“Old Age Be Not Sugarcoated’’
(First appeared in Light, https://lightpoetrymagazine.com/)
Your language has me groaning.
I hate to be a scold,
But please don’t call me older
Instead of simply old.
And even worse is senior.
It makes me quite irate.
I haven’t been a senior
Since 1968!
— Felicia Nimue Ackerman is a Providence-based poet and a professor of philosophy at Brown University.
Ogden Nash (1902-1971) and Dagmar (1921-2001), actress and television personality, on the TV game show Masquerade Party, in 1955. Nash graduated from and taught for a year at St. George’s School, in Middletown, R.I.
A Tribute to Ogden Nash
Time for fanfare, time for flash,
Time to honor Ogden Nash.
Lively, innovative, clever—
Humdrum absolutely never.
Nash is great when you’re dejected,
Since he’s apt to lift your spirits with a bouncy ending that is hardly what you expected.
— Felicia Nimue Ackerman is a Providence-based poet and a professor of philosophy at Brown University. (First appeared in Light, with a slightly different title)
Food fight in Ivrea, Italy
— Photo by Giò - Borghetto Battle of Oranges - Battaglia delle Arance 2007 - Ivrea
“Dessert Is Counted Sweetest’’ (after Emily Dickinson poem. See below.)
(Appeared in the May/June 2022 Emily Dickinson International Society Bulletin)
Dessert is counted sweetest
By those who need to diet.
When doctors won't stop nagging,
I fantasize a riot.
Not one of all the cakes and pies
I might forgo today
Could fail to bring me pleasure --
Though later, much dismay.
— Felicia Nimue Ackerman is a Providence-based poet and Brown University philosophy professor.
The Dickinson poem:
Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.
Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of victory
As he defeated – dying –
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!
“To Lucasta, not Going to the Wars” (with apologies to Richard Lovelace)
(First appeared in English Studies Forum)
Outside are danger, war, and death,
And I could go to fight.
I could go out upon the hill
Or stay with you tonight.
I could go out to save the world
As evil does its worst.
I could go out to save my soul,
Or I could put you first.
The world well lost, my honor, too.
Indeed, I must confess
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honor less.
— Felicia Nimue Ackerman, Providence-based poet and Brown University philosophy professor
Richard Lovelace (1618 -1657) was an English Cavalier poet who fought for King Charles I during the English Civil War. His best known works are "To Althea, from Prison" and "To Lucasta, Going to the Warres".
First appeared in Daily Nous
Lloyd always acts without thinking.
Reflection is hardly for him.
Lillian’s mind has been shrinking.
Dementia is making her dim.
Both find enjoyment in living.
So don’t be so ready to scoff.
Why are y.ou so unforgiving?
How harsh to be writing them off.
—Felicia Nimue Ackerman
The superyacht Azzam, which from 2013 to 2019 was the largest private yacht in the world.
For N.T.
The path to joy is faith in God,
The young man told his friend.
His joy was plain upon his face;
He hoped not to offend.
All night they talked, and on the morn,
When day dawned bright and hot,
He shook her hand and wished her well
And set out on his yacht.
By Felicia Nimue Ackerman, a poet and a Brown University philosophy professor. This poem is slightly revised from one that ran in Free Inquiry.
Harbour Court, the Newport, R.I. headquarters of the hyper-exclusive New York Yacht Club
Palomides
Purrless my cat can stroll away
Rejecting human cheer.
To the same corner wends its way
And forms a furry sphere.
How cordial is the mystery
Of feline solitude.
Until I beckon spaciously
And he returns for food.
— Felicia Nimue Ackerman.
This poem first appeared in the Emily Dickinson International Society Bulletin.
—Photo by Lisa Sympson
A fluffy fellow in my lap
Continually purrs --
You may have heard him -- did you not
His purring joyful is --
He cares not if I'm rich or poor --
Or if I'm fat or slim --
Or if I’m tidy or unkempt --
Why can’t you be like him?
— Felicia Nimue Ackerman
This poem first appeared in The Emily Dickinson International Society Bulletin and is reprinted with permission.
“The Cat's Lunch ‘‘ (oil on canvas), by Marguerite Gérard (19th Century)
Have some rum grog. Very fitting for the holidays.
Had I not tasted rum
I'd be content with juice,
But alcohol has newly made
My former tastes vamoose.
— Felicia Nimue Ackerman
This poem first appeared in The Emily Dickinson International Society Bulletin and is reprinted with permission.
xxx
New England became British Colonial America’s distilling center for rum. The liquor is made from molasses, mostly from Caribbean slave-worked sugar plantations. New England’s rum leadership in the 17th and 18th centuries was due to its metalworking and cooperage skills and abundant lumber and its ports and other maritime shipping strengths.
Most New England rum was was lighter than others and more like whiskey. Much of the rum was exported, though New Englanders bought and drank a lot of it themselves. (They also drank a lot of ale and beer; drinking water could be dangerous.) But distillers in Newport also made an extra strong rum specifically to be used as slave-trade currency, and rum was even an accepted currency in Europe for a time.
New England’s role in the rum business was one reason that southern New England merchants got heavily into the slave trade. Africans, of course, were kidnapped and taken by the millions to the Western Hemisphere, mostly to work on the plantations.
The infamous “Triangular Trade.’’ “Sugar’’ means molasses.
British Royal Women’s Naval Service (“Wrens”) members serving rum to a sailor from a tub inscribed "The King God Bless Him" during World War II.
She ate and drank the luscious treats--
Restraint had taken flight--
She knew that she was far from slim
And that her clothes were tight--
She bought some caftans, shawls, and capes
And now her spirit sings
Despite her girth--What liberty
A loosened wardrobe brings —
— Felicia Nimue Ackerman (a Providence poet and philosophy professor)
The waist is larger than the belt --
For put them side by side --
The one the other will exceed
With ease -- it cannot hide --
The foot is wider than the shoe --
For try them inch by inch --
The one the other won’t fit in --
Without a mighty pinch --
The mouth is greater than the will --
For show them something sweet --
The one the other will defy --
And in the end defeat—
—”The Waist Is Larger Than the Belt,’’ by Felicia Nimue Ackerman, a Providence poet and philosophy professor
Here's one thing Trump has made perfectly clear:
Nixon was hardly this country's nadir.
— Felicia Nimue Ackerman
An April Fools' Day prank in Boston's Public Garden in 2011 warning people not to photograph sculptures. It refers to Make Way for Ducklings, the 1941 children’s book written and illustrated by Robert McCloskey. It’s the story of a pair of mallards who decide to raise their family on an island in the lagoon in the park.
Eating sprees improve your health.
Shopping sprees increase your wealth.
Drinking sprees enhance your cool.
Lovely news, but — April fool!
— Felicia Nimue Ackerman
A ticket to "Washing the Lions" at the Tower of London. No such event ever took place.
Breathes there the cat with tail so long
That it gets twisted up all wrong
And knotted, tangled, coiled, and curled,
Instead of splendidly unfurled?
If such there be, release it well
And let its glory grow and swell
Till once again it waves unbound,
Untied, unfettered, and unwound.
— “A New Twist,’’ by Felicia-Nimue Ackerman
Annie's always calm and cheerful,
Speaks no ill of friend or foe,
Always prudent and productive,
Meets temptation with a no.
Never gossips, never grumbles,
Eats fresh fruit instead of cake.
Spend an afternoon with Annie —
See how long you stay awake.
— “An Afternoon With Annie,’’ by Felicia Nimue Ackerman
When Lili seeks affection,
She only has to purr.
She never never meets rejection.
Why can't I be like her?
— Felicia Nimue Ackerman
A cat sitting under a chair, on a mural in an Egyptian tomb dating to the 15th Century B.C.
National Donor Monument, Naarden, the Netherlands
Rose and Blue
(First appeared in Ragged Edge Online)
My hospice room is rose and blue.
The blue is like the sky.
They think that if you're happy here,
You'll be content to die.
They proffer comfort, warmth, and peace,
All shining like the sun.
They strive to meet your every need.
They meet all needs but one.
So now I have another scheme,
My object all sublime.
I've gotten on a transplant list,
And so I bide my time.
Felicia Nimue Ackerman is a Providence-based poet and essayist and a professor of philosophy at Brown University.
St Christopher's Hospice, in South London.
— Photo by Stephen Craven
After the Visitor Spoke
After the visitor spoke at my high school about climate change,
I could not stop crying.
“Do you want to talk about it?” a counselor asked.
I shook my head.
I did not want her in my life.
Besides, she would never believe
I was crying because Matt twirled Steffie’s hair during the lecture
And I heard him ask her to the prom.
— Felicia Nimue Ackerman
The Herd Quitter, by C.M. Russell
See Wall Street Journal editorial “Wyoming Cowboys Corral Identity Politics’’ (subscription needed) and Providence poet and philosophy professor Felicia Nimue Ackerman’s response:
Identity politics may attract some,
But what a relief that not all will succumb.
Oh, won't you be my valentine?
I hope that you'll refuse.
If I could pick a valentine,
You're not the one I'd choose.
But won't you be my valentine?
I have to ask, alas.
They're making us give valentines
To each kid in the class.
-- "Third Graders' Valentine,’’ by Felicia Nimue Ackerman
