Poems for April 18-19 -- Aubade + Elegy : two poems from Boston Review "What Nature"

Aubade by Kaveh Akbar.  (discussed Rundel 4/12; for Pittsford 4/18) 
Elegy beginning in the shade of Aunt Mary's mulberry tree by Camille T. Dungy

For both groups I showed the cover of  Boston Review's publication: "What
                                                                                                                          Nature"
where the title is set in the clouds.  How will you say those two words:  WHAT.
NATURE.  What punctuation might you add to give instructions?

Indeed, all the poems this week relied on the spoken intricacies of pronunciation and timing.

Rundel received the preface to "What Nature"  by email.  It is accessible here: https://store.bostonreview.net/media/1621.pdf

The two poems from it discussed by both groups: Aubade and Elegy beginning in the shade of Aunt Mary's mulberry tree.

Aubade by Kaveh Akbar:  An Aubade, written at dawn... often to capture the feeling of

lovers parting... Is this one conversation of two lovers.  Is it "us", speaking to Earth?  Is the "you" the same throughout the poem?

The opening couplet hints at the subsequent enjambments which heighten a sense of interruption--

as if the lines are being battered, abused, the way we have battered nature... To whom is he speaking?

Is this an overheard conversation?

Pardon my asking, but do you think I could drink           

this and be okay? I am still learning the scents.   (sense)

The tone feels cryptic.  We  enjoyed the homonym of "scents" and "sense"... but much less comfortable

with the gruesome detail of making tea from "anything"  which includes 
...the tongue cut 

from a corpse.  We bodies carry so much

flavor inside ourselves—the unborn

gorge and pulse in their glee. Can I say I like

you best when you share yourself, when you

lend me a comb or toss me your jaw? I trust               

you completely, with your bruised lungs

rattling like stones in a jug. 

I am at risk of quoting the entire poem-- but wanted to show the enjambments and how a phrase
We carry so much continued on the next line, We carry so much flavor inside allows the coexistence
simultaneously of two very different meanings.

One person felt the "lend me a comb, toss me your jaw" came from one of the translations of Cyrano

de Bergerac.  Be that as it may, this not very clear situation feels anything but reassuring... and
"toss me your jaw" takes on a violent physicality as opposed to "lend me your ears; give me your words".

The complexity of being human is "fungal-- with that sense of being part of an intricate part of a complicated, interwoven biosphere.  The thought then leaps onto commentary on the powers of

observation.. our inability to "detect/ danger" in our "handsome/predicament". 

Many thought this resonates with denial of our current political situation...    

predicament: we are born with the ways                       

we will die already built in. Don’t bother...  (with the copperhead/giant black eyeball rolling in the garden)

One suggestion was that the "you" was the poet speaking to himself... " You were supposed to warn me before/ you discovered the ark" -- and the sense of all being in the same boat...

The final stanza could be a reference to how we have  mechanized ourselves-- perhaps also a call to "self-examine."

a tractor trailer with the heart of a living                       

boy. I am doing all of this to myself.

The reference to "fill out pockets with shells" could go in several directions... missile shells ?  the luxury pastime of collecting what is left on the beach, the metaphorical implication of stuffing our pockets

with the outlines of what could have been... ?  How do you hold three such different meanings? 

My favorite comment was that Akbar was doing to the poem, what we human beings are doing to our Earth-- chopping it up as if with no vision to the big picture.  


None of the poems were easy to fathom, dissect and tie up into a neat package nor do I believe, is that the point.  


Both groups delved courageously into  Elegy beginning in the shade of Aunt Mary's mulberry tree by Camille T. Dungy.  Dungy, who will be the judge of the Lucille Clifton Prize offered by Backbone Press. 

“Poetry is a matter of life, not just a matter of language.” -Lucille Clifton 

Here, unlike Akbar layering various meanings onto words, Dungy plays with a confusion of syntax
so that Aunt Mary, her dog,  the other kids who climb the tree, [and the daughter who doesn't]  and the Mulberry Tree itself all could be subjects of what for the sake of simplicity could be called "ascending".    Going up.

Some the words that struck people:  
--The week after she died, it was some relief/to stop pacing circles whose circumferences/                        
measured our grief, (to see the leash where the tree split [implication?])

What sense is there to make of this?
No sense in this either, referring  at the end (after the comparison of the leashed dog, the old woman was tied to life -- and tied, rhymes with died).. once released, becomes like her younger self dancing.
-- contrast in the use of Thanksgiving: full almost to  excess; vs. There was something graceful in that ascension.  "This, too, is a way to speak about thanksgiving./

Her legs, her heart, her vision worked like necessary/

magic."

What do we learn about Aunt Mary? It isn't spelled out, but, if kids come over the climb in her tree,

and many understand the large heart that made the poet feel loved (emphasized by"—some of you

          understand this—feel so deeply loved.") sounds like she was important and loved in her neighborhood.

I love that the elegy begins in the shade of the mulberry tree -- what is outside of Aunt Mary's house,

what is on her property, but shared; this tree that served her dog; allowed itself to be climbed;

and was split.   Perhaps this implies a mirror of Aunt Mary?  

Some wondered if it was Aunt Mary climbing to her death... if it were a story about a lady who  came back in the spirit of her dog.  Was the chaotic telling reflecting a beautifully messed up chaotic life--

or merely choked up emotion trying to find a way to tell a story about her.  Were those hornets 

buzzing… like Emily Dickenson's fly, a small innuendo of impending death?

Regardless, the conclusion of the discussion is that when we do not understand something, we need to think of a different way to approach it.  This poem is rife with invitations to explore.  Lively discussion was an understatement.  Thank you all.