poems for Nov. 13-4

A Bowl of Fruit — Stephen Dunn

The Inheritance by Stephen Dunn 

Documentary — by David Ruekberg

The Falling Body by Abby E. Murray

In Praise of Air by Simon Armitage

Reel — by Barbara Crooker

November by Maggie Dietz

Stephen Dunn seems to find pleasure in the “messiness of theory” as he “paints in words”  the play of ideas and things while teasing his colleague who clearly prefers examining analysis over givens.  The fun of parenthetical remarks, poking fun at himself, rhyming oranges with oranges, intending that his intention seem spontaneous, etc.  Bernie gave some background about his last book, Local Visitation

Bernie shared this article : From Blackbird, an online journal of literature and the arts, Fall 2003, Vol2, #2 - by Ron Smith which speaks about "A Bowl of Fruit" 

Dunn's poems stand alone as individual works of art. But together, in groups and sequences, they suggest more intricate patterns and concerns, more comprehensive and complex themes. After its prefatory first poem, Local Visitations is divided into three major sections, "Sisyphus and Other Poems," "Here," and "Local Visitations." The very first part of the book is, I think, by far the most interesting, significant, and successful.

From the beginning, Local Visitations foregrounds Dunn's increasing tendency to emphasize the artifice in the art. The book opens with "A Bowl of Fruit," a poem which presents this epigraph attributed to Professor Jeanne-Andrée Nelson: "For me, the pleasure of poetry is taking it apart." Dunn's poem responds to the wrongheaded notion of reading that such a quotation implies. "A Bowl of Fruit" begins by addressing Nelson and also referring directly to itself: "Jeanne, I have spent days arranging / this bowl of fruit, all for you, / knowing how much you like fruit / (not to eat but to examine)." As we might expect from Dunn, "A Bowl of Fruit" is a good-natured attack, a moderate chiding, really, which in fact modulates from friendly lampoon to "seduction." Wordsworth's "The Tables Turned" ("We murder to dissect," the great Romantic had fairly hissed) seems downright violent next to Dunn's amused, crafty correction. Dunn merely causes his "still life [to break] open / into life, the discovery that the secret worm [in the apple], / if real, will not permit you any distance." The gentle mischievousness, the light touch with allusions (the book of Genesis, Blake's "The Sick Rose"), the generous restraint displayed toward his chosen antagonist, the easy, unapologetic employment of the familiar if not the cliché (the apple and its worm)—these are recognizable Dunn qualities. However, the Brechtian, or if you prefer, postmodern, flouting of literary illusionism is new in Dunn, or at least new in its level of up-front audacity. Through it, Dunn continues to insist on the artist's necessary paradox: Only by embracing art can we truly embrace life (and vice versa, of course). The Freudian playfulness of the phallic worm is natural here, since the speaker is in fact the poet. 

The group found the first poem a delightful exploration of the process of writing, using still-life and life.  The Jeanne in question, is one of Dunn's colleagues and professor of French.  We loved the playful non-rhymes, the sounds and allusions such as  " The unexamined life is not worth living…"  Pittsford's discussion brought to mind, Wordsworth, "We murder to dissect".  Hard to resist thinking about  pears... St. Augustine. https://augustinianvocations.org/blog-archive/2017/1/19/st-augustine-and-the-pear-tree-a-lasting-story. John brought up Eric Satie,  poire https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQmuAr93OlI --  "Nothing to do with that side; must look for something else or I am lost."

 We listened to Stephen Dunn read his poem “The Inheritance”   https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/09/04/the-inheritance-stephen-dunn  where his voice seems resigned, and tired.  Although he does not articulate well, the tone is kindly… He seems to be talking to himself, reviewing expectations and disappointments, not particularly pleased where he ended up.  Perhaps the inheritance is something that defines him, but his last two sentences break out of resignation with the “why not” argument turning what sounds like an aphorism about being a guest in your own home into a more complicated reflection that concerns “almost” everyone, and accepting of the fact that feeling troubled is more universal than one may think.  He plays with “vanity dogging one’s days” by personifying it into a clownish dog.  Throws in a little Great Gatsby with a “while your at it” job description of referee for “the uncertainties of the night”.  

The Pittsford group felt the poem was visiting a retirement home.  It's an uneasy feeling of viewing fractured truth... and yet, one senses  a kind of generosity in it… 

Summaries by various members: the road to paradise is paradise; accept what is the way it is without hoping for a silver lining. Don’t worry about reconciling doubts with realities (but isn’t it a comfort for those of us who do, that he wishes for this).  The clever use of "you" as if talking to himself, but also the reader.

It was a pleasure to have the visit of David Ruekberg poet who read his poem aloud.  We loved the long dinosaur period juxtaposed with blink.  Our “blink” in time won’t be as long as that!   

He captures the sense of the “old dance”, the “round of seasons” echoed in the poem.
“reel”… The snapshots of being an English teacher, references to neighborly love, voting, medecine, juxtaposed with the environment is effective… returning to the old score where old dogs just call tricks by a different name.  Important questions:  why we shy away from interrogating ourselves… yet seek answer, ache for belonging.  The last image of “uncorking a bottle” — the symbolic blessing of a new ship, but loaded with warheads named after mothers is brilliant.  There’s an echo of “bulwarks” we have constructed. As one person, the poem is filled with “impingements of opposites.”

Discussion  included  climate change, environmental concerns, habits.  David spoke of inspiration for the poem... the Baltimore science museum… sense of time moving. How a poem allows ideas to morph.  Jan felt it ressembled a Zen Koan; David remarked references to Frost.  

One square inch of silence brought up the  Hoh Forest : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/One_Square_Inch_of_Silence

The Falling Body sketches the parallel of falling in war, with the poet’s daughter falling down stairs, where the couplets indeed feel like like stairs,  and the story clatters and accelerates down them-- both the actual fall, but also the sense of the father's ptsd.  The last line confirms, the indifference of the crowd to either fall.  

I read aloud another Abby Poem, that speaks of the "ache of the unsaid", the "things not done; responsibilities not met; old friends uncalled; letters of concern unwritten... a life of excuses littered around her".  She is deservedly Poet Laureate of Tacoma!

We loved the Armitage and Elaine brought up the fact that the poem was printed on a wall with Titanium oxide:

https://www.sheffield.ac.uk › worlds-first-air-cleansing-poem-1.373843

May 14, 2014 - In Praise of Air: Poem displayed on the University's Alfred Denny Building ... “This poem alone will eradicate the nitrogen oxide pollution created by ... on is coated with microscopic pollution-eating particles of titanium dioxide ...We enjoyed the theatricality of the 3^rd stanza:                    

 like Christopher Marlowe; stage talk… 

“Among the jumbled bric-a-brac I keep                                   

a padlocked treasure-chest of empty space,

and on days when thoughts are fuddled with smog

or civilization crosses the street...

the image of "cars blow kisses to our lips from theirs"-- a mental image of crowded cities.. 
and how "air" has the last word... with the pun of the last line:
"My first word, everyone's first word, was air".  

The "ai" in  praise, and air; lots of slant rhyme....  And the power of a child's first word -- which sounds like "air".

Reel:  delightful 13 lines replete with alliterations, enjambments, "maybe" answered by "of course" followed by "but right now" -- mid-Fall preparing for winter a perfect metaphor for how to meet the end of life.

Maggie Dietz takes 6 tercets to look at November.  Chestnuts are "busted"... the sky, "hardened plastic" hovers.  the "pasty" river coughs up reed grass... the days throw up a closed sign around four.
comments: Elocution required!  can’t read this w/ mashed-potatoes in the mouth. If you have any doubt, Dietz lets you know:  show’s over -- the 1 + 3 end rhymes, visual and sound imagery coordinate.  We enjoyed it, but wondered why the Capitals at the beginning of each line.