assessment—

these three elements are critical—key.

A good book proposal may be hard to write,

but you can, indeed, write a proposal that’s right.

 

---

 

17. Art of the Plenary

 

What makes a plenary succeed beyond measure?

What’s the best way to make it a pleasure?

Host and speakers are in synch all the way.

 

That’s the vital heart of its success.

The host sets the stage, students prepare with care

thoughtful questions artfully measured.

 

Panelists respond with interest and passion,

engage together in the ensuing discussion,

with host and speakers in synch all the way.

 

The topics, too, make plenaries engaging,

with ethos, pathos, logos all in play:

trust, feeling, thought the three key measures.

 

It takes skill to set the stage for the session,

and mettle and moxie to keep the talk flowing,

with host and speakers in synch on the day.

 

How to plenarize the measure of pleasure?

Get host and speakers in synch all the way.

Have host and speakers at their best on the day.

 

---

 

18. The Art of Giving & Receiving

 

It is better to give, some say, than to receive.

To that there is, indeed, a degree of truth.

But to receive also has pleasures, I believe.

 

Which is better is not the right question.

Each has its merits, each gives pleasure.

Is it really better to give than to receive?

 

Doesn’t the giver in some way receive?

The one who gives receives thanks and praise.

Receiving has reciprocal pleasures, I believe.

 

There are times, though, when giving is ignored

by those who receive, the gift unrecognized.

Is it really then better to give than receive?

 

What matters more than what’s given and received

is the spirit in which that gift is made and taken.

To receive and give each have value, I believe.

 

This give-and-take exchange brings pleasure—

though not always in equal measure.

It is good, then, both ways—to give and receive.

Each act has its satisfactions. So I believe.

 

---

 

19. The Art of Making

 

The art of making is a necessary art.

Building and creating things bring pleasure.

Making is an art in which we all have a part.

 

What to make, of course, is the question.

Crafting anything at all brings pleasure.

The art of making is a necessary art.

 

Write an essay, build a model, bake a cake,

sew a skirt or shirt, make a poem or painting—

fashion something and play your part.

 

My father built houses, I build books,

constructing something worth inhabiting.

The art of building is a maker’s true art.

 

Whatever we build, it should measure up

to our high standards, reflect the very top

of our skill. In fashioning it we play our part.

 

We are known, in part, by what we make,

by what we give more than what we take.

The art of making is a much needed art.

There’s a place for each person to play a part.

 

---

 

20. The Art of Choosing

 

The art of choosing is no easy matter.

Making decisions is often difficult.

We hope to choose right and avoid disaster.

 

But choices frequently conflict.

They provide two apparent benefits—

or pitfalls. Choosing is no easy matter.

 

Which path to take on a walk in the woods,

which forkéd road to follow? Which road in life

to choose and escape a turn toward disaster?

 

Some choices are of no consequence—vanilla

or chocolate, cup or cone? Others carry more

weight. The art of choosing is no easy matter.

 

Marry or remain single? Have children or not?

What studies to undertake? What work to do?

Bad choices here can lead to disaster.

 

Choose right the first time—or at least the second—

to find meaning and joy and tranquility.

The art of choosing is no easy matter.

Choose wisely. Choose right to avoid disaster.

 

---

 

21. The Art of Refusal

 

How can we learn the art of refusal?

How can we reject unreasonable demands?

We can, you know, decline, allow for recusal.

 

“I prefer not to” is the calm response

of Melville’s Bartleby, a poor scrivener,

consummate master of the art of refusal.

 

Our instinct is to accommodate

friends’ and colleagues’ requests—to comply.

And yet we might learn the art of recusal

 

for times when unreasonable requests

compromise us, jeopardize our values.

For those times we need skill at refusal.

 

We’re eager to conform and go along.

We enjoy the work of collaboration.

At times, though, we need to excuse

 

ourselves. We must feel free to collaborate—

or not—to work together or apart.

At times we must decline, declare recusal.

Simply invoke the right of refusal.

 

---

 

22. The Art of Bending

 

To bend down when older is hard to master.

A simple pick up of any little thing

can result in a near disaster.

 

Bending down, once so easy, gets harder

every year. And getting up again even

more difficult, certainly hard to master.

 

Look at those kids skidding around the ground.

And here are some others rolling on the floor.

They move with speed and ease—ever faster.

 

We older folk remember how we once

hopped, skipped, and bended, straightning up with ease.

Move fast now? We are prone to disaster.

 

Sometimes, though, we think we can still get down

with the kids on the floor or out in the yard.

We could find ourselves fast in a cast of plaster.

 

And so we take pains to move cautiously,

Bending ever so slightly, and rarely too.

Carefully, slowly, warily—not faster.

 

To bend as we age is no easy matter.

We limit our chance of hurting ourselves

by bending rarely, an art hard to master.

We try in that way to avoid disaster.

 

---

 

23. The Art of Farting

 

The art of farting is an easy art to master.

We all lay farts, often clandestinely.

The smell gives farters away—sheer disaster.

 

Some farts blast out full force and thunderous.

Others sneak out the back door quietly.

The art of farting is an easy art to master.

 

It’s the in-between types that require farting

proficiency—skills only the best farters acquire.

The sharp smell? Guilty. Now the disaster—

 

being caught. Only a true master can launch,

undetected, a fart that wrinkles noses.

The art of farting takes effort to master.

 

How to camouflage flatulence—that’s the trick—

appear innocent of the reeking deed.

The acrid stink then is no disaster.

 

Some love their farts; others stifle every one.

Which approach is better? To each his own.

The art of farting is a must to master.

Farting artlessly invites disaster.

 

---

 

24. The Art of Cursing

 

The art of cursing isn’t hard to master.

Just let go. Get it off your chest, goddammit.

Cursing others out discharges stifled wrath.

 

Someone’s “full of shit,” a “prick” or “dumb ass,”

a “fucking idiot” or “imbecile.”

The art of cursing isn’t hard to master.

 

“Up yours,” or “stick it up your ass, you bastard.”
That’ll get his goat, make him retaliate.

Cursing others out discharges pent-up rage.

 

“Shit-faced tit-sagging bitch”; “you horse-faced cunt.”

Women get cursed out too, when anger reigns.

The art of cursing isn’t hard to master.

 

Shakespeare’s bawdy is rife with insult:

“bunch-backed toad,” “bull’s-pizzle,” “fat guts,” “whoreson.”

Cursing others out discharges unrequited wrath.

 

The bard’s sharp insults stream abundantly:

“mouldy rogue,” “dissembling harlot,” “thrice-double ass.”

The art of insult isn’t hard to master.

Cursing others out discharges stifled wrath.

 

---

 

25. The Art of Massage

 
What makes for a massage beyond measure?

Strong hands, nimble fingers, expert technique.

A sensual massage arouses deep pleasure.

 

Much depends on the position and locus

of a masseuse’s focus. The right pressure

produces a massage beyond measure.

 

Begin mid-back with thumbs tight together.

Kneed the muscles with just the right force.

A good massage can arouse profound pleasure.

 

Move up to the shoulders then down to the coccyx,

just above the derriere. Then from there

massage the inner thighs in tender measure.

 

Glide further in—to parts un-nameable.

Insinuate fingers gently; stroke there

with care; massage to elevate pleasure.

 

Rouse the prone patient to heights of delight:

inspire desire; enflame a swift spurt of rapture.

What makes for a massage without measure?

Capable hands initiate pleasure.

 

---

 

26. Art of the Mustache

 

Wearing a mustache is a hard art to master.

Mustaches require time and care to cultivate.

A mustache gone to seed is a disaster.

 

Some grow their mustaches long and curly.

Others wear theirs short and bristly thick.

Wearing a mustache well is hard to master.

 

Mustachiosos touch their staches often, twirling

them round their fingers, smoothing and primping,

for a mustache gone to seed spells disaster.

 

Velazquez and Dali, Groucho and Charlie

Chaplain’s little tramp knew well how to wear

their facial hair. They were true masters.

 

Dali wore his stache with stylish swagger.

He tended it with a gardener’s delight,

for a mustache gone to seed breeds disaster.

 

Montaigne loved his mustache, with lingering smells

of journeys and foods and lovers remembered.

Sporting a mustache is a tough art to master.

Let a mustache go to seed? Inviting disaster.