Winter Morning by James Crews
Gwendolyn Brooks: America in the Wintertime by Haki R. Madhubuti
Dawn by Ella Wheeler Wilcox –
When I Am Among The Trees by Mary Oliver
Grendel by Roger Reeves
Runaway by Jorie Graham
Thank you to all who braved the zoom challenge this morning... I was thinking of Wallace Stevens' poem The Snow Man. Indeed... I started penning a pastiche...
One must have a mind of winter
to regard zoom refusals as long and crusty
snow, shagged with ice... imagining no connection
for our weekly poetry infusion, indeed, as far off
as the idea of a distant glitter of January sun...
Thank you Elaine for keeping us connected.
Nutshell summary:
Crews: Sometimes it's just refreshing to read a poem where you don't have to work hard to have the truth stare at you in plain, simple, ordinary terms (embellished with images, sounds, scents!) And yet, perhaps not as plain and simple as all that. Emily connected the orange of the space heater's glow with the scent of the tangerine after it's gone... Elaine brought up how what could have been negative about steaming coffee kissing chapped lips, the icy air, turns into a positive.
Furthermore, what saves us from feeling Crews is mounting a preacher's pedestal was the early (7th line) admission that he is selfish, unruly (and so tactfully referring to himself in the 3rd person as one of possibly many others inside him who believe they deserve "only safety and comfort"). This allows us to receive his advice to be grateful for whatever it is.
Madhubuti: Chosen by Tracy K. Smith, we concur with her the importance of the work of justice, healing, staying awake and telling the truth... and want very much the voices that do so. Who is offering up compassion? The title mentions Wintertime, and Elaine mentioned that Gwendolyn Brooks died in December... so there could be resonance about endings, silence, and need for a warrior like her... Jan brought up the word "kind" which appears both to describe language, a green nourishment, as opposed to enemies of kindness. Please note the spacing: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/141965/gwendolyn-brooks-america-in-the-wintertime
Both those sentences are on a line by themselves separated with stanza breaks on either side.
June shared an anecdote about driving with Gwendolyn and discussing funerals-- how at first Gwendolyn said Italians couldn't match the drama of an Afro-American funeral... and they got into an argument... until they each realized the drama in different forms-- yes, an Italian aunt grabbing a corpse out of the coffin in the middle of last rites can be dramatic too.
I had asked if anyone felt implicated in the "you" -- compelled to be like the "you" honoring Gwendolyn... if the lack of caps was necessary, overdone...
I found it interesting that several times people quoted "bloodlust enemies" as bloodiest enemies... perhaps it was my ears -- but all to lead to the importance of the poem: America -- if you see me as your enemy, you have no
friends.
Lori was reminded of 1,000 Beautiful Things, by Annie Lennox. https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/annielennox/a1000beautifulthings.html
Wheeler Wilcox: Stunning love poem! (Jan). Dave was reminded of the classic "rosy fingers of dawn" of Homer... and how welcome to see beautiful crafting and those repeated l's. Susan shared her mother's favorite saying when the chips are down: "Laugh and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone", the opening lines of Solitude: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45937/solitude-56d225aad9924
Oliver: We all agreed, a lovely, uplifting poem, but would have wanted more from the honest and authentic line "I am so distant from the hope of myself.". Not quite developed enough to carry the facile reassurance of the trees saying, "it's simple..." As opposed to the Crews, where he includes shades of ambiguity, here, the message feels reduced to trees as source if you want hints of gladness... and yet... many of us concur, "Her poems are prayerful and plenty of them reveal her humility so I take great comfort in her reflections and perspective.”
Reeves: David gave a fine background of Grendel from Beowulf, and a Christianized anglo-saxon culture which turned the monster into an offspring of Cain... Listening to Reeves read the poem, there is a piercing and wrenching sadness... Jan suggested that everyone listen to the gospel song, Precious Lord.
Indeed, the story of the song, written by Thomas Dorsey in 1932, comes out in a letter he wrote to a friend 45 years later about going to sing in a revival meeting, and she gave birth to his son... and died... and on his return to Chicago, his baby son also died. He buried them in the same casket. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d3so01g_0-E
Words of the song are in the Reeves. So are Notes of a Native Son by James Baldwin... David brought up the debate in 1955 between William Buckley and James Baldwin -- how Baldwin won hands down!
This is an amazing poem, worthy of listening to as well as reading. The grief of being excluded, ignored like Grendel, results in a ferocity ... we all want to be someone's child... but when treating others as the monster, the enemy... the irony is that when the beast is brought... with the desire for mercy.. that bringing humans to the best vision of themselves... and that enigmatic last line... "which of course must be slaughtered"...
Graham: Jan had the feeling she was reading about the despair of a migrant refugee... where the "they" might be the ICE people... Marna had a visceral, bodily response... the visual set up in tercets, with unusual and unexpected line breaks makes a big impact. We wondered how Jorie would read it...
The truncated "your", where the "ou" of you is sliced out (yr) comes up five times; then, even "you" becomes "u" several times, as does "they". We discussed the repeated "it's" -- what is the "it"? The "licking flare"-- pretend it's laughter, a refrain... pay-up... or specifically, the recent past, "it's got too much history/a mind can set th match to..."we feed it... keep it... unpayable. Any answer feels very layered, but not clear. How to you rebuild, imitate, believe, wait, b/c IT will come again, -- not over the rainbow... but over the ridge.
I ended with reading the text I penned for our card this year.
December 2020
We wish you well as the days slip into yet another year—
and yes, this fairy-tale like card carries metaphor as history repeats…
there have been pandemics, potentates, but also times of peace.
We are fortunate in so many ways, and wish such cheer
were available to all— that possibility
transform to positive reality
as we deal with impacts of inequity, injustice, and sheer
disregard for our climate. Once, an oriental palace pressed
against mountains, sky, its traces still inspire, declare blessed
be those who create the beautiful, and blessed, the true seer
not pretending real smoke curls out of his painted pipe,
or fragments made of broken mirrors left to wipe—
but asking us to make this the year to reflect, look ahead beyond mere
empty talk to apply heart in multiple meanings— bring solace
like the guilloches[1] and calligraphy hidden in this Moorish palace—
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