Bellringers

1. Bellringers 3/23- 3/26 #1-4

2. 3/23/10 #1LinesMartha Collins Draw a line. Write a line. There.Stay in line, hold the line, a glancebetween the lines is fine but don'tturn corners, cross, cut in, go overor out, between two points of noreturn's a line of flight, betweentwo points of view's a line of vision.But a line of thought is rarelystraight, an open line's no partyline, however fine your point.A line of fire communicates, but dropyour weapons and drop your line,consider the shortest distance from xto y, let x be me, let y be you.

3. 3/24/10 #2The DistancesHenry Rago This house, pitched nowThe dark wide stretchOf plains and oceanTo these hills overThe night-filled river,Billows with night,Swells with the roomsOf sleeping children, pullsSlowly from this bed,Slowly returns, pulls and holds,Is held where we Lock all distances! Ah, how the distancesSpiral from thatSecrecy:Room,Rooms, roofSpun to the hugeMidnight, and intoThe rings and rings of stars.

4. 3/25/10 #3“Do You Have Any Advice For Those of Us Just Starting Out?"Ron Koertge Give up sitting dutifully at your desk. Leaveyour house or apartment. Go out into the world. It's all right to carry a notebook but a cheapone is best, with pages the color of weak teaand on the front a kitten or a space ship. Avoid any enclosed space where more thanthree people are wearing turtlenecks. Bewareany snow-covered chalet with deer tracksacross the muffled tennis courts. Not surprisingly, libraries are a good place to write.And the perfect place in a library is near an aislewhere a child a year or two old is playing as hismother browses the ranks of the dead. Often he will pull books from the bottom shelf.The title, the author's name, the brooding photoon the flap mean nothing. Red book on black, graybook on brown, he builds a tower. And the higherit gets, the wider he grins. You who asked for advice, listen: When the towerfalls, be like that child. Laugh so loud everybodyin the world frowns and says, "Shhhh." Then start again.

5. 3/26/10 #4At the Un-National Monument Along the Canadian BorderWilliam Stafford This is the field where the battle did not happen, where the unknown soldier did not die. This is the field where grass joined hands, where no monument stands, and the only heroic thing is the sky. Birds fly here without any sound, unfolding their wings across the open. No people killed — or were killed — on this ground hallowed by neglect and an air so tame that people celebrate it by forgetting its name.