Flying Crooked by Robert Graves
excerpt from Black Liturgies
Clouds by Carolyn Forché
It’s Hard to Keep a Clean Shirt Clean by June Jordan
The Proof that Plato Was Wrong by Eaven Boland
This, Then, Is How the World Oscillates—Jen Ashburn
Satire on Paying Calls in August by Ch’ēng Hsiao (220 AD —would place him in Han Dynasty, prior to Tang poets Li Po, Tu Fu, Wang
I thank everyone present yesterday for the extreme patience required to surmount the awkward set up of 5 of us in person... 5 by zoom... Hopefully, whatever gleanings shared, partially heard, mostly intimated, were worth the time and strain! I am sorry
that I have little control over technology...
Flying Crooked: In two sentences, the first, a rather digressive, interruptedly-written 8 lines. Unlike the traditional decastitch, divided into two sets of 5 lines, usually posing and answering a question, Graves maintains an even 8-syllable line with aa—bb—cc—dd—ee rhyme scheme, with the final t’s of the first four lines matching those of the last two lines, the slant rhyme of the long I in the first two lines, matching those of lines 5-6. The scrambled syntax imitates the flight of the butterfly, where the word “now” stumbles into the 3rd line (most readers often mistakenly pronounce it “know”!). 8 lines of observation: sorted out, simply: The butterfly will never master the art of flying straight. Apparently for the speaker of the poem, identifying with this “just sense of how not to fly” the method seems haphazard (by guess, by God) and paradoxical (the lurching involves both hope and hopelessness.). The delightful irony pokes at the “politically correct” swift, giving the butterfly the “last word” confirming his “flying crooked” as "gift”.
Perhaps a sense of “the road less travelled” — a common reference to Frost’s “The road not taken”, also an ironic poem, apparently penned with a jest in mind.
Judith brought up Graves’ life and his haunting experience in WW1.
If these small ruminations interest you, you might enjoy reading Graves The Caterpillar https://poets.org/poem/caterpillar and this article by David Orr on Frost The road not taken... https://lithub.com/youre-probably-misreading-robert-frosts-most-famous-poem/
https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/315303/the-road-not-taken-by-david-orr/
excerpt from Black Liturgies: my apologies for not providing more information about Black Liturgist, Cole Arthur Riley who curates this site at Cornell. https://blackliturgist.com
I shared that she is influenced not only by poets Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, but also theologians and thinkers like Juliana of Norwich (1343 — living in the time of the Black Death), Thomas Merton and Dietrich Bonhoeffer, anti-Nazi pastor executed in 1945 and the idea of redemptive suffering.
A similar, but darker message than Graves about being true to oneself. Judith noted that “exhale”on the penultimate line makes her think of exile.
Clouds: My words fail to convey the power of this 16 line poem. Judith made a beautiful poem of her description, which I can only paraphrase: a capture of time, provoked in memory of the past, widening to end in blossom. Indeed, these Russian Antinovka apple seeds, symbol of the immigrant experience, arrive in the first mention, line 3, of 50 years prior to a present moment, ending in a repeating of 50 years as “apple blossoms/in wind at once.”
From bird (now) over orchard, its history, and the title “clouds” reappearing on line 10...“islanding a window very past” a sense of return after death... and this resurrection of blossom.
It’s Hard to Keep a Clean Shirt Clean: My apologies for missing the last line which repeats the title! We concurred— a delightful poem! We noted the clever crafting of 3-syllable words which Jordan uses sparingly in this poem of short lines— “delicate”, “accidents” “restoration”, “eleventh”, “unfortunate”, “transparent”, “beautiful”. The short vowel sound i, also weaves a delicate sound, which plays with the sibilance (sunlit, jasmine, easily, fist, this, sting, prints, shirt, spins, rinse, India, wish, everything,)but also the occlusive “pricking” and the quietly plosive “limp” and “hit”. We spoke briefly of the dedication to Sriram Shamasunder, her student who carried on Jordan’s focus on poetry for the people, and what is involved in suffering. We imagined the youthful idealist, waiting while his shirt is scrubbed 11 times... his soft fist repeated as the metaphor for his shirt... working “its way with everything” — such a hopeful poem, yet addressing the hit and hurt wrapped up in this shirt.
The Proof that Plato was Wrong: One needs to start with a quick review of Plato, to appreciate this poem. He did not respect imitation and reflection in poetry... mistrusted poets for the potential of perpetrating false ideas. Valerie pointed out the visual form of the poem with the reflecting of lines facing each other starting in two places. Paul mentioned the canal in Dublin which goes East-West, thus reflecting the sun’s path. Boland sketches for us reflections of trees, birds, and we sense the season shifting... and the power of the imagination to bring bird song alive within these reflections. The enjambments... the juxtapositions that imply time (I was young here. I am older here.); the triple use of “here” to imply place both as physical moment experienced and as memory, and potential future add to a pleasing brilliance.
This, Then, Is How the World Oscillates: The response to this poem was to question its disappointing lack of point, especially after the Boland.
Judith recalled TS Eliot’s “This is the way the world ends— not with a bang... but a whimper...” (The Hollow Men... sequel to The Waste Land). Granted, the idea of the pendulum swing, announced in the title seems promising, but seems unable to move from “malingering trajectory”, “desperate collective entropy and if the Japanese kanji for Jisho (release; let go, set free) is to help this “arc of heart-threads unraveling” ... how depressing to end on the final word, “implode”.
Satire on Paying Calls in August: All the more refreshing to end on a very funny satire of how visiting almost 2,000 years ago, still holds true today. This would be a terrific performance piece... Elaine remembered Bernie’s poem on how to be a good host. (not sure if it was that last stanza of The Current State of Affairs, Egg-wise?
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