-- The lines of poetry here are by Otto Rene Castillo, a Guatemalan poet murdered by the army there. The photo and handwriting are by Mary Anderson.
Winter Scene by Naomi Shaw (sketch by her son, John Wiesenthal)
Winter Scene — which is illustrated by this sketch:
A House Called Tomorrow by Alberto Ríos
These Poems by June Jordan, 1936 - 2002
Those Winter Sundays
Time to be the fine line of light by Carrie Fountain
To the New Year by W. S. Merwin side by side with his poem, "For the Anniversary of my Death"
See by Christopher T. Brown (son of Almeta Whitis)
As the Rundel group commented-- Each of the poems provide words for the wordless but important concepts that guide us to good living…
and in some cultures is considered a separate life, started anew with each sunrise.
I love that poetry invites us to explore collective experience and reflect on deep feelings.
The picture and lines by Otto Rene Castillo, hand-written by local Rochester photographer,
Marilyn Anderson remind us of the return of seasons... both physical, like Spring, and metaphorical, the season of hope.
Naomi Shaw provides a beautiful "sound-scape" of Winter: crackle of frost; silver drippings, “each twig resplendent in its brittle rig”, aristocratic mien of birches in a winter scene.” –
the length of the longer words remain delicate with the liquid "r's" and regal L's.
Her son, John Weisenthal, mentioned that she worked with Walter Winchell…
House called Tomorrow:
Like sermon or baccalaureate address to a young person… but heard by whole congregation… Reminded some of the tenets of Lao Tsu, and a reminder we are all connected… our choices determine what we bring to each day in ourselves… When you hear thunder,
hear it as the applause of those who came before you.
What is bad? trouble? Genetics... society... and are our options for good only to write books, cure disease... what makes a person proud? How do you choose the words that become your own?
We discussed at length the merits of the poem in terms of the simple language, the trustworthy
tone... but at first blush, not particularly poetic in terms of craft. It is approachable, appealing,
and as Elaine said, the discussion about it was as rich as one about a poem that pulls out all the poetic stops.
These Poems… written for whoever you are… intimate sharing of what it’s like to write poetry… Do you know how to respect “the other” –
what’s involved with “worship”… learning to worship as stranger, (not knowing what future self we will be) or the the strangers around the self.
We are all process… starting in “the dark”... the river of words catch on lines,
like arms for longing and love.
Lovely progression from a long first stanza... to the shorter second stanza with the metaphor of the flow and cycle of water and the difficulty of catching a thought, working it into a poem that will
have meaning for whoever might read it...
The reverence in Hayden’s poem, echoes a sense of sacrifice in getting ready for church…
It isn't only the last line that resonates-- but the last line of each stanza. We discussed
chronic anger... (either with the overtone of how it feels to be black in America, or the universal complexity of anger and its effect on children) the "no one ever thanked him" -- a short sentence that prepares the cold splintering in the next stanza. How can we "drive out the cold" so that we know something
"of love’s austere and lonely offices" before it's too late?
Can be read both with the layer of the world as a black man in America
Time to be the fine line of light… we read between the lines… try to understand the fine line between difference/similarity… metaphor of blinds… the light
comes in through the slats…. the blinds… and the sill as resting spot.
The structure of the poem is like blinds... accentuated by line breaks, where the words fall
through to the start of the next couplet. -- the same metaphor of words/water:
All I want /
is to be the river though I return
again and again to the clouds.
All I want…. 3 times... each time different. The first, all I want... as in "lack" perhaps... or being something one isn't. Then, self-evaluating and realizing she needs to think about wanting... and
the impossibility of knowing such a largeness, which confirms wanting the moment at hand is enough. to be... to practice being, are given a spotlight in the lineation.
to be/
the fine line. to practice being
the line…
Merwin: side by side:
I found the idea of an anniversary of a death coupled with a meditation on the light of "new"whether it be a "new year" or a "new day", helpful.
To the New Year sounds like an Ode, but as Kathy pointed out, it isn't, and comes from
Merwin's book, Present Company published in 2005, where each poem starts with "To xyz"
Calendars are arbitrary… Merwin starts with a look at the stillness of the New Year,
arriving at morning… whether you see it or not… The poem ends on hopes, "invisible, untouched,
Both poem are infused with his
The suspended lines allow meaning to slide in several directions of meaning,
for instance:
your first sunlight reaching down (the new year's start...)
to touch the tips of a few (a few (people)... then line break... a few high leaves)
high leaves that do not stir /
**
so this is the sound of you (how do you hear "hush" ? silence? a new year?)
here and now whether or not (is here and now the sound, or the adverb? does it contrast
here and now /with whether or not? It's as if several things
are happening all at once.)
add the next line: "whether or not/anyone hears you at all." and the meaning shifts.and again, anyone hears you at all. This is --and again...
We discussed at length how to understand an "anniversary of my death" spoken by a living person.
this poem was written in early January – 1967 – and appears in his book, The Lice.
from Stillness to Sound:
The ending lines are coupled with "and no longer surprised"
As today writing after three days of rain (3 r’s in the names with r in hearing: rain. writing, wren
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what
Reverence... gratitude...
The final poem, written by a Christopher Brown in 1988, when he was 23, is a hopeful statement
of inspiration:
We discussed the ending, and if the final stanza supported the message. Just know....
and the reader will fill in the blank...? Just know what?
It was suggested: "Know your sense of purpose-- Know everything that I’ve just said to you."
I don't know what to say to you
But watch close where you go
Don't be blind on roads to come
Just be sure and know
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