Billy Collins, former US Poet Laureate and one of America's best-selling poets, reads his poem "The Dead" with animation by Juan Delcan of Spontaneous. Noted for their intelligent humor, accessibility and observations on daily life, Collins' popular poems come alive further in a series of animated poems produced by JWT New York. - - - - - - - The Poem - The dead are always looking down on us, they say, while we are putting on our shoes or making a sandwich, they are looking down through the glass-bottom boats, of heaven as they row themselves slowly through eternity. They watch the tops of our heads moving below on earth, And when we lie down in a field or on a couch, Drugged perhaps by the hum of a warm afternoon, They think we are looking back at them, which makes them lift their oars and fall silent and wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.

Billy Collins, former US Poet Laureate and one of America's best-selling poets, reads his poem "Some Days" with animation by Julian Grey of Headgear. Noted for their intelligent humor, accessibility and observations on daily life, Collins' popular poems come alive further in a series of animated poems produced by JWT-NY. - - - - - The Poem - Some days I put the people in their places at the table. Bend their legs at the knees if they come with that feature. And fix them into the tiny wooden chairs. All afternoon they face each other. The man in the brown suit, the woman in the blue dress. Perfectly motionless, perfectly behaved. But other days, I am the one who is lifted up by the ribs, then lowered into the dining room of a doll house to sit with the others at the long table. Very funny, but how would you like it if you didn't know from one day to the next if you were going to spend it striding around like a vivid God, your shoulders in the clouds. Or sitting down there amidst the wallpaper, staring straight ahead with your little plastic face.

A Useless Bay Production of 'The Road Not Taken'. A 'by-the-numbers' interpretation of the classic Robert Frost poem, where the road before her is the antagonist to The One Traveler's protagonist. What path would you choose?

Billy Collins, former US Poet Laureate and one of America's best-selling poets, reads his poem "Walking Across the Atlantic" with animation by Mike Stolz of Manic. Noted for their intelligent humor, accessibility and observations on daily life, Collins' popular poems come alive further in a series of animated poems produced by JWT-NY. - - - - - - The Poem - I wait for the holiday crowd to clear the beach before stepping onto the first wave. Soon I am walking across the Atlantic thinking about Spain, checking for whales, waterspouts. I feel the water holding up my shifting weight. Tonight I will sleep on its rocking surface. But for now I try to imagine what this must look like to the fish below, the bottoms of my feet appearing, disappearing.

Billy Collins, former US Poet Laureate and one of America's best-selling poets, reads his poem "The Best Cigarette" with animation by David Vaio of FAD. Noted for their intelligent humor, accessibility and observations on daily life, Collins' popular poems come alive further in a series of animated poems produced by JWT-NY. - - - - - The Poem - There are many that I miss having sent my last one out a car window sparking along the road one night, years ago. The heralded one, of course: after sex, the two glowing tips now the lights of a single ship; at the end of a long dinner with more wine to come and a smoke ring coasting into the chandelier; or on a white beach, holding one with fingers still wet from a swim. How bittersweet these punctuations of flame and gesture; but the best were on those mornings when I would have a little something going in the typewriter, the sun bright in the windows, maybe some Berlioz on in the background. I would go into the kitchen for coffee and on the way back to the page, curled in its roller, I would light one up and feel its dry rush mix with the dark taste of coffee. Then I would be my own locomotive, trailing behind me as I returned to work little puffs of smoke, indicators of progress, signs of industry and thought, the signal that told the nineteenth century it was moving forward. That was the best cigarette, when I would steam into the study full of vaporous hope and stand there, the big headlamp of my face pointed down at all the words in parallel lines.

Billy Collins, former US Poet Laureate and one of America's best-selling poets, reads his poem "Budapest" with animation by Julian Grey of Headgear. Noted for their intelligent humor, accessibility and observations on daily life, Collins' popular poems come alive further in a series of animated poems produced by JWT-NY. - - - - - The Poem - My pen moves along the page like the snout of a strange animal, shaped like a human arm and dressed in the sleeve of a loose green sweater. I watch it sniffing thepaper ceaselessly, intent as any forager that has nothing on its mind but the grubs and insects that will allow it to live another day. It wants only to be here tomorrow, dressed perhaps in a sleeve of a plaid shirt, nose pressed against the page, writing a few more dutiful lines while I gaze out the window and imagine Budapest, or some other city where I have never been.

Billy Collins, former US Poet Laureate and one of America's best-selling poets, reads his poem "Now and Then" with animation by Eun-ha Paek of Milky Elephant. Noted for their intelligent humor, accessibility and observations on daily life, Collins' popular poems come alive further in a series of animated poems produced by JWT-NY. - - - - The Poem - This poet of the Tsong dynasty is so miserable. The wind sighs, a single swan passes over head and he is alone on the water in his skiff. If only he appreciated life in eleventh century China as much as I do. No loud cartoons on television, no music from the ice cream truck. Just the calls of many birds and the steady flow of the water clock.

Billy Collins, former US Poet Laureate and one of America's best-selling poets, reads his poem "Hunger" with animation by FAD. Noted for their intelligent humor, accessibility and observations on daily life, Collins' popular poems come alive further in a series of animated poems produced by JWT-NY. - - - - - The Poem - The fox you lug over your shoulder in a dark sack has cut a hole with a knife and escaped. The sun lightens, makes you think you are stronger as you walk back to your small cottage through a forest that covers the world.

Noted for their intelligent humor, accessibility and observations on daily life, Collins' popular poems come alive further in a series of animated poems produced by JWT-NY.

Transcript

I wondered about you
when you told me never to leave
a box of wooden, strike-anywhere matches
lying around the house because the mice

might get into them and start a fire.
But your face was absolutely straight
when you twisted the lid down on the round tin
where the matches, you said, are always stowed.

Who could sleep that night?
Who could whisk away the thought
of the one unlikely mouse
padding along a cold water pipe

behind the floral wallpaper
gripping a single wooden match
between the needles of his teeth?
Who could not see him rounding a corner,

the blue tip scratching against a rough-hewn beam,
the sudden flare, and the creature
for one bright, shining moment
suddenly thrust ahead of his time -

now a fire-starter, now a torchbearer
in a forgotten ritual, little brown druid
illuminating some ancient night.
Who could fail to notice,

lit up in the blazing insulation,
the tiny looks of wonderment on the faces of his fellow mice, onetime inhabitants
of what once was your house in the country?

Elegance.
Your Eminence deserves a one word sentence.
Your essence kills me at your entrance.
Radiance.
Not a dime, you're like eighty cents.
Envious girls look like aliens.
Acceptance.
Your love doesn't pause for vengeance.
Your toleration for my flaws is relentless.
Soul.
Without your love my heart's black as coal.
So with you...I feel whole.
Elimination.
How did different policies make our love crash and face incineration?
Now I must erase all your qualities from my imagination.

Flag and Future

They declared black the colour of my people,
the Luo and the Taita and every shade within,
including they who chose here over past homes.
Green signified the land and its fertility,
of Marsabit and Muranga and Malindi,
every altitude and region between.

Red was the blood spilled till ’63
in wars our own and not, every encounter
known and shrouded in silence a declaration
of our right to direct our destiny.
White was the way they hoped we would live
for posterity: in peace, love and unity.

But in the city blood spews as rocks fly
to kill kinship, and police in their turn
set young limbs in their sights
every temple hot and righteous
vengeful fists on freedoms fields

and blood spews in the Rift Valley
an artery bearing a jagged rift
cut a century deep, so we fight ‘n die today
to honor the memory
though there are healing-salts at Magadi.

Mourning, and being mourned,
I see the flag and hope aloud now
White stripes – light this night
bring peace, love, bind us whole.

let this rich blood build and heal us,
warm and show us how green
Mt Kenya Turkana Kibera, how precious still
Ancient Ones see them be.

About This Video
View poetry in an entirely new and innovative w... (more) Added: February 13, 2007 View poetry in an entirely new and innovative way. Billy Collins, former US Poet Laureate and one of America's best-selling poets, reads his poem "Forgetfulness" with animation by Julian Grey of Headgear. Noted for their intelligent humor, accessibility and observations on daily life, Collins' popular poems come alive further in a series of animated poems produced by JWT-NY.

The Poem
The name of the author is the first to go followed obediently by the title, the plot, the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of, as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain, to a little fishing village where there are no phones. Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag, and even now as you memorize the order of the planets, something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps, the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay. Whatever it is you are struggling to remember, it is not poised on the tip of your tongue, not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen. It has floated away down a dark mythological river whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall, well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle. No wonder you rise in the middle of the night to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war. No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

Edgar Allan Poe cartoon made with trial version of Toon Boom software and other programs. Granted, the animation is a bit limited, but until two weeks ago, I had never tried to animate anything. I do have too much time on my hands. This took about four hours total. But it was fun time and another good learning experience. Annabel Lee is the last poem composed by American author Edgar Allan Poe. Written in 1849, it was not published until shortly after Poe's death that same year, appearing in two newspapers. Annabel Lee It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea: But we loved with a love that was more than love — I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me — Yes! — that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we — Of many far wiser than we — And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.

The Road Not Taken for Chorus with Piano, Opus 77 (Written in 2001) Poem by Robert Frost. This is a slideshow I've done to go with a performance of one of my compositions. This choral work is performed by the San Jose Symphonic Choir, and directed by Leroy Kromm.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

-- Robert Frost