If Librarians Were Honest by Joe Mills; American Abyss by Cynthia Dewi Oka; The Sonnet-Ballad by Gwendolyn Brooks; Le Temps Mort by Jenny Xie; For My Unwritten Poems Itshe Slutsky; Loom Poem Jake Skeets;
The first poem, Jonathan offered as a segue from last week, and the Gwendolyn Brooks offered by Bart. Although all the poems feel like contemporary "pulse-takers, it is only the others which were posted recently in Poem-a-day and Rattle Magazine.
Nutshell of discussion:
If Librarians were honest... The title invites us to think about honesty, as well as libraries and their provisions of books, reviews, etc which give us commentary on history, human endeavor and the nature of man. The epigram by Benjamin Franklin emphasizes debauched as verb which seems to mean the adjectival "distracted me from my work". The syntax is off if you apply a synonym as verb: "a book destroys me from my work". Perhaps Franklin was implying a book could be an agent that debases moral purity of; corrupts." Perhaps some contemporary far-right fanatics might take this poem seriously and continue to ban "dangerous" books. However, for most readers, the clever use of enjambments hooks the reader in, only to surprise us with unexpected turns, and often augmenting the humor with double meanings. Alliterations pepper the color. Although there could be three distinct stanzas, all starting with "If librarians were honest", the lack of separation between the two ironic commentaries and the truth of the third, is part of the fun. It is augmented by the alphabetized order of the Ms, with the first two ending in X, leading up to the repeat of the verb "debauched", (as if the stacks were filled with dangerous people ready to rape unsuspecting readers). The final 4 lines are delightfully subversive. The "while you still can" a contemporary reference to the banning of books, threats to libraries, Education, the Arts.
American Abyss: Perhaps the title allows a sense that the poem's mixed metaphors are intended to fall between cracks? Many found the poem a struggle, to the point of feeling "battered by it". The metaphors are perhaps fresh, but seem not to mesh with each other. Who is the "you"? Mother nature? What is the "ideal" and "idea" of an America built in the speaker's head? As for the note, interesting as it was, how did it help us understand the poem? It is quite sincere, but it is hard to see the evidence of US Supported Genocide in Indonesia in the poem, aside from "belligerent" to describe grasses. As Graeme pointed out, a poem should be able to work without a note explaining it. For many, it remained obscure with or without the note.
Sonnet-Ballad: Many had associations with ballads about the cruelty of war, including this one by Peter Paul and Mary: https://genius.com/Peter-paul-and-mary-cruel-war-lyrics. The opening and closing line, sandwich two fears: a loved one may not come back, or worse, he will return changed if he does, because of the seduction of war, that "coquettish" flirt with death, heroic grandeur. The rhyme scheme, abab / bcbc/ dfdf/ aa is subtle, unlike the fragment "would have to be untrue" repeating as echo of the 8th line on the 9th. The rhyme with happiness, at first "guess", ends with his stammered "yes". The lament that opens the poem, seems to swell to a high pitch in its repeat, confirming the fear.
Le Temps Mort: Without the note, one is left with the French words for "dead time". In a way, as Judith pointed out, it is an ekphrastic poem about the idea of film as a way of perceiving/seeing, using film vocabulary. She shared as well her experience living in New York City, where Sixth Avenue is "Avenue of the Americas", indeed a sound of vowels, and described the slow matinal "mucus" as the city fills with people going to work, and subways vibrate underneath. Some found this poem a struggle to read. Eddy wondered if the poet, who left China at age 4, was not thinking of the Chinese Cultural revolution. Be that as it may, one has the sense of an observer offering words with no discernible plot, only an "immeasurable substratum of the unperceived" as she puts it in the note. We don't take time to notice what is around us. In a way, the poem seems voyeuristic, and points to a vast potential of possibilities.
For My Unwritten Poems: Why are they not written? Or are these poems that have not yet found a way, and are waiting to be born? The title may sound even more luscious in the rich mouthiness of the Yiddish. The poem celebrates waiting, mirrors midpoint: and the seed/and the word,
The first stanza: for those, could mean, the unwritten poem, but perhaps also refers to people, and the "rigid rest of nothingness" as the dead. Double meanings continue with "rest of reason" as in the relaxation of eternal sleep or rest of, meaning the remains of reason... unemerged ideas, to help us return to the idea of unwritten poems. Poems... with hints of ghosts, arrive at the second stanza: "How good the word is that has not yet been pronounced. "
As concept, unwritten is all that is understood, but not stated. Wouldn't it be wonderful to have less constant talk in our interconnected internet-ed, siri-convenienced world that leaves us feeling disconnected? Unwritten rules of common sense, common courtesy, unwritten givens of hibernations, rebirths."Beds of silence" is a surprising expression linked to the image of kernel in the field, whether old fashioned wheat once known as "corn" or American maize. Tomorrow perhaps... repeated twice... Perhaps is definitely key underlining unpredictable possibility.
We arrive at the final stanza: How good the kernel (the similar syntax equates kernel with word). We enjoyed the sense of potential, the sense of pacing, timing, patience.
Loom poem: it looks to be woven and indeed, is a mirror poem arriving midpoint on bone. The form instructs us on how to read it. One can hear the sound of looms.. imagine the damp seeping... although "seep whisper" has no definition. The noun snakeweed turns to verb and the line breaks help us see name/collapse could be a double noun, double verb, or perhaps names collapse; memories against/ pink; light against/bone. Pink perhaps is dawn, or a pink bird alighting.
It could be a love poem, where nouns are aroused as verbs, verbs become whispers of presence. Worn tongue perhaps old or extinct language. T perhaps could be the lover's initial.
One way to read the opening/closing lines: I, window words, name a light kiss.... //a light kiss I window: words into a name.
Intriguing, without a sense of a struggle perhaps because of the design/pattern of the poem.
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