October 27

 Incantation of the First Order  by Rita Dove

In an Unrelated by Elaine Equi

Saudade by Silvia Bonilla

What the Astronaut Misses About Earth  by Liz Steppe

L.O.S.S. (Lack of Spiritual Significance)  by Brenardo 

NUTSHELL:

Rita Dove:  What does "Incantation" evoke?  "Lullaby"? ... "Sonnet"?   If you hear "First order" -- what do you fill in to follow it?

First Order of Magnitude comes to mind... but then... I need to look up specifics about how "orders of magnitude are used to make approximate comparisons." 

Already, title, form, and last word of the first line (unrhymed, mind you) create a sort of magic... and Rita's note provokes another layer of thinking about how we use incantation... and how both "beauty and beast" are brought out in us in these times of incertitude.  She does not say "Pandemic", but "pestilence" -- not just the physical fact of covid... but a worse infection of fake news, brainwashing, a way of living counter to our well-being and that of our planet... The absolutist beacons of black and white thinking, Never! (last resorts) and Always (fanatics rallying cry) paint a desperate "end-of-the-world feel".  Many smiled after reading this poem-- and we agreed... it felt good to have a clear voice, with a light touch of humor, address the often unspoken consequences of covid and the times... Say bleeped sheep 10 times in a row... and think interrupted sleep, interrupted sentences, censored speech... or as Barb informed us... there are meditation devices called Rosebud, and a twitch channel to help those addicted to video games... Maura joined the fun added an "s" to relative --  peril and risk, indeed have become relative, but also "relatives" to which we are bound... 

 Rita Dove reads her poem, in a calm manner, and she smooths over the enjambments, as the eye registers the break between

stars/will diminish... waking//get up into he same day you dreamed leaving... bells/stuck... might as well//

There is a sense of warning in the opening "Listen..." , an unsettling sense of danger, line 9, "I'll try to couch this in positive terms"

and even a special reserve message for "those inclined toward kindness", which subtly emphasizes the importance of kindness...

and its possibility if practiced, to " come out of your houses drumming!" 

juxtaposed with threatened teeth for those who don't. We discussed "smile"... the usual cover-up... perhaps a hint of our current "masquerade of mask",  the implication of the teeth.  It feels good to have a strong spokeswoman address what Judith calls "the flockata-flockata-flockata of orthodoxies for the soul", what David pinned as our helplessness in face of virulent brainwashing... 

No matter if every day feels like the day before... get up and at it and grab the opportunities! 

Elaine Equi:  As Kwame Dawes says, "the elegant irony of this lament about this contemporary phenomenon of "the news cycle"

provides us a modern "campfire" around which to gather-- a reminder of poetry's role as collective connection and reminder of our humanity.  The title uses the commonplace use of an adjective, minus its intended noun, allowing the reader to fill in all that

"unrelated" could mean in the context of a large world-weariness (Weltmüdigkeit) of our individual, isolated bubbles.

I had read "mini series" as a combination of "miseries" and "ministries". So much is said in these short lines...and the poem demonstrates the power of awareness that writing provides us.  The minimalist approach provides condensed illustration of examples of advertisement, facebook, disinformation.   The final line pegs our subjective human nature, echoing Dove's underlining of absolute "black and white", either/or formulations of thinking.

Yes... we see what we want to see... sometimes not even aware that desire is involved, especially when counter to our

best interests... It is well known psychological fact that if we are interested in something, we start to see it everywhere.

Silvia Bonilla:  Her title, Saudade, illustrates this feeling of longing, melancholy, nostalgia.  We noted the almost surrealistic flavor and chromatic opposites of orange  (oil spill? reflection of sunset?) and blue... (synaesthesia of sound of fish in ocean)

in the setting of the first 5 lines.  Elaine noted that it felt like two poems, with an actual story implied about a young man selling bracelets.  (different from the boy in the first line) 

The dismissive advice "to take a pill" to numb "precise sadness, /a counterfeit gift received early in life",  seems a powerless

and ineffective remedy for the ache of missing someone.  David explained this complex fragment as  the fiction-making we do... and its mood, our projections, and the gift of invention.

Maura pointed out that we have names for children who have lost parents, spouses who have lost partners, but not word for a parent losing a child.  

We discussed the "gladiators on sand" -- many had images of the the blood swept up after the fight, with the macho winner strutting on the new sand.  Maura described sweeping the hot sand on the beach with her children to be able to walk on it.

The smile... hungry? torn? a something... like trying to pinpoint an ache of sadness... that "remote tenderness" conveyed

through the thin wire of a telephone.  Susan shared the thought of how it must have been in the civil war, or other times pre-telephone, waiting for new... and the impact of our tools of technology-- and how we use them... 

Ending the poem with a question accentuates the uncertainty-- the fact we cannot truly know how life is for another far away. 

I love that Ada Limon describes the poem filled with "cantaloupe-colored longing that makes no apologies".

  

Liz Steppe:  We enjoyed how this poem played with our perspective of our planet-- It reminds me of this poster. 

Many shares about astronauts...and now, movie stars and some people are in love with the possibilities of exploring space/the universe, others, afraid of it.    Mary reminded us of William Shattner, coming back from Space "all poetic".  What would you miss, if an astronaut?  Most of us agree, everything!  The poem allows us to imagine detachment... a zen approach of letting go... not only weightless but understanding gravity as metaphorical "gravitas" -- is also a bit of trickery).   Martin mentioned a PBS special on space 10/27...  We tried out all the possible intonations to say the last line.  The poet says it in a matter of fact way... perhaps a hint of tongue-in-check . The ladies at the Open Door Mission shelter  on 10/22 totally enjoyed the fantasy… the perspective… and yet… are happy to have green and gravity here on earth!

L.O.S.S. (Lack of Spiritual Significance)  by Brenardo (from Billy Brown, Fixed and Free anthology 2021)

I wrote this note to him: deotp123@gmail.com

I lead a weekly session of poetry appreciation and discussion in Rochester, NY and chose your fine poem

L.O.S.S. (Lack of Spiritual Significance) as part of the line-up yesterday. I copy Billy to thank him again for providing the connection of the great reading on Oct. 16 and publication of the anthology for us all.

I wanted to let you know how much everyone appreciated the braiding of your words — each one capitalized…

and a sense of great weariness with the repetitions, of how it must feel to “Live Black” — (opening line) ending with 

being “Busy Living Black”.  We admired the way you pegged loss, fear, the unanswerable “why” and role of the spirit.  

One participant saw the poem as an exercise in versatility and loved the fact he could read the first line of each stanza and make a poem… 

then do the same, reading only second lines, then third lines, then read the poem backwards from last line to fit…

Another participant was eager to know more about your feelings… your story… 

and we all respected the struggle  and the underlining of the uniqueness of any human being, by emphasizing

your own precious position, “I Can Only Speak For Me”— which has a truthful power.

I don’t often attend the New Mexico meetings, being on the East Coast, but I am glad I did, and was part of Billy’s “Fixed and Free” and had a chance to see your poem!

Thank you! 

Oct. 20

Villanelle of the Poet's Road.  by Ernest Dowson

For the Sake of Strangers  - Dorianne Laux

What’s Broken by Dorianne Laux

The Word by Tony Hoagland

The Names of Flowers by Abby Murray

Cairns by Kitty Jospé

Nutshell:

Dowson:

In the in-person session, Judith gave a lovely background of Ernest Dowson, as one of the "decadents",  their reputation for absinthe, and the tragic death of both parents dying of TB (at that time quite common) and his own early death at age 32.  "Poor wounded wonderful fellow that he was, a tragic reproduction of all tragic poetry, like a symbol, or a scene. I hope bay leaves will be laid on his tomb and rue and myrtle too for he knew what love was".^{[10] Oscar Wilde.}

We discussed the almost comic way he makes fun of his own complaint, and although one could say the villanelle lacks power and vigor, David quoted the story of the critique of Maria Callas for sounding tired in her role in a Verdi opera, to which she replied:  I should certainly hope so... I worked for three months to sound tired!  

For the Sake of Strangers: 

Normally "for the sake of" is not connected to strangers... and in a way the title honors strangers--

which reminds me of proximity of "angel" in the French étranger and étrange which contains the word ange.  Perhaps each one of us is a "messenger" for the other, as a way of connection.  Several commented on the ghostliness evoked in the "empty body" and perhaps an underlying thought of suicide with the last line.  The opening generalization reminds me of Dorianne's earlier work, The Things we Carry, and 

"dull strength" evoked for some a sense of depression.  Who is this self that desires a stranger to

"keep her from herself"?  We commented on the gratuitous goodness of things that touch us.

Maura brought up how spot on this poem is for the pandemic... how being with people, no matter if strangers, allows us to feel more part of the world. Carmen mentioned how she looks at people and imagines their story... and Ken mentioned the fun of watching a school bus driver waiting for three kids. 

I shared the story of the women at the Open Door Mission (ODM) shelter who helped out a stranger, giving money, imagining them worse off or in a state where maybe they had been and a few dollars might have made a difference.  

What's Broken: 

Just in case you forget that the universe is a rather violent place, with black holes sucking up matter,

meteors crashing randomly to pockmark the moon, and that indeed... just about everything will one day

be broken, this poem provides a fine reminder.  People were reminded of a Tibetan sand painting, where

a beautiful work of art is carefully constructed, only to be blown away and erased.  As one of the women at the ODM shelter said, it is a testimony.  The discussion included associations, for instance with Elizabeth Bishop's The Art of Losing, or the second law of thermodynamics, John Donne, Edna St. Vincent Millay, the Zen acceptance of inevitable "decay is inherent is all components in all things"

or a sense of a "momento mori" when a painter creates images of all that will not last-- that lemon zest, the fresh shellfish, the small bubble at the end of a pipe, the smoke coming from the lit tip of a rope, etc.

One suggestion was to call the poem, "What's Beautiful", as like the poem before, many of the things mentioned  are treasures while they last.  The mother's necklace brought up poignant memories... and one can smell the parsley and mint... see the beauty of the white roots... which is a confirmation of the power of memory to keep things alive.

The blue cup fallen had a universal reminder of a broken heart.  I believe Marna reminded us that a broken heart is also free...   As for the cricket, a few offered the possibility of an unintended crushing the cricket... or maybe something as small, yet "possible" or still,

"unthinkable" in terms of what will be/could be/is broken. The enjambments emphasize the juxtaposition of "broken" and rose... (or later, the days, the night sky, star patterns) "glass" and knobs... last summer/pot of herbs; roots/shooting;  Even for those who felt it was not a positive viewpoint, the "moral" of finding and appreciating beauty comes through.

The Word:

The title carries biblical overtones... and carries on the theme in the two Laux poems of what brings us joy.

I love the humor of a "to do" list and the surprise of "penciled 'sunlight'" between green thread and broccoli, which could be penciled in as word, or a random appearance of actual sunlight... 

The enjambments between stanzas enhance a sense of waiting expectancy:  "sunlight"/resting..

pleasure/a thing//that needs accomplishing... love/no less practical than a coffee grinder/

or a safe spare tire.  The rhythm of the syntax flows easily, yet constantly surprises... Lovely 2-tercet opening; a short burst of a sentence pronouncing the word is beautiful followed by an almost 3 tercet  ramble of how it touches... with two elucidations with "as if..." following by a short burst of a question, "Do you remember". 

The turn at the 9th tercet, but today, emphasizes "the kingdom/still exists.  The final metaphor of

the telegram from the heart in exile carries a message for a universal you-- an invitation to hope

if you find the time to "sit out in the sun and listen".  

If you haven't pencilled in "sunlight" -- this might prompt you to remember it is there for the noticing,

and even on a grey day, not something you "do", but simply a pleasurable and often surprising gift...  

Names of Flowers: 

We do not know them... but taking the time to say how they "feel", smell, look... the visual synesthesia of the gold ranging from pineapple and honey,  the description of

their circumstances (in markdown buckets at Safeway)... and then the surprising juxtaposition 

of happiness and cheaper... this close to a dumpster!  The idea of leaving behind  a former self

who had no name for "what is both vital and necessary", is an elegant way of realizing the

vital and unnecessary serendipity of possible joy.

What is vital?  How wonderful that an unplanned, not classified as necessary "thing" or happenstance

is paradoxically a necessary ingredient that confirms something indeed vital.  

Mary brought up the pleasure she has imagining the story behind the person who buys a bouquet of flowers-- no matter for whom, what occasion... that vital and unnecessary act spreads its effect on the person buying them.  Maura brought up the Dag Hammerskøld comparison of happiness as a butterfly... 

unpredictably landing, not staying long.  He puts it differently:  "Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, seems always just beyond your grasp. 

Cairns:  a forwards-backwards poem where the first 5 lines repeat in reverse order, the last 5 lines

which provides a familiarity, yet small twist of difference, as if following a mountain path.

Stories of cairns included the problem of people creating new ones that might lead others astray, and Paul's marvelous story of creating a cairn with the capstone "Brennon" with his friend, which turned into

a tourist stop for travelers inviting a selfie.

Such a good feeling in both discussions, although a small "zoom" session.

 

 

October 6 + 13

 

zoom: Elaine had to use a new zoom number: 81539887297

She, Marna and Emily had a good discussion.   

In Person: 

 It seems an overused word, but "great" ( or "grand", in the ould sod) always comes to mind in recollecting an hour or so of real fun at O   Pen. Five stalwarts today, Jim, Joyce, Mary, Judith and I. Jim always brings humor with him and stories....and he has always done his homework as well. Joyce hits the top with homework, and is no slouch in the humor department, either. She didn't think that the Chinese number "sounded Chinese enough". And Mary's readings are always done perfectly, strong and clear and emphatic...and, Oh, is it necessary to remind you of Mary's humor ? Judith, God bless her, was quick to take up slack in conversation, usually startling us with information on art, dance, literature, poesy and reams of humor. There is a common thread of humor in our bunch...I mean the whole bunch.....and it applies so much the better to criticism or critique than sour milk for desert. 

    Kitty will not be here/there for next week because of a prior travel date. Poor butterfly ! Those wings will need a rest. So, with Kitty gone for three in a row, Martin and I will complete a palace coup, replacing modern poetical tomfoolery with a steady diet of Victorian fluff as well as 17th c. selections of religious fervor, or fervour........We'll love Herrick......maybe an occasional break with Skelton or the Earl of Rochester.........................Nirvana, indeed.

Barbara's comments:  I did enjoy today's musical poems.  I even listened to some Brahms last night after reading "Romantics." It seems so sad that they didn't marry! And "The Disappeared" with its sinking and disappearing letters in mother and father was very moving and a visceral experience. I loved the poet's reading of it too. Speaking of listening, I couldn't hear your poem because I couldn't get that little blue microphone to work, but I do appreciate your ability to work creatively with the villanelle.

Oct. 13 : In Person-- Paul's report:

It was a grand day with the O  Pen gang of seven on Wednesday last. Martin, Ken, Jim, Joyce Maura, Judith and meself . Judith started us on our descent to Hades with , Acheron. We all had little thoughts about Hell and the poem brought back memories of 4th year Latin for me. We translated from Latin and the story was so engrossing, there was a minimum of grousing about how long it was. It was a swell Villanelle.    

Jim kept us laughing, read loud enough for all those wax filled ears to hear the lines. I mentioned an old Irish Pub poem and Judith sprang up jackrabbit like and recited the whole thing ( A Glass of Beer, James Stephens) without slowing down for a breath......or a swig. Maura and Ken and Joyce and Martin all joined in on the rare occasions that we strayed from the menu. 

It was, as usual, a fine affair and, really, a testimony to you ,who have done so much to put things together week after week . It is an harmonious group ....friends who can sit together, be serious, frivolous, entertaining. But, we will all be happy to get the Skipper back at the helm. The ship wandered somewhat under the windy breezes of the substitute helmsman.

poems for September 29

 Judith shared this (continuation of comments from last week) from Dance Anecdotes p. 102 by Mindy Aloff: The duende, then, is a power, not a work.  It is a struggle, not a thought.  I have heard an old maestro of the guitar say, “the duende is not in the throat; the duende climbs up inside you, from the soles of the feet.” Meaning this:  It is not a question of ability but of true, living style, of blood, of the most ancient culture, of spontaneous creation…

Years ago an 80-year old woman won first prize at a dance contest in Jerez de la Frontera.  She was competing against beautiful women and young girls with waists as supple as water, but all she did was raise her arms, throw back her head, and stamp her foot on the floor.  In that gathering of muses and angels—beautiful forms and beautiful smiles—who could have won but her moribund duende, sweeping the ground with its wings of rusty knives.

 

                                             Federico Garcia Lorca  In Search of Duende

 

Poems:

Stone by Charles Simic

Inklings by Kitty Jospé

The Lazy Susan by Adrienne Sue

The Crossroads by Joshua Mehigan

Fire Safety by Joshua Mehigan

Monday  by Alex Dimitrove

In person: Maura, Marna, Judith, Carmin, Jan, Elaine, Joyce, Ken, Martin 

Zoom:  Ginny, Barb, Emily, Bernie, David, Susan, Rose Marie

Nutshell:  

Simic:  do listen to his reading.  He prefaces the poem commenting on vileness and stupidity...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XODm-0K9TK4

It is easy to see only a surface... especially for a stone...or a person  and both are riddle... Stone as metaphor of self-hood, a model of stoic values... unaffected by circumstances... I was reminded of the artist Isamu Noguchi who said about his sculpture Mono Tari (Japanese folk tale of the boy born out of a peach pit... and his sculpture of stone, indeed, invites one to roll in the space carved for it)  "the universe is made of rocks!" https://stormking.org/artist/isamu-noguchi/.  

Martin brought up a history of planets... how they too follow an evolution, and the complexity of distributions, spin.   This inspired the idea that we, like our planet are more than rock... we too are lava, and fire and evolving.  David was reminded of Wallace Stevens' meditation about clouds of different densities, interconnected... material is energy filling a solid... 

Several people commented on the poem as advice on stoic behavior, how to face encounters with another.  Marna who suggested the poem, called on the Native American belief of every thing imbued with spirit -- that a stone too, is living.  The idea of living inside a stone cave, writing on the walls...  We enjoyed Simic's mock humility in the first stanza... the sounds of the slow sinking of a stone where fishes will come to knock on it... whether it is the stone or fish -- or those who observe... the idea is not to seek answer, but simply, to listen... Our presumptions are opened to allow possibility in the last stanza... 

Inklings:  I appreciated everyone's comments on this poem from my book Twilight Venus.

Physical ink... intuition, music, dance and art all combine to weave a satisfying sense they provide--

anything can happen... as they loosen all that holds us from imagining possibilities.  There is a 4th dimension of a poem that is released in vibrations of throat and mouth. https://cpb-us-e1.wpmucdn.com/blogs.uoregon.edu/dist/2/11757/files/2015/10/Abrams-The-Fourth-Dimension-of-a-Poem-vy76gc.pdf

The Lazy Susan:  a perfect metaphor for the spin of time... now this way... now the other.

The history is interesting: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/lazy-susan-classic-centerpiece-chinese-restaurants-neither-classic-nor-chinese-180949844/

The 1st generation Chinese-American's child's view in the first 11 lines, echoes in the reversal of the lines reflecting the older Chinese immigrant parents.  Subtle changes by the placement of phrases without changing the words keeps a sense of familiar... and yet, not quite the same.  What fuels the hours to light a center is not the "tea dispenser's orange light" which reminds to fuel the hours,  light a center."

Susan shared a delightful anecdote of her elders telling a joke in English, but the punch line was delivered in Yiddish.  How does one "laugh in Chinese"?  Certainly we were sensitive to the deeper turn on how one works into a culture, and work it out working out of a culture... "the how we live, because of them; they live this way because of us." adds yet another dimension. 

The Crossroads:  In spite of no details about the "it", repeated 5 times, this little poem is filled with scene and drama for the reader to create.  Crossroads... where one can meet the devil, vampires, turn for better or worse... Each reader can create feelings, memories, associations and tone... One senses a car accident, perhaps caused by a leaping white-tailed deer; or the sparkling dust of an enlightenment... (like a baptism perhaps)  the stickier grease of the oily smear... (final mark of priest after death); the marker could be sign of a lynching... Whatever "it" is, there is sadness-- perhaps that it is no longer... perhaps a person's life or an entire way of life is at risk of being forgotten.

How do we know what we know?

Fire Safety:  we enjoyed the clever transformation of the ordinary,  the deft insertion of "screaming machines", "land mines", "warlike", the rather comic details of the fire escape... and the surprising ending after this mysterious wait, with an incontrovertible prediction that we will "cry out".  Extinguishers, alarms,  hydrants, sprinklers, escape routes -- all supposedly to keep us safe, and which we take for granted... perhaps, will not work when needed... We wonder how the poet came to think of this poem.

Life indeed can turn on a dime.  It's a hard life for these objects to wait... unnoticed.

Monday:  How do we come to assign such importance to a day of the week... how does the pandemic experience change it? It's good to laugh at our defenses against recognizable frustrations.   Dimitrov juxtaposes the trivial (cross the street) with the important (marry),

the what ifs and why nots and like the lazy susan, spins disaster to enjoyment... and then... oh!  "the rest of it, we have to get to".  Art saves us.  We discussed blue -- celestial, sacred, calming, but also melancholy...

and that final unexpected word, pain... 

It's the kind of poem that draws in a reader, makes one want to strike up a conversation with the poet,

compare notes on expectations, what we anticipate, discouragements and disappointments.  And Art 

forgives us... allows us to escape our self-absorption.

To add to the list of A.A. Milne:

King of Peru

https://voetica.com/voetica.php?collection=3&poet=685&poem=3358

 

King John’s Christmas

https://www.thereader.org.uk/featured-poem-king-johns-christmas-by-a-a-milne/ 

Poems for September 22

**As Long as We Are Not Alone by Israel Emiot translated by Leah Zazulyer

Gray Stone by Richard Hugo  

French Leave by Claude McKay

Brigadista in Retirement by Kwame Dawes

Mendacity  by Kwame Dawes

**Rain by Don Paterson

Poem for the Tin-tun-teros  by Brenda Cárdenas

https://poets.org/poem/poem-tin-tun-teros

 ** these are from September 8 which the "zoom" group missed.  "Rain" and the Israel Emiot are well worth the re-read!

In the first group (Paul, Martin, Mary, Joyce, Marna, Maura, Ken, Judith, Carmen, Jim)

Mary shared The Pencil  by Mary Hood and Martin shared my poem Witness.   I appreciated that he saw a parallel between the rising whirlpool of vapor to people... and that people enjoyed the "vapor-y" sounds of w's and s's.  Judith liked the "danceability" and went on an A.A. Milne kick to show what fun poetry could be.  I have included them in the email for next week's poems.

In the second group (Bernie, until 1 pm, David, Valerie, Jan, Emily, Valerie, Susan, Elaine + Barb, Marna, Paul in person).

Nutshell:

As ever, there were so many veins in the rich and thoughtful discussions.  Bernie had to leave early, and mentioned he had many comments to make on each poem.  I am sure this is the case of each person!  Thank you Valerie for commenting on the connecting rods in these poems addressing loneliness, our need for connection. We started with Ken's share of these three lines from Rabindranath Tagore:

Alone I can 'Say' but together we can 'Talk'.

Alone I can 'Enjoy' but together we can 'Celebrate'

Alone I can 'Smile' but together we can 'Laugh'

And this is what we do each week together.   Thank you all.  Connectedness keeps us alive...

Someone brought up the saying of Mother Theresa,  "loneliness and feeling unwanted is the worst poverty...."

Emiot:  Perhaps one can read "we shall rejoice" with a bit of skepticism -- but it is repeated not just twice

but four times, sealing the poem with a capital W for We, with no comma between the final repetition and a sober period after this 3 word sentence.  And why rejoice?  And how do we understand stone, associated with a sense of primal, foundational and eternal?  David shared the idea of a system of responses, a sort of exchanging--the stone dissolves, enters water which then nourishes the plants... The idea of our one planet with its thin atmosphere and beyond-- this vast emptiness nothingness... and if the plants hear, why not imagine the stone can too... and this great connection is indeed a call to rejoice.

Gray Stone:  Mary had associated the above poem with this one we had discussed many years ago. Many threads were shared:  the gray stone as itself, no volition to change, no "magic power" to change anything-- and this stone perhaps can hear, but in the poem, has the power to speak.  It is our turn to listen.

Mary was reminded of the song in the Sounds of Music, "Nothing out of nothing" :             https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UetJAFogqE4

Elaine wondered about the adjective "horrifying" (attention) -- as in powerful, as in terrifying which captures an awareness  of the vast emptiness beyond our planet.  David remembered the Wallace Stevens poem "The Snowman" -which shows a person's mind is responsible for investing in a scene... but if clear from illusions, nature will portray the reality as it is.  Emily felt in it the sense of passage of time, projection into the future.

We didn't speak of the craft of the poem... the echoing of wet or dry/bright green sky... the repetition

of gray stone.  Clearly... human beings are not in charge... Many felt this poem is a slap in the face about thinking we are in control... that our belief in luck ... and our ventures and undertakings lends only a myth of real.

French Leave:  we listened to the rather flat voice picked by the Poem-a-day-people of this poem written almost 100 years ago.  It is not the poet's voice and I wonder how Claude McKay might have delivered it.

Judith pointed out the universal human desire to not have to go to work... but the point is even stronger for a slave... 

Rosemary pointed about yet another layer to French leave-- to leave discretely as a matter of politesse, not to disturb anyone.  This brought up the idea of the need for accommodation if a slave ...although certainly,  some sensed an undertone of anger in the determination of the speaker to protect a small moment, free to imagine "life softening to a song of tuneful tunes."  David brought up the Jewish tradition of being able to relax on the seder cushion... that freedom meant also, the right to relax.  Judith reminded us of McKay's importance in the Harlem Renaissance movement and the careful rhyming (and eye-rhyme of love/move, was/grass).

Kwame Dawes:  Elaine brought up his background of moving from Ghana to Jamaica.  For the two pieces, the question about our expectations for a poem (I wrote down "language distilled in a burnt oak barrel") came up as we felt a prose feel with logical listing of ideas dependent on a dramatic oratory delivered. Brigadista:

 Oh the myths that feed a nation... especially the "harnessed fantasy to feed the impulse to die for patria"...  The second group made the connection of the baby as metaphor for problem... and how even in retirement, the thrill of being warrior remains a burning desire.  I forget who brought up Patton, rubbing his hands and saying about fighting, "God I just love it so." and the powerful result of bonding, sense of

purpose (even if a fantasy).  This, from the standpoint of a woman, feels even stronger-- the war is not over, and the desire to fight for the cause extremely powerful.

Mendacity: The title frames a meditation on our hunger to be loved... and how mendacious myths as "necessary presence" inform our sense of belonging.   How to understand "the pathology of storytelling is the intoxication of lies"?  David and Elaine both brought up the importance of story telling  as a way to understand, transform ourselves and others by sharing the mixed bag of emotions coupled with great fiction.   Rosemarie noted two threads: the cultural references in the Bible to creation and Christ's sacrifice which assuage and a more personal hunger.  How to understand the "envelope" sent out each day, filled with sweet (necessary) lies of his alarming truth?  We wished Bernie could have stayed to share a Buddhist slant about the role of stories!

Rain: see Sept. 8 for comparison: Perhaps a poem changes according to the company of poems in which it is surrounded.  Following Kwame Dawes, Paterson's poem felt like a cinematic tribute to great beginnings, and indeed... whatever follows, whether braided with rain or not, like Hugo's gray stone, is

what it is. Perhaps there is a an element of wabi-sari... that balance that does not depend on permanence, and yet feels as though it always has been.  

Cardenas:  We listened to the Spanish, followed by the English of this powerful poem she delivers.

Judith immediately thought of "duende", that supernatural being that spirit of evocation that infuses a piece with passion, inspiration.  Susan remarked how one doesn't need to know Spanish to feel the powerful rhythms, sensual sounds.  Valerie was reminded of  the power of the bells in Poe's poem.

A perfect end for a fine discussion.

 

Poems for September 15 -- two sets!

Ken Offered this -- a wonderful way to open each discussion! Wisdom from Rabindranath Tagore (major literary and political force in the early 20th Century) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rabindranath_Tagore (“proper teaching stokes curiosity”) 

Alone I can 'Say' but together we can 'Talk'.

Alone I can 'Enjoy' but together we can 'Celebrate'

Alone I can 'Smile' but together we can 'Laugh'

11:15

Paul: Under Ben Bulben by W.B. Yeats

Judith: Bavarian Gentians by D.H. Lawrence

Marna: The Singers by Eavan Boland 

Maura: Abou Ben Adhem by Leigh Hunt

Mary (poem about pencil for a different time) 

Russell Simpson (new person)

 Martin  but had planned on sharing a poem but was not there.  

Judith reports that Paul shared a funny story about Bavarian flowers.  " He had evidently been in a train puffing so slowly up a mountain there, flowers blooming in all directions, when the train was so slow climbing the steep grade that it was possible to jump off, pick flowers and get back on.  Which the law abiding Teutons did, despite signs saying sternly Nicht (pick, which I cannot remember but word very close to English!) blumen.  He left out the article, but for all I know that is correct.  Paul is a treat.

 

Paul reports:  Marna, Maura, Mary, Joyce. Judith, Paul...........The 5 horsemen of the Apocalypse plus one to sweep up after......They were all great........near the end came a new prospect, Russell Simpson a nice appearing man.   I would say the meeting went all right and that the merry throng presented nice material. I was too talkative and too full of information on Ben Bulben and think I likely bored the faithful to tears enough to fill the Mareotic lake. Martin didn't show...hope he's ok......Ken wrote me that he had dental work that couldn't wait...Mary Diener could not find a printed rendition of "The Pencil", which she was going to present. It was the usual good time with bolstering by the ladies ( God ! Judith is a marvel...and I imagine the group were happy to dwell on her stories and insights).  Frankly, I was disappointed in my own presentation, but had a fine time researching and getting a look into the brain of WBY. The thundering herd dispersed rapidly upon conclusion, but for the two Js ,who carried on a good long conversation afterwards. 

12:30: attendees: David Sanders, Jan B, Elaine Richane, Susan T, Barb Murphy, Arlene W. and Bernie Shore

The group read aloud per usual style the Tagore, the Bishop and the Adams, since Ken, Emily, Joyce not there.

 Emily: The Fish by Elizabeth Bishop 

Joyce: Grapes Making  by Leonie Adams

Barb:  Minor Miracle  by Marilyn Nelson  -- which Barb read incredibly well.

Bernie:  Bugs in a Bowl by David Budbill https://www.thesunmagazine.org/issues/200/bugs-in-a-bowl

Jan: Kindness by Naomi Shihab Nye -- didn't get to it b/c ran out of time... 

Although Joyce was not there Arlene W jumped right in with both reading and comments and was an unexpected gift for helping us work through the Adams poem about grapes. As we began discussing it she interjected that her job is with the cooperative extension and she has worked with and knows a lot about grapevines, how do you support them, how they grow etc. etc. it was like having our own resident expert,

David Sanders, Jan B, Elaine Richane, Susan T, Barb Murphy, me and someone I've never met before who was just great, Arlene Wilson. Three of those who suggested poems, Ken with the Tagore, Emily with Bishop's The Fish and Joyce with Adams' Grapes Making, weren't there, so we all shared reading except for the Minor Miracle poem which Barb read entirely, incredibly well.  

September 8

 XIII (Dedications)  by Adrienne Rich[1]

Which Side Are You On?  by Janine Pommy Vega[2]

Nostalgia by Joyce Carol Oates

Rain by Don Paterson

For What Binds Us  by Jane Hirshfield

As Long as We Are Not Alone by Israel Emiot translated by Leah Zazulyer

Crazy!  Someone drove into a power line connection.  At 11:20, the lights went off... we were able to read in the rather gray light of a rainy day... but no internet connection, so the 12:30 zoom-hybrid was cancelled.   Apologies!  Since Barb and Elaine came in person, Paul, Marna and I continued the discussion but without our zoom compatriots for the "hybrid session."

Nutshell discussion:

XIII:  Hopefully everyone read Jane Hirshfield's commentary about this poem... https://www.loc.gov/programs/poetry-and-literature/audio-recordings/poetry-of-america/item/poetry-00000855/jane-hirshfield-adrienne-rich/

It clarifies about the number 13... the idea of dedications as the final 13th poem in “An Atlas of the Difficult World.”  We could imagine that Adrienne had been in these 13 places, knew the 13 people mentioned... and imagined what motivated them to read whatever "this poem" is/was, which curiously feels that it must be the entire collection of poems in "An Atlas".  What a novel way to dedicate a poem... 

For  us today, it was an invitation to see if we could identify with any of the people.

Who would you pick?  Martin identified with the one by the tv screen watching the news, as he does...(Western Europe, Japan and other world news stations!)

Barb and Maura identified with the one pacing beside the stove, book in hand; Paul identified with the one in the room where too much has happened... and the open valise speaks of flight... 

Marna identified with listening for hope... and that task she could never refuse of teaching her beloved students... Mary found it an uplifting picture of humanity... 

The struggles... rush-hour, snow, intifada, the thirst, stripped as you are... are offset by the running up the stairs toward a new kind of love, the knowledge that each letter of an alphabet is precious, the persistence of reading inspire of thick lenses or a foreign tongue... 

It brought us to discuss the news, our delight when an uplifting piece is included... 

We tried different "tones" to the repeated "I know you are reading this poem"... agreed it was not said with arrogance, but rather with the sense of the thread that binds us.

We went out of order because of that idea.  (see next to last poem)

For What Binds Us:   see comments May 19/24... although we did not mention the word "keloid", Paul wanted a different word for "Proud Flesh".   In May, we thought perhaps paradox was the intention of the poem.  Today, we did not talk about the black cord... or what makes connections between people... I love the possibilities that allow a poem to  have an entirely different  discussion — Later at 12:30 when Barb and Elaine showed up in person, we read the poem again. It felt like an ode -- in the sense of a poem dedicated to examining  what “binding” means.   “Being bound” is not usually a desirable thing… I suppose like carrying a wound…  (related, but unconnected:  Paul mentioned the importance of German fraternities displaying an intentional scar...)

The examples in stanza one are strange… a spontaneous skin that forms (without mentioning milk) in a cup… the long process of joinery…   Her leaps to "proud flesh" then to memory of love are  large… maybe as Martin said, she is showing the creative process… If the subject is about wounds,  the ending is the exact opposite.  We were struck by a "binding" that nothing can tear -- or mend... truly bound no matter what... 

Rain: and that leads to the final line of this poem (only discussed in the second group).  What matters and why?  Marna shared the idea of tragic opera -- it opens and ends with gorgeous music... opens with "all is well" -- like the opening stanzas-- stressing the importance of beginnings... observations... and finally 3 1/2 stanzas later the sentence arrives at a period.  The "fatal watercourse" might be part of the tragedy (girl walks off overpass) or that only unrhymed line in the first stanza: (rain) streaming down her upturned face.  Does nothing matter because it is a film?  This poem analysis sheds a little more light from another point of view -- rain as equalizing force capable of washing away concern of the past. https://poemanalysis.com/don-paterson/rain-analysis/

THREE poems from Poets Walk:

Which Side are you On:  With a title like that... repeated in the final line, I think of Pete Seeger and miner strikes... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XEnTxlBuGo

It helps to know that Janine wrote this point while working with women at the Eastern Correctional  Facility... 

The question "are you in or outside" comes to mind as well as other types of sides.   Are you going to be the flower that opens... inspire others?   If you throw down coins in dirt... is that with disdain?  How can she say they spell integrity?  It reminded Marna of tossing the I-Ching...  

Starting with questions,  the poem delves beyond the surface, the excavating, digging deep  in your own soul and crux of the matter.  "Every time you visit yourself without respect, you lose.  Without love, Also.  ".  Adding a touch of Kabir and miracle  that  is in all of us gives hope... and whatever those obstacles, their reduction to wind... disappearance... begs the repeat of the question.

Nostalgia: We agreed... sometimes you need to say things... as in the last two lines... What happens with automatic obedience training? How does nostalgia work on us?  I loved the line, "The flagless pole, what a relief!" and promptly was disturbed by

the idea of placing a hand over a heart, "as if I had one."  Powerful poem... not bitter, but reflective... 

As Long As We are Not Alone :  see notes... His writing is like a prayer... Maura mentioned she made a sculpture inspired by this poem.  Look at the four times "we shall rejoice" is said.  Not with an exclamation point, but  after "Perhaps a stone also hears;" first, followed by a comma, repeated followed by a semi-colon. We understand and feel the poem, but can't explain the magic of silence in space... silence of God...  and then the final lines as answer to the question, "perhaps the stone also hears?"

Simply stated.  Does the stone hear it first?  "We shall rejoice"?  And the second time, how do you hear it?

 “We" is capitalized.  “rejoice” as last word receives a confirmatory period, round and hard as a stone... present and real.

Mary remembered the Richard Hugo poem we discussed a long time ago: I cite the first stanza and link: 

Green Stone

All stones have luck built in. Some
a lucky line that curves a weak green back
into some age prehuman. If stones
could talk they’d tell us how they’ve survived.
They’ve been used in beautiful fences,
been weapons hurled.

http://carolpeters.blogspot.com/2006/02/richard-hugo.html

[1] At the Dodge Festival in April 2021, Edward Hirsch read this poem as part of the program of poets paying hommage to other poets. This led me to Jane Hirschfield’s reading and commentary: https://www.loc.gov/programs/poetry-and-literature/audio-recordings/poetry-of-america/item/poetry-00000855/jane-hirshfield-adrienne-rich/

[2] The Vega and Oates and Emiot  are three  of the poems on Poets Walk, located on University Avenue in front of  the Memorial Art Gallery. For a listing of the 114 poems, the poets and prompts. https://mag.rochester.edu/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/PoetsWalk-Alpha.pdf

For an alphabetical  list of the poem tiles:  https://mag.oncell.com/en/poets-walk-78374.html

 

 

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[1] At the Dodge Festival in April 2021, Edward Hirsch read this poem as part of the program of poets paying hommage to other poets. This led me to Jane Hirschfield’s reading and commentary: https://www.loc.gov/programs/poetry-and-literature/audio-recordings/poetry-of-america/item/poetry-00000855/jane-hirshfield-adrienne-rich/

[2] The Vega and Oates and Emiot  are three  of the poems on Poets Walk, located on University Avenue in front of  the Memorial Art Gallery. For a listing of the 114 poems, the poets and prompts. https://mag.rochester.edu/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/PoetsWalk-Alpha.pdf

For an alphabetical  list of the poem tiles:  https://mag.oncell.com/en/poets-walk-78374.html