National Poetry Month

National Poetry Month, Opening Day and Will Allen

It's a big Monday here at the Food Shuttle.  Of course we are excited about Will Allen coming to town and will be keeping you updated via Twitter and on the blogs about how that's going.  You can still RSVP to if you want to attend the reception for Will on Tuesday Evening. Hope to see you then. We're also excited about continuing to celebrate National Poetry Month on the Behind-the-Scenes-Blog.  Because as Aristotle said:  Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

And on top of all that, it's Opening Day! The green of the grass, the crack of the bat, the overwhelming sense of renewal-baseball is back and spring can now begin( Yes, we know there was a game last night, but come on, today is Opening Day). So here's "Casey at the Bat" to help start  your week.

Casey at the Bat
by Ernest Lawrence Thayer
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that--
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despisèd, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt;
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped--
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, "Strike two!"

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate,
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate;
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,
But there is no joy in Mudville--mighty Casey has struck out.

Food Shuttle 5 - top moments on the web this week

  • Will Allen - urban agriculture specialist is coming to Raleigh on Monday and Tuesday! Read all about it here.
  • Our Co-Founder and Executive Director, Jill Staton Bullard, will be on Clayton Hinkle's radio show - The Progressive Pulse this Sunday at 7:30 am. Watch the preview below:

  • The Operation Frontline and Farm and Community Gardens staff finally saw the light  and set up Twitter accounts: Follow them for the latest news: FoodShuttleOFL and IFFSFarmGardens

  • The talented kids from Mayview made a great rap about their community garden. Watch it below:

  • National Poetry Month is here and we're celebrating on the blogs! Read about it here and watch our moving interpretation of "Monologue for an Onion" below

National Poetry Month

Just as we mentioned yesterday, we will be celebrating National Poetry Month on the blog in April! No, this is not an April Fool's joke either. Since the Food Shuttle is in the business of getting perishable wholesome food out to our hungry neighbors, we will be showcasing different poems about fruits and veggies throughout the month. To start things off, take a look at this video! Chef Terri Hutter and CeCe White make up the dynamic due in a video interpretation of "Monologue for an Onion."

National Poetry Month starts tomorrow!

That's right, a month-long celebration of the ancient literary art that enriches our lives and societies. We'll be doing some special things on the  Behind-The-Scenes blog to recognize this wonderful event. What does National Poetry Month have to do with innovative solutions to the problem of hunger? Not much!  But one half of your loyal Communications Department toiled away for many moons in the mountains of North Carolina to get a coveted Bachelor of Arts in English (with a focus on poetry, American, early 20th century), so we'll figure out a way to make it work.  But this celebration doesn't come without cost. The other half of the Comm. Dept. is not as enthused about our undertaking and the harmonius work environment we've worked so hard to develop is threatened! Such are the sacrifices that have to be made for poetry. To whet your appetite for the month ahead, here's a short poem from a Modernist Master. Maybe you remember this one from a freshman English class?  Enjoy! and we'll have more tomorrow.

The Red Wheelbarrow

William Carlos Williams


so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens.