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Ten Poems to Change Your Life Again and Again
Every great poem invites us to step beyond what we know, what we think we can dream or dare. Great poetry is a catalyst for a change of mind, a change of heart, a change of life- and yes, over and over, again and again, with each new reading, and each new phase of our journey.
That’s why poetry is dangerous. It gives voice to our unspoken dreams; it is a mirror to our own deepest joys, desires, and sorrows. It can tip us over into a new life, into a new way of seeing and being, that a moment ago we might even have had no words for.
In this new volume of his Ten Poems series, Roger Housden takes ten great poems and in personal, intimate essays shows how they led him, and can also lead us, into a more deeply lived and examined life. Housden says, “Every one of the poems in this book has struck me a blow, a direct hit, each of them, into the heart of hearts. Every one of them, in its own way, has opened a door for me to go deeper into my own experience, my own longings, my own sorrows and joys, and into the silence that surrounds all of this, all of us, always.”
That’s why poetry is dangerous. It gives voice to our unspoken dreams; it is a mirror to our own deepest joys, desires, and sorrows. It can tip us over into a new life, into a new way of seeing and being, that a moment ago we might even have had no words for.
In this new volume of his Ten Poems series, Roger Housden takes ten great poems and in personal, intimate essays shows how they led him, and can also lead us, into a more deeply lived and examined life. Housden says, “Every one of the poems in this book has struck me a blow, a direct hit, each of them, into the heart of hearts. Every one of them, in its own way, has opened a door for me to go deeper into my own experience, my own longings, my own sorrows and joys, and into the silence that surrounds all of this, all of us, always.”
- GenresPoetry
160 pages, Hardcover
First published November 27, 2007
35 people are currently reading
256 people want to read
About the author
Roger Housden
44 books121 followersRoger Housden is the author of some twenty books of non fiction, including the best selling Ten Poems series. His new book, SAVED BY BEAUTY: ADVENTURES OF AN AMERICAN ROMANTIC IN IRAN, comes out on May 17 2011 with Broadway Books.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 38 reviews
October 13, 2013
I have to give Housden props: he took a poem I didn’t feel at all, and after I read his explanation, I read it again, and cried. He essentially opened my heart to it, and made it accessible to me. He has such a talent for that, and he is able to be so honest and raw about his own experiences and share them. Sometimes I felt he was so egotistical, and narcissistic, and it is hard to trust a man who over and over again “falls in love” with married women, and then he startles me with his warmth and insight. He also introduces me to poets I want to learn more of, or surprises me with poems I hadn’t read before like this from Rilke:
Sonnets To Orpheus, Part Two, XII
By Rainer Maria Rilke
Want the change. Be inspired by the flame
where everything shines as it disappears.
The artist, when sketching, loves nothing so much
as the curve of the body as it turns away.
What locks itself in sameness has congealed.
Is it safer to be gray and numb?
What turns hard becomes rigid
and is easily shattered.
Pour yourself like a fountain.
Flow into the knowledge that what you are seeking
finishes often at the start, and, with ending, begins.
Every happiness is the child of a separation
it did not think it could survive. And Daphne, becoming a laurel,
dares you to become the wind.
There is another translation of the first line as ‘will the transformation.’ I was thinking just the other day of how we have choices in life, for example, to be undone by grief or to transform it into energy that fuels us in different ways, and how I choose transformation over and over. Being in the flush of autumn, every corner I turn gives me a flash of light as the leaves collect the sun for the last time as they disappear into winter. I feel like I am living and breathing this poem. I am learning more and more to be like water and learning how to ‘pour like a fountain’ into life.
Gate C22 by Ellen Bass
At gate C22 in the Portland airport
a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed
a woman arriving from Orange County.
They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after
the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons
and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,
the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other
like he’d just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,
like she’d been released at last from ICU, snapped
out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down
from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.
Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.
She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine
her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish
kisses like the ocean in the early morning,
the way it gathers and swells, sucking
each rock under, swallowing it
again and again. We were all watching–
passengers waiting for the delayed flight
to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,
the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling
sunglasses. We couldn’t look away. We could
taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.
But the best part was his face. When he drew back
and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost
as though he were a mother still open from giving birth,
as your mother must have looked at you, no matter
what happened after–if she beat you or left you or
you’re lonely now–you once lay there, the vernix
not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you
as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.
The whole wing of the airport hushed,
all of us trying to slip into that woman’s middle-aged body,
her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,
little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.
That is so subtly sexy and beautiful, and makes kissing seem like an art form, or a beautiful expression of life; the poet actually names making love as another form of prayer in another poem, so I get her, and love the reminder.
Each Moment a White Bull Steps Shining into the World
by Jane Hirshfield
If the gods bring to you
a strange and frightening creature,
accept the gift
as if it were one you had chosen.
Say the accustomed prayers,
oil the hooves well,
caress the small ears with praise.
Have the new halter of woven silver
embedded with jewels.
Spare no expense, pay what is asked,
when a gift arrives from the sea.
Treat it as you yourself
would be treated, brought speechless and naked
into the court of a king.
And when the request finally comes,
do not hesitate even an instant----
stroke the white throat,
the heavy trembling dewlaps
you'd come to believe were yours,
and plunge in the knife.
Not once
did you enter the pasture
without pause,
without yourself trembling,
that you came to love it, that was the gift.
Let the envious gods take back what they can.
This reminds me of Rumi’s Guest House by expanding the view of the blessings and curses we receive on a daily, perhaps hourly basis. Receive the gifts, no matter what, pay the price, NO MATTER WHAT, and isn’t that exactly living in the present moment, mindfulness, living life to the fullest? The gift is that you love the pain or the joy as equally as you can, or that you TRY to love it equally, because after all, being human is the point, and joy feels better than sorrow. Here the author loses me as he goes on and on about pining for a married woman, and I can’t say his essay affected the poem at all for me. I just appreciate that he chose it!
Bonus poem:
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
-- Jelaluddin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks
WHAT THE LIVING DO
by Marie Howe
Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up
waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through
the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,
I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,
I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.
What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss--we want more and more and then more of it.
But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep
for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you.
This is the one that made me cry after his explication: my first interpretation was that Johnny had left the poet for another love, in search of something more exciting, more stimulating, that adrenalin rush and it hit too close to home in my love life, so I hated it. I was mad at Johnny, and thought maybe he had killed himself (‘what you finally gave up’). The essay afterwards opened my eyes to another interpretation and it was interesting to see how my mind interprets poems. Johnny was the poet’s brother who died of AIDS, and this is a beautiful poem that takes the mundane, the daily little frustrations, and contrasts them to the yearning for those things when you can’t have them, perhaps in sickness or death, but we yearn for it, “we want more and more and then more of it.” I feel this cherishing a lot lately, mostly when I am looking at my dog curled into me while I am reading; instead of feeling that intense love towards myself, I feel it for my dog, which echoes how my mother loved me, but it also leads to a realization of how much I love my dog, and loved my mother, and how that leads to me thinking, ‘I am living. I remember you.’ I am so lucky to have so much love given to me from my mom, and that is an eternal well for me to share with others, so I cried and cried when I reread this poem. The best example of knowing a back story, and how it unlocks the power and beauty of a poem, again, something the author is very good at.
Sonnets To Orpheus, Part Two, XII
By Rainer Maria Rilke
Want the change. Be inspired by the flame
where everything shines as it disappears.
The artist, when sketching, loves nothing so much
as the curve of the body as it turns away.
What locks itself in sameness has congealed.
Is it safer to be gray and numb?
What turns hard becomes rigid
and is easily shattered.
Pour yourself like a fountain.
Flow into the knowledge that what you are seeking
finishes often at the start, and, with ending, begins.
Every happiness is the child of a separation
it did not think it could survive. And Daphne, becoming a laurel,
dares you to become the wind.
There is another translation of the first line as ‘will the transformation.’ I was thinking just the other day of how we have choices in life, for example, to be undone by grief or to transform it into energy that fuels us in different ways, and how I choose transformation over and over. Being in the flush of autumn, every corner I turn gives me a flash of light as the leaves collect the sun for the last time as they disappear into winter. I feel like I am living and breathing this poem. I am learning more and more to be like water and learning how to ‘pour like a fountain’ into life.
Gate C22 by Ellen Bass
At gate C22 in the Portland airport
a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed
a woman arriving from Orange County.
They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after
the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons
and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,
the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other
like he’d just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,
like she’d been released at last from ICU, snapped
out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down
from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.
Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.
She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine
her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish
kisses like the ocean in the early morning,
the way it gathers and swells, sucking
each rock under, swallowing it
again and again. We were all watching–
passengers waiting for the delayed flight
to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,
the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling
sunglasses. We couldn’t look away. We could
taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.
But the best part was his face. When he drew back
and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost
as though he were a mother still open from giving birth,
as your mother must have looked at you, no matter
what happened after–if she beat you or left you or
you’re lonely now–you once lay there, the vernix
not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you
as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.
The whole wing of the airport hushed,
all of us trying to slip into that woman’s middle-aged body,
her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,
little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.
That is so subtly sexy and beautiful, and makes kissing seem like an art form, or a beautiful expression of life; the poet actually names making love as another form of prayer in another poem, so I get her, and love the reminder.
Each Moment a White Bull Steps Shining into the World
by Jane Hirshfield
If the gods bring to you
a strange and frightening creature,
accept the gift
as if it were one you had chosen.
Say the accustomed prayers,
oil the hooves well,
caress the small ears with praise.
Have the new halter of woven silver
embedded with jewels.
Spare no expense, pay what is asked,
when a gift arrives from the sea.
Treat it as you yourself
would be treated, brought speechless and naked
into the court of a king.
And when the request finally comes,
do not hesitate even an instant----
stroke the white throat,
the heavy trembling dewlaps
you'd come to believe were yours,
and plunge in the knife.
Not once
did you enter the pasture
without pause,
without yourself trembling,
that you came to love it, that was the gift.
Let the envious gods take back what they can.
This reminds me of Rumi’s Guest House by expanding the view of the blessings and curses we receive on a daily, perhaps hourly basis. Receive the gifts, no matter what, pay the price, NO MATTER WHAT, and isn’t that exactly living in the present moment, mindfulness, living life to the fullest? The gift is that you love the pain or the joy as equally as you can, or that you TRY to love it equally, because after all, being human is the point, and joy feels better than sorrow. Here the author loses me as he goes on and on about pining for a married woman, and I can’t say his essay affected the poem at all for me. I just appreciate that he chose it!
Bonus poem:
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
-- Jelaluddin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks
WHAT THE LIVING DO
by Marie Howe
Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up
waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through
the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,
I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,
I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.
What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss--we want more and more and then more of it.
But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep
for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you.
This is the one that made me cry after his explication: my first interpretation was that Johnny had left the poet for another love, in search of something more exciting, more stimulating, that adrenalin rush and it hit too close to home in my love life, so I hated it. I was mad at Johnny, and thought maybe he had killed himself (‘what you finally gave up’). The essay afterwards opened my eyes to another interpretation and it was interesting to see how my mind interprets poems. Johnny was the poet’s brother who died of AIDS, and this is a beautiful poem that takes the mundane, the daily little frustrations, and contrasts them to the yearning for those things when you can’t have them, perhaps in sickness or death, but we yearn for it, “we want more and more and then more of it.” I feel this cherishing a lot lately, mostly when I am looking at my dog curled into me while I am reading; instead of feeling that intense love towards myself, I feel it for my dog, which echoes how my mother loved me, but it also leads to a realization of how much I love my dog, and loved my mother, and how that leads to me thinking, ‘I am living. I remember you.’ I am so lucky to have so much love given to me from my mom, and that is an eternal well for me to share with others, so I cried and cried when I reread this poem. The best example of knowing a back story, and how it unlocks the power and beauty of a poem, again, something the author is very good at.
January 27, 2023
I used to pass by this series of poem books, as I wanted more “poem” and less “analysis.” As I’ve read more and more poetry I’ve come to welcome essays such as these, that accompany the poems and shed light on their hidden depths.
February 28, 2017
Ten candles burning in the darkness - ten poems that spread a little hope for our eyes to see better, for our heart to find the love resonating rhythm, for our mind to penetrate deeper obscure meanings, and for our spirit to breathe and survive.
I followed Rilke's pathway towards the acceptance of change, and I've seen the ugliness of fear dissipating when we let our senses feel the vibration of beauty given by the next moment. I read Whyte's poem, and I let my thoughts run towards the ones who I love embracing them with the invisible arms of my heart. At Bass' 'Gate 22', I stopped wishing for the light of the candle that I was holding tightly hoping that it will never fade, never die.
SONNETS TO ORPHEUS, PART TWO, XII by Rainer Maria Rilke
"Want the change. Be inspired by the flam
Where everything shines as it
disappears
The artist, when sketching, loves
nothing so much
as the curve of the body as it turns away.
What locks itself in sameness has congealed
Is it safer to be gray and numb?
What turns hard becomes rigid
and is easily shattered.
Pour yourself like a fountain
Flow into the knowledge that what
you are seeking
finishes often at the start, and,
with ending, begins. "
............
What to Remember When Waking --by David Whyte
":.......
To be human is to become visible
while carrying what is hidden as a gift to others.
To remember the other world in this world
is to live in your true inheritance.
You are not a troubled guest on this earth,
you are not an accident amidst other accidents
you were invited from another and greater night
than the one from which you have just emerged.
Now, looking through the slanting light of the morning window
toward the mountain presence of everything that can be
what urgency calls you to your one love?
What shape waits in the seed of you
to grow and spread its branches
against a future sky?
Is it waiting in the fertile sea?
In the trees beyond the house?
In the life you can imagine for yourself?
In the open and lovely white page on the writing desk?"
Gate 22 by Ellen Bass
"At gate C22 in the Portland airport
a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed
a woman arriving from Orange County.
They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after
the other passengers clicked the handles of their carryons
and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,
the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other
like he’d just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,
like she’d been released at last from ICU, snapped
out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down
from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.
Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.
She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine
her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish
kisses like the ocean in the early morning,
the way it gathers and swells, sucking
each rock under, swallowing it
again and again. We were all watching–
passengers waiting for the delayed flight
to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,
the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling
sunglasses. We couldn’t look away. We could
taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.
But the best part was his face. When he drew back
and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost
as though he were a mother still open from giving birth,
as your mother must have looked at you, no matter
what happened after–if she beat you or left you or
you’re lonely now–you once lay there, the vernix
not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you
as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.
The whole wing of the airport hushed,
all of us trying to slip into that woman’s middle-aged body,
her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,
little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up."
I followed Rilke's pathway towards the acceptance of change, and I've seen the ugliness of fear dissipating when we let our senses feel the vibration of beauty given by the next moment. I read Whyte's poem, and I let my thoughts run towards the ones who I love embracing them with the invisible arms of my heart. At Bass' 'Gate 22', I stopped wishing for the light of the candle that I was holding tightly hoping that it will never fade, never die.
SONNETS TO ORPHEUS, PART TWO, XII by Rainer Maria Rilke
"Want the change. Be inspired by the flam
Where everything shines as it
disappears
The artist, when sketching, loves
nothing so much
as the curve of the body as it turns away.
What locks itself in sameness has congealed
Is it safer to be gray and numb?
What turns hard becomes rigid
and is easily shattered.
Pour yourself like a fountain
Flow into the knowledge that what
you are seeking
finishes often at the start, and,
with ending, begins. "
............
What to Remember When Waking --by David Whyte
":.......
To be human is to become visible
while carrying what is hidden as a gift to others.
To remember the other world in this world
is to live in your true inheritance.
You are not a troubled guest on this earth,
you are not an accident amidst other accidents
you were invited from another and greater night
than the one from which you have just emerged.
Now, looking through the slanting light of the morning window
toward the mountain presence of everything that can be
what urgency calls you to your one love?
What shape waits in the seed of you
to grow and spread its branches
against a future sky?
Is it waiting in the fertile sea?
In the trees beyond the house?
In the life you can imagine for yourself?
In the open and lovely white page on the writing desk?"
Gate 22 by Ellen Bass
"At gate C22 in the Portland airport
a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed
a woman arriving from Orange County.
They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after
the other passengers clicked the handles of their carryons
and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,
the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other
like he’d just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,
like she’d been released at last from ICU, snapped
out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down
from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.
Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.
She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine
her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish
kisses like the ocean in the early morning,
the way it gathers and swells, sucking
each rock under, swallowing it
again and again. We were all watching–
passengers waiting for the delayed flight
to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,
the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling
sunglasses. We couldn’t look away. We could
taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.
But the best part was his face. When he drew back
and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost
as though he were a mother still open from giving birth,
as your mother must have looked at you, no matter
what happened after–if she beat you or left you or
you’re lonely now–you once lay there, the vernix
not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you
as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.
The whole wing of the airport hushed,
all of us trying to slip into that woman’s middle-aged body,
her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,
little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up."
June 23, 2017
While the concept of reflecting on poetry via essay as it applies to one's own life was intriguing and the poems themselves a nice mix, I found that I often didn't resonate with the personal experiences and feelings conveyed in the essays. I've not read other books in what is apparently a series of these done by Housden. More critically, from the introduction onward, I was startled out of reading several times by Christian hegemony and instances of anti-Arabic and anti-Muslim statements, sometimes blatant, frequently more subtle. This was particularly surprising given his simultaneous regard for poets such as Hafiz, but was disconcerting enough to send up my inner alert to such bias. There was also a number of instances where he expressed clear disregard for the beliefs of atheists and humanists which, while not my particular belief system, I consider myself a liberal Universalist Christian with interfaith leanings, sets up the very tired dichotomy view of science vs. religion as if they are dualistic opposites.
November 5, 2015
Constantly speaking of "happiness" as if it's a neutral state of being. Boring analyses.
March 28, 2021
3.5 Not only are the poems enjoyable, although many are so well known that i have read them before, buy the authors comments regarding each poem are insightful.
April 25, 2023
Roger Housden has written a whole series of "Ten Poems" books and I have read most of them. He has a gift for selecting good poetry and providing thought provoking analysis. The theme of this book is poems that will change your life. Each poem was carefully selected by the author and he provides interesting in depth commentary regarding each selection. Like all poetry books, some of the selections resonated more than others. A couple of the poems I didn't particularly find memorable, came alive after I read his commentary and understood more about where the author of the poem was coming from.
I read this book in my book club. Each member of the book club selected the poem that moved them the most. Based on our different life experiences, people picked different poems and it made for an interesting discussion to learn why a particular poem was meaningful to each person.
This is a great little book to read while having your morning cup of coffee or before bedtime. You could read a poem each day to savor it or read it all at once!
I read this book in my book club. Each member of the book club selected the poem that moved them the most. Based on our different life experiences, people picked different poems and it made for an interesting discussion to learn why a particular poem was meaningful to each person.
This is a great little book to read while having your morning cup of coffee or before bedtime. You could read a poem each day to savor it or read it all at once!
December 24, 2017
I enjoyed a couple of the selections here, but I did not much appreciate the exposition written about each selection. Not that the writing or analysis was bad per se... it just wasn't for me, giving me flashbacks to high school AP English classes in which one is forced to write a certain number of words analyzing one poem or another. It's strange that the author's analyses produced this reaction, given how passionate and alive he seems to feel about poetry itself.
The one exception is the analysis on the Ellen Bass poem and discussion on love (and the fresh/revelatory nature of it) at all ages.
The one exception is the analysis on the Ellen Bass poem and discussion on love (and the fresh/revelatory nature of it) at all ages.
July 31, 2024
Ten Poems to Change Your Life Again and Again is lovely most of the time. I learned a little more about poetry, which was the aim, and experienced some breath taking poems. The author swoops in after each poem he’s chosen to break it down and in doing so uses personal stories to explain how he has related the poem to life. There were multiple points I started cackling, maybe because I’m immature or maybe because I found one too many references to Roger’s ex wife (whom he still really loves, by the way.)
July 11, 2023
Most of the books I’m going to read this summer will probably be things I find around the house, and that’s exactly what this was. I really loved the poems, but sometimes the authors commentary was a little much for me (and I love melodramatic things). he reminded me a lot of my friend Bennett from high school (which is hilarious if you know Bennett) but overall glad I read and a nice way to read poetry.
August 11, 2017
Why don't I read poetry every day? I wrapped myself up in the poems in this book. They seemed to give my soul something I did not even know it was seeking. And it is no surprise that Gram gifted me the book this summer. I wanted to share dozens of lines with all of you as I read. I hope you'll simply pick up the book yourself, and climb into the souls of them too.
September 17, 2019
The reason I rated this a 2 is I liked the poems. I’ve read other books by Housden, but this is, unfortunately, far his poorest and most shallow effort.
September 1, 2020
always learn something from Housden. Love how poetry informs his wisdom.
July 4, 2023
Overall, I enjoyed the book. For me, the number was 8 poems. Well, 8 of the poems the author selected.
September 13, 2023
Absolutely Beautiful. A part of my coffee table books.
March 9, 2017
Another good addition to Housden's 10 poems series. After reading the book, I went back and re-read all of the poems. I love how reading Housden's essays deepens the poems and takes a nugget of them and sets them with me.
August 13, 2020
I love the whole "Ten Poems" series and this books is no exception. Housden has an incredible gift for opening up poetry for me. I want him to annotate all the poetry I read now, though I have to confess since reading his series I've gotten better at picking out gems in just about every poem and letting its meaning wash over me.
The odd thing about the poems in this particular collection is, at first glance, they don't seem as special as those he picked for his other books. But once he started explaining why this or that poem could help change your life, I saw why he chose them and was delighted.
In addition I REALLY appreciated the introduction. Housden says in it exactly what I needed to hear about the way good poetry should speak to us in phrases, words, and pictures. Poetry does speak to a part of my soul that regular books can't and I am so grateful for this series and how it has opened uo poetry for me.
The odd thing about the poems in this particular collection is, at first glance, they don't seem as special as those he picked for his other books. But once he started explaining why this or that poem could help change your life, I saw why he chose them and was delighted.
In addition I REALLY appreciated the introduction. Housden says in it exactly what I needed to hear about the way good poetry should speak to us in phrases, words, and pictures. Poetry does speak to a part of my soul that regular books can't and I am so grateful for this series and how it has opened uo poetry for me.
February 7, 2015
This is the first of Roger Housden's poetry anthologies that I have read, but I am eager to check out others. He introduced me to poets with whom I was not familiar and that I am eager to delve deeper into. What more can you ask of a collection of ten poems? Some of the essays that accompany each poem touch on very personal details of Housden's life (e.g., Jane Hirshfield's "Each moment a white bull steps shining into the world"), and others illuminate poems by describing the context in which the poem's author lived and wrote (e.g., St. Symeon, the tenth century Christian mystic in "Awaken as the Beloved" and Leonard Cohen's "Leaving Mt. Baldy"). Whether one interprets the poems in the same way as Housden or not isn't important. His critiques offer guidance for deeper reading of poetry and would be a great starting place for people who say they don't "get" poetry as well as for long-time poetry lovers.
October 7, 2009
This is the first of the Housden "ten poems" books that I've read and I love his adaptation of the poems meanings to his own life, but also the possibilities of guidance and inspiration these poems and the art of poetry can bring to the reader. For example, the idea that without sorrow there cannot be joy, that we must risk delight gained from "A Brief for the Defense" and that those everyday inconveniences are a part of living and life itself should be cherished, that it's life's journey that counts and we should immerse ourselves and take time to appreciate it fully. Recommended to those looking to uplift themselves (and who doesn't need that!?!?!) and to anyone wanting to better appreciate poetry.
June 22, 2009
Housden added this fifth book to his series after assuring the readers that the fourth was the last and that was all he had to say. Then his marriage to the love of his life broke up and, apparently, he needed to talk about it - at length. The original concept of taking powerful, mostly contemporary, yet simple poems and reflecting on them, adding in a bit of how they affected his life, or were illustrated by events in his own life, was a good one. However, in this book, it's both a stretch and tedious. The poems in this volume are just not as powerful to me as most of the poems he featured in the other books, and his commentary is self-indulgent.
December 30, 2010
If I had to choose a series of books as my all time favorite, it would be Roger Housden's Ten Poems to....
I've discovered my all time favorite poet (Naomi Shihab Nye) because of these books! He chooses the most exquisite, sublime, challenging and inspiring poetry, and his commentaries are superb, analysis that truely gets into the marrow of a poem. This is the perfect series, the perfect gift - boxed set of Roger Housden's Ten Poems... will be life-changing (and I don't use that word lightly.)
LOVE IT.
I've discovered my all time favorite poet (Naomi Shihab Nye) because of these books! He chooses the most exquisite, sublime, challenging and inspiring poetry, and his commentaries are superb, analysis that truely gets into the marrow of a poem. This is the perfect series, the perfect gift - boxed set of Roger Housden's Ten Poems... will be life-changing (and I don't use that word lightly.)
LOVE IT.
January 22, 2020
Another deep breath of fresh air for the soul from Roger Housden. I think I enjoy beautiful poetry even more when they are essayed afterward. The discussion after each poem makes you truly understand and come to appreciate each line and meaning that the poem is portraying. Sure, poetry is beautiful and we can agree that certain poems are better than others, which is why Roger has carefully selected ten poems, in each book of his series, ripe for reflecting upon. I appreciate these kinds of books immensely.
April 11, 2008
Like all of Roger Housden's 10 Poems series, this book delights the mind and soul and if you let it...enlightens. This series included poems by classical poets Rumi and Hafiz as well as a gem by Leonard Cohen...lyricist extraordinaire. I love how Housden guides you through the sometimes murky waters of poetry to enable you to truly engage in this important art form. I would HIGHLY recommend any one or better yet, ALL, of the Ten Poems books.
February 26, 2008
I very much enjoyed the first book of poems to change your life, but I found the sequel spoke to me even more. I felt an obvious connection to several of the poems immediately upon reading, while with others, I needed the commentary by Roger Housden to bring out the passion and various interpretations of the poem. However, even for the poems I enjoyed, Housden's insight lends remarkable insight, brings incredible richness, to the point that I truly feel enlightened after reading it.
September 9, 2011
The first selection is worth keeping the book, a little self absorbed in reflections, overall commentary is helpful. The poems selected are, ones I will treasure. The comments and critique of the author are, personal and unprofessional. I bought the book for the poems not to become involved in the authors history
Currently reading
February 20, 2009Beautifully written. The author discusses poems which have meaning to him, includes his own experience, and insights. I'm learning how to explore poetry in a way that allows me an emotional experience more profound than before
June 14, 2009
I found my all-time favorite poem here; The Journey by Mary Oliver. I don't love all 10 of the poems, but I enjoyed that it went beyond sharing the poems to unveil some of the depth that one might miss.
April 11, 2010
Housden not only picks great poems, with varied styles, from varied cultures, he also writes great essays that explain, extend, and expose all there is to think about the poems. I always come away with a favorite poem from the collections, and wanting to read more poetry.
June 20, 2013
Really liked the poems (particularly Ellen Bass's "Gate C22", which is an old favourite, and Hafiz's "With That Moon Language", which is a new one). I enjoyed some of his essays, but found them to be draggy and uninteresting at times.
August 31, 2014
I loved this book. Housden selected some beautiful poems, and paired them with personal and deeply insightful discussions. This would be a good introduction for anyone who is nervous about getting into poetry or doesn't feel like they "get" poetry. Very accessible.
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