About Us

Annual Events - National Poetry Month 2007

The Pima County Public Library celebrated National Poetry Month in April 2007 with a variety of events for all ages!

Events for teens included the Teen Poetry Festapaloosa, the 7th Annual Valencia Teen Poetry Festival and Competition, and an afternoon teen reading of poetry at Jácome Plaza downtown.

Events for adults include a class on The Art of Writing Poetry with Pima Community College's Steve Salmoni and a Poetry Roundtable and the Shel Silverstein Poetry Night at the Oro Valley Public Library.

Teens, celebrate poetry month all month (and all year!) long by posting your poetry to the Teen Book and Poetry Forum. It's all about you, what you read and what you write.

National Poetry Month was established by the Academy of American Poets as a month-long, national celebration of poetry. We celebrated National Poetry with the events, poetry and programs below.

Schedule of Events

Poem of the Week

In celebration of National Poetry Month, throughout the month of April, we posted the Poem of the Week. The following poems were posted throughout April.

The Poem of the Week was brought to you by the University of Arizona Poetry Center.

Desert by Richard Shelton

Richard Shelton's Going Back to Bisbee was selected as the OneBookAZ title for 2007.

Sometimes the sun is still trying
to get to the horizon
when a daylight moon comes up,
fragile and almost transparent,
the ghost of a white bird
with damaged wings,
blown from its course and lost
in the huge desert sky.
It is the least protected
of all unprotected things.
A little wind goes by
through the greasewood
heading home to its nest
among blue-veined stones
where it will circle three times
and curl up to sleep
before darkness falls
straight down
like a tile from the roof of a tall building.
There are families of stones
under the ground.
As the young stones grow
they rise slowly like moons.
When they reach the surface
they are old and holy
and when they break open
they give off a rich odor,
each blooming once in the light
after centuries of waiting.
Those who have lived here longest
and know best
are least conspicuous.
The oldest mountains are lowest
and the scorpion sleeps all day
beneath a broken stone.
If I stay here long enough
I will learn the art of silence.
When I have given up words
I will become what I have to say.

From Selected Poems 1969 - 1981 by Richard Shelton, University of Pittsburgh Press, © 1982 Richard Shelton.

'Okokoi by Ofelia Zepeda

A poem in Tohono O'odham and English.

'Okokoi

D 'o si we:pegkam
d 'o si we:pegkam
hegai mo an je:k
g s-ke:g bahidaj
ñi'a, ñi'a
s-wa'usim cewagi 'o 'i:bhe

Mourning Dove

She is the first one
she is the first one
who tastes
the beautiful fruit
see here, see here
she breathes clouds of wetness

From a broadside by Kore Press, Tucson, AZ. © 2005 Ofelia Zepeda.

Red Light by Sherwin Bitsui

What was asked for
won't step into view.
Coyote jumps
onto asphalt running west,
dreams reoccur,
lightning strikes
the same nerve ending twice

by Sherwin Bitsui from Shapeshift, University of Arizona Press. © 2003 Sherwin Bitsui.

Near-to-the-Water by Luci Tapahonso

Most afternoons at Niist'ááh, when the sky is a brilliant teal,
Hanábaá is at the sunlit stove tending the speckled enamel pot.
The hooghan is redolent of simmering soup and blue corn meal.

As a child, Hanábaá learned to blend the fine corn meal in the still
Mountain mornings. The quiet cadence of the stirring spoon brought
Forth her mother's voice on those days when the sky was a brilliant teal.

Later when Tóáhání saw the red sun set in Hanábaás hair, it instilled
Such an ancient longing - like the lilting grinding songs that wrought
Childhood repasts: warm bread, simmering soup, and blue corn meal.

On quiet cold nights, the elders tell of how a woman's long hair reveals
Enduring wisdom. They say Changing Woman's hair averted drought
On a dusty, hot afternoon centuries ago when the sky was a brilliant teal.

For Tóáhání, the glistening of Hanábaás hair recalled the low peal
Of distant thunder when thin cornstalks rippled in dry fields and sought
Cool rain. Now her hooghan is redolent of simmering soup and blue corn meal.

As Hanábaá stirs the enamel pot in the low winter dusk, her songs yield
Memories of Tóáhání: his resonant voice and dark eyes. The decades have taught
Hanábaá that those long ago afternoons, when the skies were a brilliant teal,
Ensured their children would thrive on old stories, simmering soup and blue corn meal.

© Luci Tapahonso

Return to top