Pages

Thursday, April 24, 2025

April 23-4

 Chickadee by Stanley Plumly; Small Fragments by Nasser Rabah; Out of These Wounds, the Moon Will Rise by Jay Hopler Political Plaintive  by April Hoffman; The Fear of God  by Robert Frost; You know what, about this little match? by June Gervais


Nutshell:  April 23-4:

The array of poems allowed us to delve into our expectations of all we want a poem to do.

Perhaps the poem and poet have other ideas about what they think we need to hear, but one

thing is clear, a poem is a playground for content, form and feeling, with an eye out for

the visual set up, an ear out for the rhythms and sounds, and a sixth sense about establishing

tone.

 

 Chickadee: 

On the surface, there are lovely sounds, and one senses the cold, the chickadees, but as one person put it, the poem is lacking in artifice, and another described it as  "a lump of dull in need of kneading". Another wondered if it might come across any better as a prose paragraph, as there didn't seem to be any particular reason for the line breaks.

Aside from alliteration, slant rhyme, a repetition of "glass", a sweeping statement about wearying of the sublime, the poem hops along with details, but to what end?  The ending doesn't bind us with a sense of mattering, and we are given little clue as to who Margaret is, aside from being the opening word, remembering in summer, outside, in contrast with his winter memory. She is mentioned a second time sitting still inside in winter in an unsettling brokenness of sunshine "falling in shadows all about her", now contrasted to the "bright" chickadees.   If this is supposed to be a poem about relationship, for most of us, guesswork is necessary.

 

Small Fragments:  These 10 "fragments" in translation give a very real and convincing portrayal of the devastation of Palestine and what it is like to live in Gaza.  Touches of poetic imagination give hope, as in verse 6, (cypress dream... cloud as stream's lover, soil's fate) and 8 (The reason for the glass of water by your bedside: so the guardian angel can drink.)    

 

Personification is all throughout:  shadows, night, homes, laundry, even a wound . Because it is in  fragments, perhaps it is up to the reader to sort out confusion and feel the importance of the writing the poem : #5 (balcony, newspaper, laundry -- will it break down quickly, or resist... until the poem bleeds out) and #9 even nighttime, come to shut the window/had its spirit broken, content with the poem.) . As the translators say, these words are important in ways we have yet to comprehend.  

 

Out of these wounds:  The words of Maya Angelou, Still I Rise come to mind from the title.  Without knowing anything about Jay Hopler, (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/158256/what-do-i-want-with-eternity) perhaps you might not understand the poem, but capture a meditative mood.

The visual set up, with Capital letters at the beginning of each line, stanza space augmented by the space mid-line,  accentuates a sense of fragmentation.  Reinforcing the "disconnect, enjambments, juxtapositions like "Wet/scorch" give a sense of unpredictable.  One senses urgency, and obstacles in the way to overcome.  He moves from porch light, sunset, to celestial transcendence.  The penultimate line could be read independently Make a wish, not that we would  and also connect to the next line:  not that we would /wish for anything but the impossible.  

Knowing that Jay Hopler was fighting cancer and determined to finish his last book, puts a different context on wishes and brings the poem to life.  It changes the "impossible dreams" such as world peace, to the very specific wish of wanting more time alive. 

 

Political PlaintivePlaintive is an adjective, not a noun like Lament (or Plaintiff) but the double p's and underpinning of sarcasm override any such technicalities perhaps. 

One person was reminded of the feeling tone of  American Ramble  

We all recognize the songs, the myths, what we would like to think America was, used to be, could be.  Especially now, the last two stanzas echo with yearning for a return of decency.  Judith reminded us of the excesses of hypocrisy in America's "Golden Age", Salmon Chase and the changing of the motto E Pluribus Unum to "In God We Trust". Marna brought up "The New Rasputins" (Atlantic)   If anything, we all would profit from our subconscious collections of beliefs, myths, news sources, judgements.  The final "Don't I?" is both a looking at oneself in the mirror as well as implying perhaps we think we remember something one way... which maybe never was.

 

The Fear of God:  A very different tone from what we think of with Robert Frost .

A bit of wry humor, but no embellishment, just keen-sighted clarity, economy of language.

Lovely metaphor of "uniform" (society's rules to conform), using "apparel" as the "curtain" of the inmost soul -- protection perhaps.  Unlike the usual nature poem, here, he is addressing the ego in the cosmos... using the adjective "arbitrary" next to "god" which could mirror the God in the title.  We didn't discuss the "fear" mentioned in the title.  Nor does the poem for that matter.

 

 You know what... Fun poem-- which brings an ordinary match to life as something quite different!  Reading the prompt and her response helps the poem along.  It might be easy to read the opening line as "popular" but hard to fathom what glue (from hooves whether horse or cow) has to do with it.  Eugene Levy.  The onomatopoeic "nick, tick, wick, stick, flickers" threads sparks throughout.  I'd love to see a sequel of an interview with the little match, how it's faring in retirement, having served its purpose.  Perhaps it has a secret about breathing and reaching forever?!  

Friday, April 18, 2025

poems for April 16-7

 "So few grains of happiness / measured against all the dark / and still the scales balance,”-- from The Weighing  by Jane Hirshfield  

Blessing of Boats by Lucille Clifton;  The Trouble with Poetry,  by Billy Collins; Spring by Marjory Wentworth; The People of Tao-chu by Po Chu; Walking an Old Dog by Lisa Chavez; How My Father Learned English by Juan J. Morales; Rules for flying by Allyson Whipple

For Wednesday:  Paul re- read his response on Feb. 24 to John Donne's Canonization.   Maura brought in "We are Not Alone" by Israel Emiot;   https://mag.rochester.edu/walk/poets-walk/a-stone-also-hears

Marna brought in "My First Typewriter" by Billy Collins. in new book by Billy Collins: Water, Water

I shared this version: 

  Nutshell: April 16-7A good poem is not about meaning, but what it does -- how it makes us feel.  The last three poems selected this in the selection were centos. All the poems but the last one  made quite an emotional impact.   Forgive me if I go on longer than usual to try to "unwrap" the how. 

 

Blessing of Boats:  It is comforting to read these gentle, encouraging words.  Indeed, the metaphor of understanding like the "lip" of the tide  captures the nature of life, where the best we can do is stand on the edges, trusting indeed, the coming and goings like the tide be balanced.

She repeats May four times:  first, referring to the tide, and then  "May you" extends beyond the boats to each of us, with the 3rd time written after a space on the 9th line,  cushioned with a line break.  The 4th time, in perhaps the longest line propelling to innocence like a baby boat on a maiden journey, which after the line break lands on the final line.

Associations: Biloxi, and the blessing of shrimp boats; Bob Dylan, Forever Young;

 

Her images of tide, wind, water, waving are filled with motion, coming/going.  I connect  the tide/entering even now/ the lip of our understanding, the yin/yang of possibility of "this to that"

which she applied to the wind, now facing it, now turning from it.   A lip does not guarantee one opens the mouth to swallow something,  or keep it shut, but rather, that edge is an awareness of something that will carry us.  The prayer emphasizes that it carry you beyond the face of fear.

Then, the action is transferred to a kiss... to the wind, confident it will "love your back".  Only then, the third verb, to open your eyes,  the 4th action to water.  The beautiful ambiguity of  "open your eyes to water/water waving forever" gives a sense of tearful goodbyes, never losing connection as if the waving continues to maintain it. Water as verb/noun suggests "wave" in the same way.  A perfect blessing to help us face danger, things we cannot control.

 

The Trouble with Poetry:  The opening stanza could be the start of a serious poem, and invites the non-poet-less-than-intrigued-by poetry, to join in a critique of why it is not necessarily a good thing.  The quick turn in the second stanza is followed with two outlandish and hilarious images,

which seem indeed to make fun of poets and their output.  The third stanza confirms the impossibility of ever putting a stop to such production, and finally in the 4th stanza, we have a hint that the "we" in question just might be students in high school.

Again, another twist, we are introduced to the speaker of the poem, who, contrary to thinking there is a trouble of too much poetry, comes up with a summary of poetry's ability to fill us with joy, sorrow.  Another twist, next stanza, and we're back to that urge of writing more poetry and then an unusual and ingenious description of waiting for inspiration.  

Oh, but this is Billy Collins at his best... who next tosses in a fragment of an elaboration on the arising desire (while waiting) to steal.  Now the door is open for 8 lines using a stolen image (which indeed, comes from The Oracle at Delphiby Lawrence Ferlinghetti) and a confession that now, the speaker is finally honest...  The final quatrain refers to Ferlinghetti's iconic poem, Coney Island of the Mind , and you would never guess that the student ever thought poetry could even be in the same room as trouble.  

 

I loved that several people shared memories of a favorite small volume of poetry.  Why "unmerry" to describe the thieving band?  Perhaps to mask insecurity? be different? critique those unlike the speaker who don't get the fun of poetry.

About plagiarism: 

 I forgot to include Neil's reference:  https://genius.com/Tom-lehrer-lobachevsky-lyrics

 

Spring: The poet although born in Lynn, MA and attended Mt. Holyoke, has quite a biography as 6th Poet Laureate of South Carolina. (click hyperlink). Her opening stanza is skillfully delightful.  The second stanza provides an unexpected associative turn comparing the birds to Chinese peasants released from "the quilted clothes they were sewn into for the long winter".

Judith was reminded of a passage from The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck.

Shifting to a different culture and time amplifies the surprise.  The idea of ducking and laughing while flicking picked fleas from the lining of those winter jackets, the communal equality of children being naked, the total cast off of winter as they plunge into icy water adds a surreal sense of joy.

 

The People of Tao-chu: Although the reference is from a pocket book published in 1919, it refers to a poet in the Tang dynasty (7-10th century) considered the golden age of cosmopolitan culture.  Translated by the brilliant translator, Arthur Waley, Judith who selected the poem, pointed out the ground-breaking of his translations, which reflect his poetic heart as well as his breadth and depth of knowledge of the culture.  What a wonderful moral lesson this tale reveals,

and quite timely for today.  We still have those in power who refuse to see others unlike themselves as human.  "One must offer what is there, and not what isn't there", goes beyond the question of slavery and anti-anything-ism regarding people outside of one's own tribe.  

 

Comments included how fortunate it was that the Emperor had a heart; the problem of capriciousness of rulers; the moral lesson is for both common people as well as administrators. 

 

Walking an Old Dog:  the first of three centos (Latin, for "patchwork") or patchwork poems quilted from other poets' lines.  (The thievery of it mentioned in Billy's poem!)  I do not know what poems, or lines Lisa Chavez was reading when she wrote this poem. It would seem she understands and loves an old dog.  Perhaps she is referring to her own older age, although, with a cento, it is easy to write in the persona of someone else.  We enjoyed the vocabulary... whiffles, the implications of letting go with the piñon cones/ opening like fists/ dropping their treasure the perspectives/comparisons caterpillar's//circuitous journeys the almost paradoxical ending of shadows, thinning to fade, //(double stanza break)// lengthening (as if strengthening)

The short lines unroll slowly.  The final three lines cannot be said quickly.  The end is not yet, but one feels a lump in the throat knowing it will come.  

lengthening

toward the end

of the day

 

A lovely adaptation of a human being to a dog.  There is not demand for pity for the dog or the master.  There is no mention of "love of our time together".  It shows the powerful yet  simple presence of shared, mindful moments. 

 

How my Father... There is a lot of ambiguity in this poem, perhaps because it is a cento.  The poet has a Hispanic name, the title speaks of his father learning English, and the poem is set in a hospital in Japan in 1952.  Is Manuel Spanish-American, or is it the father translating the English into Spanish.  We could feel the pain, as if the pain of a phantom limb, could feel the fear of a soldier wounded, wondering if his legs would walk again.  The line that struck my heart was the final one. He didn't have words in English yet.  Indeed, even if he had the English, how does one express the horror of war, the pain of being wounded, the difficulty of being in a foreign land, 

the fear in the dream of losing your native tongue as well as your legs?  The description of English stuck in his mouth, stumbling past his teeth is a poignant and powerful way of describing learning a language.

 

Rules for Flying:  There are some lines that relate to the title as in, flying on an airplane

For those from the South, Bless your Heart is a polite way to disdainfully brush someone off.

We thought the first mention of it to the flight attendant a northern version, meant in all sincerity. 

Then again, maybe not, if you only think what it really means when facing TSA and customs agents.   Quite a different poem addressing loss of control than the first one!

For sure, it invited quite a few stories about flying. 

 

 

 




Chavez has written a cento (from the Latin, "patchwork") provided as example by the review, Zingara for their prompt for writing a poem each day in the month of April. This collage poem poetic form composed entirely of lines from poems by other poets. The collage poem may use full or partial lines, but should include more than just a couple of words from each line.  It allows for look for unexpected connections, interesting contrasts, associative leaps, and surprising juxtapositions.

other example Zingara provided: https://zingarapoet.net/2018/01/24/the-mystery-house-by-jim-eilers/ 

another example of a Cento: https://zingarapoet.net/2011/04/13/lisas-poetry-picks-how-my-father-learned-english-by-juan-j-morales/  and the poem after: https://zingarapoet.net/2016/03/16/rules-for-flying-by-allyson-whipple/


Saturday, April 12, 2025

Poems for April 9-10

On the poster for Poetry Month 2025 is a quotation from Naomi Shihab Nye, from her poem Gate-4:   This is the world I want to live in.  The shared world.  This was a theme of last week's poems.  When we share, we feel interconnection. 

Poems April 9-10: We had a special guest of David Michael Nixon who  read his poem, "My Fears" aloud.  I included two poems that came up from last week: the Clifton  came up in the James Dickey poem, The Strength of Fields with the line about "The dead lie under/ the pastures."  which imparts a sense of ancestors... The two parts of a longer poem by Langston Hughes came up when discussing his early work curated by Danez Smith in Stereo in Blues  If there had been  more time, I' would have included this one: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43386/the-god-who-loves-you ;  

Line-up of Poems

The Landscape of My Fears by David Michael Nixon; Postscript by Anna N. Jennings; mulberry fields  by Lucille Clifton 1936 –2010; [poets in their bassinets] by Lucille Clifton; How Do I Know When a Poem Is Finished? by Naomi Shihab Nye;  A Seat at the Table  by James Mercer Langston Hughes (February 1, 1901– May 22, 1967) (just two sections); The Things I Love by Scottie McKenzie Frasier; More Music  by Carl Dennis; My Ordinary Love Paula Bonnell

I shared lines from poems in David Michael's book  Stephen Forgives the Stones.https://www.foothillspublishing.com/2019/nixon.htmlGretchen Schultz, another Just Poet member provided the cover in her shot of Pisgah National Forest in North Carolina in 2018 : The  poem" I thought I heard you callin' My name" gives us a hint of  biography:  "editors who did not choose the poems that chose me as their champion; captains who left me shooting set shots in my head, until I formed my own team... In the poem p. 35 Tomorrow Morning with Tennessee Williams, he notes: "will -- used to express simple futurity -- tomorrow morning I will wake up in this first-class hotel suite. -- It is the opening line and concludes-- only he and I...will wake up in this first-class hotel...  On p. 31 he mentions  where the future will be shining in his first class eyes for years to comep. 66+ 67 One of my favorites:  Friends meeting wherever we are - p. 71 Let the River rise p. 77; p. 83 "Despite the fear that everything is decaying; with no way out but death, there seem to be new poems, ghostly as the future,, calling to me from some clear day.

I read his poem from the 2024  Le Mot Juste, (anthology of members of Just Poets, a local poetry group in Rochester.)  Leaning Toward the Inner Life (p. 45)

Why open my eyes

when I can see white tigers

in rhapsodic dark?


Sunlight only shows me pain:

lovely women I can't touch. 


Nutshell:

Landscape of my Fears: David Michael read aloud his poem, Landscape of My Fears to our appreciative audience who saw a metaphorical parallel of imaginary/real with the above poem.  The "indoor woods" (perhaps an echo to Dante's dark woods?) are self created, as anxieties are not necessarily real. The regular rhythm gives a sense of classic iambic pentameter in a rhymed poem, yet there is no rhyme.  Looking for alliterations one can see  d's in indoor, dangers, and the double d in hidden-- indeed, the "inner d's" imitate the meaning of "indoor/hidden".  The group enjoyed the surprise of the last line where humble describes the path illuminated by implied inner light cast by a concrete lamp.   The second stanza seems to take emotional charge.  


Postscript:  This poem allows us to imagine all that went before in this poet's life, whether 16 years ago, or just the past 16 years of going it alone as a widow with two children.   The poem is set up with 3 lines offset between stanzas that could be read together as an offset inner dialogue:  They're doing all right. / But sometimes I do wonder./ They're doing all right. The second time "They doing all right" is said, it is after mentioning how the children laugh the deceased father's laugh.  This poignant poem imparts to the reader the weight of the poet's  grief.  The dialogue with the dead shows how alive the presence of the person who has passed. This is a perfect example of the truth in the saying that "a person who lives on in our hearts will never be dead". 

 

mulberry fields: Clifton uses no capital letters, no punctuation, only a few extra spaces and judicious use of line breaks, to set up the "they" of the privileged white, and the "i" spoken by the black poet.  Eddy commented it was a "star" poem, one to be given several stars, as it makes you think a lot.  One senses in the rocks, multiple stories, perhaps of Indians, as well as white settlers removing them to create fields for a plantation, and again using them to set up walls to keep out those they enslaved.  There are overtones of an ancient perhaps biblical curse.   Clifton gives crops and pillows the ability to act for themselves to drive home a metaphor for resistance: the one refusing to grow anything,  the other refusing any dream.  The same stones for the black slave  "marked an old tongue", a slant reference perhaps to markers for safe passage north; the slant rhyme echoed of mulberry in the title and moulders  makes a strong contrast of the resistant strength of the living (nature with the alliterative "berries" and "bloom" ) and the bones of the buried mistress whose great grandson [now old] refuses to speak of slavery.  The final "i say" underlines the power of the speaker to have the last word. 

We admired the plain speech and how powerfully Clifton worked it.

 

Poets in their bassinets:  delightful title, which in reminded Judith of Robert Graves. ( "The function of poetry is religious invocation of the muse.") The muse uses you...  Here, Clifton's  muse is more accessible, a "splendid woman" dreamed, a "globe shining with//possibility" (note the very effective break).   One person elaborated on the image of a baby in a bassinet, batting shiny objects strung up for instructive amusement.  We batted about meanings of terrifying one of those words with "God voltage" --  terrifying and wonderful all at once with the weight of unpredictability.  At Rundel, Bart felt compelled to read her poem Blessing of  Boats as echo.  Marna thought of Billy Collins, The Trouble with Poetry.   (We'll discuss these next week.) 


 How Do I know When a Poem is Finished:  Naomi Shihab Nye wears a Billy Collins hat with this poem. A stanza in Italian means a room, and takes on its own personality, at first light-heartedly described as happy to have some space from the poet.  What a character "this room" who rises from gathering dust balls unruffled and proud! The wry humor continues with a fabulous twist, which doesn't quite answer the title's question, but clearly insinuates that overworking revisions is not worth the effort.  That first draft was enough.  Paul provided more humor about "over and done with".  1) when you hear the snoring; 2) When the congregation says amen.  

A Seat at the Table:    This long poem written  by "The Bard of Harlem" reflects  a time when African Americans were struggling for civil rights, and the poem speaks to their plight. A Seat at the Table has come to be seen as a major milestone in the history of American literature, as it addresses African American identity and their unique experience. The poem is divided into seven sections – “The Question,” “The Table,” “The Chair,” “The Voice,” “The Proposal,” “The Decision,” and “The Seat.”  I could not find all 7 parts.  My guess is that there are different titles.  I offer two here. 

  Most know his poem I, Too. (echoes of Whitman, "I hear America Singing). Hughes wrote "I too" in 1924, trying to board ship in Italy to return home, only to have his place by-passed, replaced by white sailors. 
The metaphor of table, both as noun, implying one's shared place, and as verb, implying to be tabled, or set aside for a future date is quite poem.  One person brought up Poems of America where the Hughes and Whitman poems are set side by side... celebratory and challenging.    

The movie about a talented Black piano player and the necessity of protection from a white bouncer came up:  The Green Book.https://www.biography.com/musicians/don-shirley-tony-lip-friendship


The Things I love:  This kind of list poem could be dismissed as sentimental, and the few rhymes towards the end "tacky attempts"and yet, the clichés are touching in their sincerity and make the reader want to make up his/her/their own list.  If you are so lucky as to have a home "where love, kindness, peace, rest" abide, indeed, how could one not celebrate this as being "the best."  


More Music : We teased about Uncle Victor, as being symbolic of RCA, but for sure, everyone agrees, "Poetry is a first cousin to song.".  There was a stanza missing at the end which Eddy provided from the book The Poem is You by Stephen Burt.  (in our library system! I just reserved it and will be happy to pass on after I read it.)  Some figured out the the poem tells the whole story of Victor... the "one" in the first  stanza is Uncle Victor en route to a concert, perhaps "she" is the nephew's wife.  The missing part and last line I gave you, which on internet ends with "list..."


Should we try to deny it? Why make a list ...

Of all we think he's deserved and missed

As if we knew someone to present it to

Or what to say when told we're dreaming

Of an end unpromised and impossible,

Unmindful of the middle, where we live now?


Dennis emphasizes the ambiguities of life we tend to shirk by passing judgement about what is good, bad, lucky or not,  pronouncing who deserves what as if we have any control about it.  The middle is the now of our story,  wherever we are "now".   


Ordinary Love:  Everyone seemed to note the comment by the poet: “Poetry and I met when I was fifteen and Poetry a couple of thousand or so. We’ve had our ups and downs, but I still hanker for Poetry, and new poems arrive when they feel like it. I try to help them land where other people can hear them too.”

What is the "it", this simple thing, this grey, golden, solid, red, quiet, dense  thing?  The title tells us, but the poem elaborates the accidental possibilities of "ordinary": humdrum, gritty, numb, loud steady, ruddy

The 8th line a loud (as if trumpeting the news aloud), ordinary love is "a fabulous flower—

This simple poem delights by its refusal to "spell things out" and yet, breathes and weaves with adjectives what the poet "wants us to know" (said in the opening line,  and repeated in the  4th.


We discussed at length the adjective "ruddy", often used in British slang as substitute for "bloody" as in "bloody good".  The common association is with  red cheeks or a healthy complexion.  Oh yes, a great rudder of a word on which to end the poem followed by a period, but which doesn't feel it will ever end.


As Naomi Shihab Nye says, "you might as well/leave it that way"! 



[1] https://www.poetrypoets.com/a-seat-at-the-table-langston-hughes/This long poem was written during a time when African Americans were struggling for civil rights, and the poem speaks to their plight. A Seat at the Table has come to be seen as a major milestone in the history of American literature, as it addresses African American identity and their unique experience. The poem is divided into seven sections – “The Question,” “The Table,” “The Chair,” “The Voice,” “The Proposal,” “The Decision,” and “The Seat.”  I could not find all 7 parts.  My guess is that there are different titles.  I offer two here. 

 

Saturday, April 5, 2025

 First, some humor in my "prélude" sent early Friday 4/4, one person wrote me this: "You know how software applications sometimes truncate words when they're too long to fit in the computer-allowed space? Your attachment called "Prelude to Nutshell Discussion..." got cut off in my e-mail so it said "Prelude to Nuts." I had to laugh even before opening it.

Then, insight from Maya Angelou: There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside of you. -Maya Angelou  (1928-2014)

In a similar way, every poem I chose for April 2-3 seemed to have links within links of stories that cry out to be told!  How to summarize two discussion sessions on such rich material

 

The briefest summaryThis week's selection contained  another poem for an "inaugural occasion", another response to the photo of an abandoned library... for humor, a Billy Collins... a different take on cake, an invisible stenographer, and Langston Hughes' mockery of what the old privileged guard in the 19th century might call Poetry.  

 

NUTSHELL OF DISCUSSION 4/2-3

 

1. The Strength of Fields by James L. Dickey[1]

I was so pleased that everyone enjoyed the sounds, took time to reflect on the complexity of the intertwining in this poem. The link in the footnote connects this poem to the inauguration of Jimmy Carter in 1977 and  his choice of the Dickey, the 18th United States Poet Laureate (appointed in 1966) to pen a poem for the gala held the day before.  As a  "occasional poem" for this occasion,  it would be fitting to choose an exploration of the theme of interconnection. Van Gennep, mentioned in the epigraph further emphasizes the common human rites of passage.

 

 The poem itself unrolls slowly, replete with hyphenated nouns or noun-adjective combinations, and repetitions.

moth-force                              "the sun can be conquered by moths"

field-forms                  (strength /of fields; Lord of all the fields... tended strength

light-decisions

town-moths

train-sound      // freight-train

home-deep      -- (street-lights, blue-force and frail /as the homes of men; blue home-town air)

 

You could make a map of overlays of words such as moon, sea, light, (solar system, sun, stars) Lord, interconnecting along with the sound of a train asked to speak in the voice the sea/would have if it had not a better one. We brought up the idea of "Moth-Force" as both fragility but also persistence.  Moths are capable of navigating in the dark.  

Some felt a quality of a prayer.  The ambiguous nature of pronouns, when they can refer to several different things accentuates a sense of a misty, mysterious moment at night.   For example:  "They look on and help".  They could be the stars.  The dead buried in the pastures.  The pastures themselves.  The moths. 

If you look at the choices of spacing, James Dickey has made waves of indentations but also towards the end, a larger stanza breaks.  Hunger, time and the moon:

[space]

[space]

The moon lying on the brain

 

                                                            as on the excited sea        as on

The strength of fields.

Perhaps this is to give the reader time to think about hunger, time, the moon.  

Then he gives three separate examples, all combined, united by the light of the moon.  I shared with Rundel one of my favorite haikus:  moon in the water / broken and broken again / still it is there.

What is there is the tended strength, announced in the title, The strength of fields, and repeated again.  Everything is in that. The lines tighten, unified in space in a strong block.

 

Mid-poem, Dickey asks, You?    [space]                        I?   What difference is there?  We can all be saved. 

This single line hangs with double-space above and below it.

 

At the end,  he uses the space again filled with an emotional kindness.

More kindness (repeated for the 3rd time) will do nothing less

  Than save every sleeping one

   And night-walking one

 

Of us.  

Every one... meaning all creatures.

The final sentence is one to continue to repeat for us all.  My life belongs to the world.  I will do what I can.

**

Not Even by Michelle Visser

This title launches us into the poem.  How many ways could you continue ?

 

What an odd beginning to introduce Hildegard as if in passing, as if everyone knows there is only one Hildegard worth mentioning, to make the point that in the 12th century, the preparation of parchment was from sheep (white sheep provided the finest, but also calves provided yellow parchment and goats were used as well.)  Carolyn filled us in on the laborious process involved!  She was also generous in bringing in books about Hildegard von Bingen, German Benedictine Abbess and  brilliant polymath born 2 years before the start of the 12th century.  Apparently, she would write words in wax tablets, as only male Abbotts were entrusted with ink on parchment for Biblical exegesis.  She went along with belittling her ability, to give her own ideas more credence as visions coming directly from God. Her friend, the monk and scribe Volmar, would then translate her writings into proper Latin (and scribe them in calligraphy on parchment.)  Not only was her noteworthy writing prolific, but her compositions of music and beautiful illuminations testify to a beautiful and exceptional soul.

 

Back to the poem: We puzzled about the opening sentence.  Perhaps a tribute to her genius, or a way to underscore the countless skins involved to transcribe a Bible in the days before the printing press?  It is not a long poem, but as a response to a photo of an abandoned library, the metaphor of books wrapped in animal skins (the cerebral anchored by the physical) is given the setting of a cold monastery, the grueling work, the thin, gruel to feed the monks, clothed in thin robes, thin hope.  The conclusion is that our animal/human nature also covers us, perhaps more thinly for non-monks, but our faith in the divine can never fully overcome it.  Thin seems to merit attention and accentuates a sense of shivering misery.

 

We laughed heartily at the personification of the books, which writhed, forced themselves/apart or together depending on conditions.

**

Osprey by Billy Collins :  delightful capture with his wry tone of a "birder" and our human fallacies promising to do X as soon as Y, before we get around to Z.  One sentence in 4 quatrains,

opening with an address to an un-named large brown, thickly feathered creature (which the title says is an Osprey -- which detail only augments the irony!).  We have a complete sense of what the bird watcher carries, wears, his boat, the location, and even preference for a restorative tonic once he arrives home, to look up the name of the bird.  On a larger note, the poem perhaps is calling attention to the importance of calling people by their names, knowing more about them. 

It brought up the recommendation of this 8 episode series that looks as the bonding effect of love: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Resident_(TV_series)

 

Banana Bread  by Abby Murray: Anyone who has made banana bread will immediately relate to this masterful description of the bananas who take on quite the role as they freckle, bruise, wrinkle, shrink, are "ugly as salted slugs and sad as you'd expect the fruit of guilt to look."  One

feels a touch of compassion for them, but also for the poet who reflects on how easy it is to squander what lives to be savored.  Lovely moral twist of a lesson at the end -- far more satisfying than the cliché about life giving you lemons  and squeezing it into lemonade.   Wouldn't it be fabulous to be able to assemble our mistakes, "sort our shame and turn it into something as sweet, as useful as cake".

 

The Invisible Stenographer...  by Kathleen Wakefield

Her note about this "persona" clues us in about the power of choosing a persona who will take on the world to write about.  It reminded Marna about children who invent an invisible friend who shoulders difficulties and makes them bearable.  One person noted the crucial importance of "Invisible" in the title, and how important a translator is for instance in sessions of the UN.  Many remembered stenography as a course offered in high school, and most consider short hand an art akin to translation. What a great metaphor for noting a running inventory of all that goes through our head!  

The first stanza summons 4 voices in a cast of  characters, which leads to the question in the second stanza about the role we have in our lives, who's important, and again, this theme of interconnection, the idea that giving/receiving allows the best of us to flourish.  


 Kathleen's reponse to my email thank you note.

I can't tell you how much your words, the words of your readers, and the taking of your time to share them mean to me. Your kind and generous note arrived on a difficult morning and took me to a more level place. Thank you.

It's a crazy thing, we do, isn't Kitty, this obsession with words? And yet, at the heart of it is experience, and that is something we all have in our own way. I never thought this poem would see the light of day (it felt the light of you and your readers) again. Ultimately what is important is that our words - all of our words - speak to each other.

I am fascinated by the the connection one person made with a translator at the UN, and then I thought about it: the IS is always translating the world. No, poetry is always translating the world. I think every poem wants to make a new creation story. I tried to use that line in a poem recently and it didn't work!

Part of the inspiration for the poem did came from the fact that my mother worked as a stenographer! I was fascinated by her book of Gregg shorthand as a child and even tried to learn it. So she made her way into the poem.

I am deeply touched that you chose this poem to share. I am glad it spoke to them. Please share my thoughts with them. I would be happy to come to either group to read a poem sometime.

 

Formula by Langston Hughes.  

In the handout I had a long note about Stereo in Blues  early poems by Langston Hughes curated by Danez Smith. (posted on blog with "Prelude to a Nutshell").

I mentioned the book James by Everitt where in chapter 2, the older slave teaches the young slaves how to survive by disguising what they really think when they speak.  Hughes seems to do this here with irony.  "Formula" as title, the "proscribed" or "prescriptive" way to write poetry seems to mock 19th century privileged white male poets and their idea of "the muse".  Perhaps he is also mocking the  way they draw on the Western canon as well.  You can see he wants poetry to have that exclamation point!  His repeat of the same words in the first stanza has only that distinction and the removal of "should".  This shifts the meaning of "lofty things".

In consequence, soaring thoughts also goes beyond mere abstractions of beauty and truth, and those birds, those wings are free to express the inner truth and outer life of all people.  You can see how Hughes was a founder of a whole new poetics -- not just for black poets, but for us all.

 

I end this long blog filled with gratitude for the nourishment poems provide us all -- each one of us receiving just what we are ready and eager to receive.   

 

 



[1] Poem shared in the week-long ceremonies preparing President Carter's inauguration in  1977.  Article about it contains reference to Robert Hayden and many others: https://blogs.loc.gov/bookmarked/2025/01/02/jimmy-carters-lifelong-love-of-poetry/

additional poems related to those of April 2-3

When Carter returned home to Plains, Georgia, in 1981 after his term in the White House, Miller Williams and James Whitehead both wrote poems honoring Carter. Williams’s poem “Sir” (p. 470) and Whitehead’s poem “For President Jimmy Carter on His Homecoming” (p. 471) were later published in the Summer 1981 issue (v. 3, no. 4) of New England Review. You can listen to Whitehead read his poem, which champions Carter as “a steward for the earth” who “cared for human dignity,” starting at 17:02 of the aforementioned A Word on Words episode. I close this post with the last stanza of the poem, which seems an appropriate epitaph for a man whose life was so full of love for all of Earth’s inhabitants:

People and history
Begin to say it’s clear you love the earth,
Day in, day out, so much you catch your breath
To imagine how The Death
Might take the possibility of love away.
Thank you, sir, I’ve nothing more to say. 

FROM RICHARD BLANCO : We're the cure for hatred caused by despair. We're the good morning of a bus driver who remembers our name,

the tattooed man who gives up his seat on the subway. We're every door held open with a smile when we look into each other's eyes the way we behold the moon. We're the moon. We're the promise of one people, one breath

declaring to one another: I see you. I need you. I am you.

 

"Declaration of Inter-Dependence" HOW TO LOVE A COUNTRY, Beacon

 I am sensitive to the over-abundance of information available.  The first poem, by James Dickey, performed at the Gala before  Jimmy Carter's inauguration led me to explore how his love of poetry and belief in the power of words well used, would result in sharing with congress this poem by Dylan Thomas:"The Hand that Signed" by Dylan Thomas  https://poetryarchive.org/poem/the-hand-that-signed-the-paper/--

Dylan Thomas looks at what kings order w/ their signature... and yet a goose's quill can also put an end to murder... that put an end to talk... ) the finger joints cramped with chalk,  A Hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven... // hands have no tears to flow. 

Sunday, Rattle Magazine had a version of this signing, mocking the teetering tower of executive orders on the  president's  oak desk, called  Resolute made of timbers taken from the British ship that shares the desk’s name.  https://rattle.com/executive-orders-by-tonya-lailey/

Tonya LaileyExecutive Orders

Who, in a back room, prepares the folders? The ones
that look like menus from ’80s family restaurants.
In the office, there’s always a person, let’s be honest,
a woman, who procures the staff birthday cards 
then devises a way to circulate them—in a binder, a folder,
within a pad of paper—for discreet signing by fellow
workers. Does the executive-order-folder-preparing-
woman take care of the White House birthday cards
too? I wonder. May I take your order? Does she
say that before whisking the folders off 
to the Office of the Federal Register to be given 
a sequential number?
  
In today’s New York Times photo, just one folder lies
open on the high gloss of the Resolute Desk. Oak 
rests below the thick polish. Timbers taken from the British 
ship that shares the desk’s name. Earlier NYT photos 
showed folders in stacks, like at a hostess station
where families wait to be taken to a table. I remember 
those months too, when there were so many birthday
cards to sign at work that eventually I just signed
my name without much thought for whom it was for
or what anyone else wrote. I’d grab a juicy, inky
marker, like a Sharpie, and use my time to form every
letter in my name, as if that were the gesture, as if 
that were the work. I learned recently of an English 
ancestor on my dad’s side, who mastered his art of making 
wooden bowls. That’s what he learned to do in life, 
so that’s what he did. He turned wooden bowls 
with a pole lathe. Elm mostly. I read he didn’t concern 
himself much with what happened to them
after he’d made them. I once found a photo of him 
in his work shed in an archive online. He and his lathe
in a murky light. Behind him, tower after teetering tower 

            of empty wooden bowls. 


Tonya Lailey

“The photos of President Trump at the Resolute Desk signing executive orders are piling up. For whatever reason, the March 26th one hit me in a new way. Maybe it’s the Sharpie and seeing the name Donald being fully written out in big thick ink. I had been noticing how repetition renders ordinary the story of relentless executive orders. I wanted to explore the ordinary, the simplicity in the act of signing in an office, be it the oval one or otherwise, the familiarity in the office work involved, the movements of people and papers. It is curious to me how such reckless and deadly expressions of power nonetheless adhere to certain codes of conduct, certain rituals. My ancestor’s empty bowls flew in while I was writing. I feel they belong here.”