July 8 + 10

There Never Was Time, by Byron Herbert Reece; The force that through the green fuse drives the flower  by Dylan Thomas; The Question Ever  by Wndy Videlock; The Talker by Mona Van Duyn; Fidelity by William Ward Butler; Mutability by William Wordsworth; The Secret in the Mirror by Alberto Ríos

Nutshell

The first two by poets were born only 3 years apart (in 1914 and 1917) and both died before the age of 40. There never was time could be a philosophical thought about time as some resisting definition, and not to be confused with age.  To end the poem by repeating the title, adds heft to the thought that time refuses "completion", and that living in fact is an ever-unending and unfinished business.  We appreciated how a poet, only 35 years old when he wrote the poem, captured the tone of a wise old man.

The poem has some beautiful lines and sounds, for instance, the first two opening lines , and then the 13th line:  The roughs of knowledge that wanted scaling/Loomed — there was time to be a sage;  The three short parenthetical sentences sum up the problem:  1.  There was time for youth to pass; 2. Time enough for a man to age; 3) Never time for everything.

We discussed TB and the impact on a life knowing there is no cure for it.   

How different in tone the energy of Dylan Thomas: The force that through the green fuse that drives... first the flower, his green age; then the water, and his blood.  We discussed the repeated 4th line, And I am dumb ... which at each instance seemed to have a different connotation.  sorry, loathe, unable, ignorant, speechless, stymied...   The poem is haunting with its unusual syntax, with a wildness of images to paint contractions of the interconnections between life and death. We agreed, this is a poem to be voiced outloud where the  power of delivery is more important than trying to ascribe sense to the words. 

It came up how Thomas was quite the alcoholic, and how "drinking like a fish" applies to the fish in salt water, who actually gulp water as opposed to freshwater fish who absorb it through their gills, skin. The Handbook for lightning strike survivors. also came up.  The author Michele Young-Stone has written two other books available in the MCLS. (Monroe County Library System).  It's listed as 2010 in the audiobook version Bernie has which is available through Hoopla via the Brighton (or likely any other MCLS library), and also in Libby. He found it a good listen.

The question ever:  No matter the contradictions, human beings share common ground in trying to understand fear, especially if it doesn't seem "reasonable".  We enjoyed the poet's short note as much as her poem, if not more.

 

The Talker:  Coming from a book "If it be not I", the poet plays with a persona poem style, in this case, a  a portrait of a blustering borderline bloviator.  Her line breaks are delicious, particular with the long enumeration of subjects on which the person talks, comma, line and stanza break, as if renewing energy with a deep breath to emphasize the endlessness with "of everything".

Bullfrogs triggered many associations such as what Warty Biggins might have to say https://goldenstate.wordpress.com/2010/04/28/1719/.  Jim offered a story about the silent observation of bullfrogs watching him while camping.  We all know people who could profit from some restraint in being the loudest voice.

 

Fidelity:  Although the note doesn't say anything about LGBTQ, the reference to pronouns as a way to declare identity, or a "he" having a hysterectomy as reference to transgender, and the general difficulty of society to accept alternatives to socially acceptable classification points to it.  Starting with death, and pronouncing a cut carnation as dead, the poem proceeds to definitions and theories then pulls out Judith slaying Holofernes.  We felt the poet is angry about political tyranny.  Changing one's "pronouns" is a way to protest.   

 

Mutability:  a beautifully phrased  philosophical musing about the constancy of  the unpredictable shifts and changes of life.  How to recognize that even awful music is part of the sound of truth.  

Difficult to understand exactly what he might have meant by the unimaginable touch of Time.

 

The secret in the mirror:  delightful combination of sound and a humorous take on who and what it is we see in the mirror when we look.  

 

https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=10162845725930922&set=pcb.1509821157506415

more events at Rundel and Kate Gleason Auditorium at Central Library  regarding American History: 

 

July 1

 Because of the July 4 holiday, there was no session July 3 at Writers and Books.

The Human Constitution  by Jim Armstrong; Spell by Katherine Gale DaCosta; I, Too by Langston Hughes; Ghazal: The Dark Times by Marilyn Hacker; The Andalusian Dog Finds Answers Pablo Medina; Bells in the Rain by Elinor Wylie; Fire and Sleet and Candlelight by Elinor Wylie;

extra: Anaphora Using Wilfred Owen’s Line “If you could hear, at every jolt”  and A Bowl of Spaghetti by Kimiko Hahn

(click on hyperlinks for the poems) by Kimiko Hahn (click on this hyperlink to find out more about Kimiko, the current NY State Laureate and one of the readers at the Flower City Poetry Festival in June in Highland Park. 

NUTSHELL:  

A general comment that comes up with the weekly discussion of poems is that often, reading them by oneself, one's opinion of them might skirt a negative view with an urge for a rapid dismissal.  However, reliably, and perhaps equally rapidly, there is a redemptive quality about discussion in person with others, which often results in appreciation for having encountered them. 

Poetry has as many flavors and forms as languages in which it is written to respond to the circumstances of being human.   The first two poems, seem to address our "Human Condition" and desire for some magic "Spell" by their title alone.  Both are from the group Just Poets, founded in 2004 as an offshoot of Rochester Poets, where the word "just" means both "fair" but also, "without pretention" and the annual anthology is called "Le Mot Juste" the French for the "most accurate word".  

The Human Constitution:  We started out enjoying the alliterations (fettle of you fusing), free speech muscles wither to whispers, but soon felt the poet was administering an overdose of cleverness,  The anger provoked by abuse of  a Bill of Rights was clear as was the analogy of an amputated legal document to our human body, both of which are best served with humane treatment.

Spell:  In a similar fashion, the play on title as the act of creating letters and a sense of magic was also clever and original.  However, some felt it was too laborious, lacking in emotion and one called it an OTR (One Time Rave).  On the other hand, all of us agree, there is something akin to magic in the power of words.  Note, the poet was careful not to use that word, magic, but showed one way in which to craft it.

I, Too : from Weary Blues (1926) 

We have discussed this poem before, but it felt fitting to bring it to attention a few days before the 250th celebration of the this country on "Independence Day".  It is ironic that the founding fathers were not exempt from the mistakes of Old Europe, and poorly disguised a feudal slave state.  The eloquence of Langston Hughes expressed in simple terms, underlines an innocent, almost childlike insistence that "tomorrow" (a word isolated on one line) will be different from "then" (also isolated on one line, and can refer both to the past, but also what will happen next.  The tone is complex and strikes straight at the heart.  We spoke of the implications of "ashamed".   One person brought up Rita Bell's (b. 1925) Bell Ringer show, and her courage to set an example, advocating for women in broadcasting during a time when female on-air talent was rare.  Another brought up Don Shirley whose story is told  in the 2018 film Green Book,  the name of a travel guide for black motorists in the segregated United States.

In the Dark Times:  Hacker uses a line from Bertold Brecht in his poem "Motto" in her title and first couplete of this ghazal.  One person asked, what point out it is a ghazal in the title?  It's a good question, but could possibly be putting emphasis on a form adopted by Western culture.  She also uses Arabic ya akhy which means my brother in the 3rd couplet before the end. Likewise, some did not know the word menhirs, an ancient monumental stone in different parts of the world. Brecht's poem in German, is on 4 lines so that the repeat of  "In the dark times" stresses the change of the first word "About the dark times". Note that Hacker repeats this line as refrain.  

In the dark times, will there also be singing?

Yes, there will be singing.

About the dark times.

In den finsteren Zeiten,

Wird da auch gesungen werden?

Da wird auch gesungen werden.

Von den finsteren Zeiten.

 The poem was written in 2017, and with the second term of Trump, the final question is as pertinent as ever to address what each of us does, or fails to do.

You come home from your meeting, your clinic, make coffee and look in the mirror

And ask yourself once more what you did to bring about the dark times.

The Andalusian Dog Finds Answers Pablo Medina:  I hyperlinked the poet, so you could see his Cuban background.  I told the group that I did not chose the poem because of the 1929 Silent French movie Un Chien Andalou but because of the opening line: God likes to be played like a piano.  When dealing with surrealism, your guess is as good as anyone's to arrive at anything that ressembles "accurate" understanding.  How do you understand that opening line and how do you relate the poem to the title?

It would seem Medina has chosen images from the movie with its shocking, disjointed imagery and dream-logic narrative. As one person put it, reading the poem  is like going to a modern art museum specializing in surrealist works.

two poems by Elinor Wylie:  I was sad that Judith was not part of the discussion, as she had recommended them as examples of good anti-war poetry.  

We have discussed Wilfred Owens before and his powerful "Dulce et Decorum Est".

Wylie uses a different approach.  The Bells in the Rain indeed would seem to be the title of a lyrical poem that has nothing to do with war... even that first quatrain seems to entertain that "peace" is available and possible.  

Sleep falls, with limpid drops of rain,

Upon the steep cliffs of the town.

Sleep falls; men are at peace again                             

While the small drops fall softly down.

How beautifully she carries forth and repeats  Sleep... and it is the grass which is  peaceful and the rain falls so softly on stone. 

To snap you out of any reverie, the final stanza slaps you with a horrifying pivot .

The other poem, longer, ends with a cryptic note... again "sleep" as what one does buried (although many soldiers do not have a grave).

Straight as an arrow

    You fall to a sleep

Not too narrow

    And not too deep.

I brought up as an addition a poem by Kimiko Hahn Anaphora Using Wilfred Owen’s Line “If you could hear, at every jolt” . It comes from the final stanza of the Wilfred Owens poem.  I immediately thought of If by Rudyard Kipling -- such a small word... which such large sequels.

 

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

 

To end on a cheerier note, I read A Bowl of Spaghetti by Kimiko Hahn.  You might enjoy reading more of her work: more poems by Hahn:

 https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/161139/against-opulence

her poem side by side with Thomas Hardy's which inspired hers. 

June 24+ 26

 Happiness  by Raymond Carver Jr.;  Rock Paper Scissors by Arthur Sze;  Artemis II  by Nellen Dryden; 

Poems from Verse Virtual: https://www.verse-virtual.org/poems-and-articles.asp

 It Really Is Wonderful  by Shawn Aveningo-Sanders; Lunar Blues  by Michael Minassian;

Nutshell:

 

notes from the poems for June 24-6

Happiness:  Carver pins the ephemeral nature of happiness, but also creates the sense that "anything could happen".  One thought shared was that the happiness was in the poet, observing the two boys.  He says they are so happy, but there's no way of telling.

 

Rock Paper Scissors: We enjoyed the interconnections this game demonstrates, and how Sze moves on to the sense of competition in the loop of evoluation.  The rhyme smudging/trudging linking finger and foot prints, accentuates interweaving, and then the chrysoprase, known as the stone healer of the heart is the heart

to complete the sense of all woven together.

 

Artemis II:  this poem by singer/songwriter Nellen Dryden based in Nashville, was published in Rattle.  She is referring to the New Yorker interview  of astronaut Reid Wiseman and says her poem "reflects on the meaning of the mission."  The group was divided as to whether the length of the poem worked, or was overworked; if the thoughts flowed or felt composed of jarring parts.  The book Orbital by  Samantha Harvey came up.  An interesting observation: The mission is a non-verbal thing... but the poem starts w/ microphone.  coming back to communication and pull back to human.  I believe there was consensus that  however one arrived, the last line is a keeper.

Who doesn’t feel a weight lifted

at the prospect of a world?

 

It Really Is Wonderful: from Verse Virtual:  We enjoyed discussing pros and cons of vocabulary such as "jettisoned" in the first stanza and "fracture of his grief", "a tear floating up", where some felt it echoed the situation of a space capsule, while exposing the personal grief of the Commander of Artemis, which indeed, can  break us, "throw us violently" outside of ourselves.

Is the poet "trying too hard"?  We enjoyed comparing the angles of the space mission in these two poems, concluding (as Maya Angelou puts it) we may not remember the facts, but we remember how something made us feel. 

As ever, we appreciate that in poetry it is not about right or wrong interpretations.  

 

Lunar Blues  : from Verse Virtual   A reflective poem where we all liked best the second couplet, Moonlight covers us 

like a fleeting thought.

 

The accent isn't on a general feeling of regret, but how fleeting our thoughts and emotions are. 

June 17 (no meeting at Poetry Oasis)

 Before the Blight by Ruth Stone 1915—2011;  Alexa for Seniors in Easy Steps by Alexis N. Garcia; Happiness  by Carl Sandburg - 1878 -1967; On Distinction by A. F. Moritz 1947;  A LIST OF SHADOWS by Bruce McRae; CANTABILE by Emma Neale; An Illustration of Two Beauties by Hồ Xuân Hương

Additional comments from Poetry Oasis 6/26 on the above poems:

Additional comments about poems for June 17-19, 2026.

Because Poetry Oasis did not meet 6/19 due to Juneteenth, I add the discussion points brought up 6/26.

Before the Blight:  If you did not know about the blight of Dutch Elm Disease which started in 1928 in the US, and did not grow up with Elms, or seeing their demise, you might think this is a lovely poem about summer, replete with roses that pretzel up a trellis in Mrs. Mix's garden and are compared to pink Limoges cabbage blooms, further compared to Rubens' nudes.  This last detail accentuated for some the sensual/sexual nature underlying the poem.  The 11 lines of  the poem describe an idyllic summer world, rocked in maternal arms, but with a surprising twist at the 8th line of a bird, "telling me of the strangeness of myself".

The poem could have been a sonnet, perhaps, with another 3 lines -- and perhaps intentionally is shortened, like Adam and Eve cast out of the garden of Eden, suddenly aware of their nakedness,

their failure to resist the apple.  

 

Returning to the title, the poem serves as a reminder of how good things are before some catastrophe, like war, famine, plagues, floods.  Many felt the poem Cantabile (p. 3) created the same feeling of celebration of a beautiful world.   In this lyric poem filled with beautiful sounds and rhythms, I have hyperlinked visuals for the bird, shearwater and the cypress macrocarpas.

 

Alexa for Seniors: We discussed this as a persona poem told in the voice of Alexa.  This helped resolve the confusion in the third line (I don't want a smart home) and the reference to a t-gel coded augmented data body.  This also might explain the lack of punctuation, the misspelling of rlly and 2 take for to take.  Professor Xavier is a real reference.   This led to a further discussion of use of chatbots and consequences not just on the younger generation, but on us all and our way of communicating.

 

Happiness:  A good antidote poem to "Alexa" where happiness is not something to be "defined" but rather felt in the simplicity of a moment.  Adjectives to describe the tone:  peaceful, after the rather dismissive response to academics and "bosses" who most probably have never taken time to observe "happiness at work".  

 

On Distinction:  One person brought up the example of ossuaries in monasteries: no matter who is buried, all the skulls look the same.  We felt a distinct sarcasm, starting with the title and first stanza with the mention of cockroach, often mentioned as the sole survivor of an apocalypse. 

(Some recalled also Kafka and the metamorphosis of Gregor Samsa.)

 

List of Shadows:  We enjoyed this exploration by list, and picked up on the "but there is so much people don't know about me", not matter how long or elaborate a list of what we truly are, but either hide, or about which we do not know.  One possible understanding of the final not worth a mention, is to put humans in their place, rather like the poem above.  Regardless of our complexity, the difficulty of understanding the shadow, "nobody" provides an unwritten commentary about who any of us are at all.

 

An Illustration:  We discussed the parallel of Jane Austen's portrayal of British views of the role of marriage, such as in Sense and Sensibility written about 20 years after the birth of Hồ Xuân Hương, her Vietnamese counterpart.  Marriage as duty, as expedient solution, and the problem both for wives and concubines, or the pleasure of relationship came up with mention also of 

The Red Lantern.

Nutshell of discussion 6/17 

Before the Blight: The poem brought up many memories of dignified Elms.  Dave, who graduated from Trinity College shared that the school song was "'Neath the Elms".  Whether Elms on East Avenue or elsewhere, the opening line coupling "joy" with "indolent" sets a scene before Dutch Elm disease, .where for 8 lines, all seems wonderfully filled with beauty but also humor, with the roses "pretzeling" up a trellis; pink Limoges cabbage blooms like Rubens' nudes.

 

 Published in 2002, perhaps readers would appreciate the comparison... and perhaps it was second nature to know the names of all that grows in meadows, orchards, woods.  Is it possible for the generations growing up with i-phones, and with i-pads replacing books?  For me the poem makes me long for those days.  The turn of the poem doesn't lead to what happens after the blight, but rather captures the idea of how strange we humans are.  And yet, in spite of that, we CAN feel rocked in the "sinewy arms of summer".  We can make ourselves part of nature, not try to manage or destroy it.

 

The title is the only hint that there will be loss of something grand and beautiful.  That is enough for me, to think how much has changed since the turn of the millenium, where classic humanities are in competition with virtual reality and AI slop.   It was refreshing to read a well-crafted, uplifting poem to offset the disdainful lack of respect and dignity in the current leadership of Trump and his sycophants.  

 

Alexa: Tongue-in-cheek look at how easily one can go down the rabbit hole of technology. It is a mirror image of the first poem.  Vicki shared a fun story of her conversation with AI when she reported an error.  It was most polite and thanked her, explaining that mistakes in details can occur as it works with large patterns.  Neil brought up  Janelle Shane[1]

And yes, worms can have not only 5 hearts but more.

 

Happiness: One person remarked that this was an unusual poem for Carl Sandburg.  Everyone could relate to the sudden inexplicable sense of well-being that defies definition. 

One person labeled the feeling of this poem as "unbothered".  Whatever others think, let them, and whatever happiness is... see it swell into a moment of sharing food and fellowship.  

Kathleen shared her story of preparing a wonderful afternoon in the Saratoga Springs gardens -- and this poem would be a perfect thank you to all who participated in baking biscuits, preparing strawberries and cream to celebrate the gardens.

 

 

On Distinction:  Hungry has a lot of connotations... "Hungry i" or "Hungry Eyes" , the hungry for distinction indeed has a predatory feel of a "hungry eye" on those who seem to "make it". 

The line that stopped us was second stanza, second line:  a beer bottle, silicon fused by man,

almost indestructible, like a soul.  What?  Is that all that will last?  It reminds me of On the Beach  by Nevil Shute, where the signal picked up by survivors wasn't from a person at all; the wind was whipping a window shade, causing an entangled Coca-Cola bottle to tap repeatedly against a telegraph key.  

The associations the poem brought up ranged from responses to 9/11 in NYC, to obsessions we seem to have on how old someone is.  One criticism is that the poem seems to focus on extroverts.  There are other kinds of ways of being, of "distinguishing" oneself  than the contradictory last line.   It is a harsh judgement to call our life  "a paradise of demons casting each other out".  Whoever writes the history I hope will include those who are not demons!  

 

A List of Shadows.    Not really a list as much as a meditation on shadows, beginning with the epigram from Shakespeare.  The Jungian connection of the shadow of the self came up and how it is

important to know and recognize it in order to avoid the negative effect of it when repressed.

The story of Peter Pan and Wendy illustrates such importance.  The Woman with no Shadow by Strauss also came up. An interesting conclusion of the list: the shadow of the Self (with a capital S) as "life's ghost a shade rummaging in the roses."  Perhaps no one talks about it. The final "Not worth a mention" jars as if the poet is jaded and leaves the poem on a sarcastic note.

 

Cantabile:  Beautiful use of musical metaphor that sings and flows.  The opening stanza closing with "a passing sloop of rain" carries on to wheels, and soft "w" sounds, moving to the shearwater described as sooty, urged to the occlusives of   arc /from a kelp-black rock. The green choir of macrocarpas sight-reading is delightful, and the ending perfect with wide bars of silence and a soloist who breaks open the bread of song... 

 

An Illustration of Two Beauties:  We focussed more on the visual paintings than the poem.  Are the ladies both doing embroidery? Is the lady on the right admiring herself in the mirror instead of working?  What stories are unwritten?  What is the "willowy" fate?  And what pleasures are omitted by the illustrator?  Is it a moral lesson about hanging on to beauty?  

What if the lady on the right were gazing at a modern day i-phone? 

---

[1] She is not the founder of TED (technology, entertainment, design) but an artificial intelligence researcher, author, and humorist best known for her AI Weirdness blog, where she writes about the funny and often strange ways that AI algorithms behave.  While she didn't found the organization, she is a notable figure in the community. She was a featured speaker at the TED2019 conference, where she delivered a popular talk titled "The danger of AI is weirder than you think".

June 12

 Tyler Barton moderated poems on June 12 at Writers and Books in view of the Flower City Poetry Festival.

In his words: A small turn out of about 4 people, but we had rich conversations about the poems. A lot to chew on in Leonora's postcards poems. I referenced some of those conversations in my introductions at the poetry festival too. Thanks for letting me step in

Mimesis by Fady Joudah

 

My daughter

wouldn’t hurt a spider

That had nested

Between her bicycle handles

For two weeks

She waited

Until it left of its own accord

If you tear down the web I said

It will simply know

This isn’t a place to call home

And you’d get to go biking

She said that’s how others

Become refugees isn’t it?

 

from Alight. Copyright © 2013

 

Postcards from Everywhere and Nowhere

 

Dear Cousin,

I just landed.

At the airport, a picture

of a ship

crowning a wave.

A figure

on the prow waits,

like you on the tarmac

looking somewhere

ahead.

I waved and you did

not wave back.

Maybe you couldn't

see me.

 

**

Dear Cousin,

1 chant, I'm home,

every day.

How many times

will it take

to feel it?

The monarchs

are starting

to cocoon.

Do you know

if, when they

transform,

they forget their past?

 

**

Dear Cousin,

Papers are  important

in this land.

 

My neighbor told

me about Chinese

paper sons who invented

new identities

so they could stay.

 

I think of the paper

dolls we played with,

how we unfolded each tab of the wedding

dress and turned it into confetti.

 

**

Dear Cousin,

What happens when

your genetic

code is grafted

in two languages?

Does it mean

the patterns

never stop

shifting?

Yesterday we had

an earthquake

in San Diego

and I heard

the earth grinding

its teeth,

as if to speak.

 

**

Dear Cousin,

 

My son asked

if citizen is 

a foreign

word.

 

I was tempted to say yes.

 

I told him

there was once a city

whose people 

were not alien.

 

They belonged.

 

Oh, so where do we

belong?  He asked

 

Reckless Sonnet No. 8 by Kimiko Hahn

My father, as a boy in Milwaukee, thought

the cicada's cry was the whir from a live wire--

not from muscles on the sides of an insect

vibrating against an outer membrane. Strange though

that, because they have no ears, no one knows why

the males cry so doggedly into the gray air.

Not strange that the young live underground sucking sap from tree roots

for seventeen years. A long, charmed childhood

not unlike one in a Great Lake town where at dusk

you'd pack up swimsuit, shake sand off your towel

and head back to the lights in the two-family houses

lining the streets. Where the family sat around the radio.

And the parents argued over their son and daughter

until each left for good. To cry in the air.

 

-- from The Artist’s Daughter, (W.W Norton & Company, 2002

 

Proof ~ Cornelius Eady  Listen to Cornelius recite it: at minute 3:00 on the this hyperlink Poem

 

Zohran Mamdani Inaugural Poem, New York, January 1, 2026

 

You have to imagine it.

Who said you were too dark,

too large, too queer, too loud.

Who said you were too poor,

Too strange, too fat.

You have to imagine it.

Who said you must keep quiet.

Who heard your story,

then rolled their eyes.

Who tried to change your name to invisible.

You’ve got to imagine.

Who heard your name and refused to pronounce it.

Who checked their watch and said not now.

James Baldwin wrote, “The place in which I’ll fit

will not exist until I make it.”

New York, city of invention,

roiling town,

refresher and renewer.

New York, city of the real,

will the canyons whisper in a hundred tongues.

New York, where your lucky self

waits for your arrival,

where there is always soil for your root.

This is our time,

the taste of us, the spice of us,

the hollers and the rhythms

and the beats of us.

In the echo of our ancestors

who made certain we know who we are.

 

City of insistence,

city of resistance.

You have to imagine

an army that wins without firing a bullet,

a joy that wears down the rock of no.

Up from insults,

up from blocked doors,

up from trick bags,

up from fear,

up from shame,

up from the way it was done before.

You have to imagine

that space they said wasn’t yours,

that time they said you’d never own,

the invisible city lit,

on its way.

This moment is our proof.

 

Nutshell of discussion of this poem at O Pen, Pittsford Library, Jan. 14, 2026 -- Kitty Jospé

Proof:  Curiously, I had heard at first, the title as Truth, knowing the context of this poem delivered by Rochester native, Cornelius Eady on the occasion of Zohran Mamdani's Inauguration as mayor of NYC.

note: third stanza, 10th line: the first word is not will but where. 

One person felt it was a beautiful love poem to this city, the starting point of so many who have immigrated to this country.  The lines are humble, yet powerful, with the repeated "you have to imagine"

shifting to an almost imperative "you've got to imagine".  What reassurance wrapped in the repeated "who said" as he rolls out dismissive talk that tries to invisibilize  those who are not part of the powerful and privileged.  The inclusion of the James Baldwin quote, with visceral touches of details describing those who have risen up from slavery, "the taste of us, the spice of us, the hollers and rhythms of us" lead to the repeated "up from" -- to a new hope infused with joy "that wears down the rock of no."  

There is a sense of the city lit by itself, an insistence hammering out the celebration many felt with the election of Obama, that yes, the election of a Black Man to an important public office is absolute proof that all "can make it". 

 It's inspiring for all of us to imagine all the "lucky selves waiting for our arrival, with soil for our roots".

  

O Pen, June 10

 

A thank you to Barb for moderating these on June 10  (see June 10) 

JUNE LIGHT by Richard Wilbur,  JUNE SUNSET by Sarojini Naidu, 1917,  Casey at the Bat by Ernest Lawrence Thayer, 1888, FLAGS by Elana Bell; A Child is Something Else Again by Yehuda Amichai translated by Chana Bloch; 

Judith was reminded of this poem reading the Richard Wilbur. 

 

From One Person, Sonnet sequence by Elinor Wylie

 

Now shall the long homesickness have an end

Upon your heart, which is a part of all

The past no human creature may recall

Save you, who are persuasive to unbend

The brows of death, and name him for a friend:

This ecstasy is supernatural;

I have survived to see the heavens fall

Into my hands, which on your hands depend.

 

Time has prepared us an enduring bed

Within the earth of this beloved land; 

And, lying side by side and hand in hand,

We shall lie coeval with the happy dead

Who are ourselves, a little earlier bound

To one another’s bosom in the ground.

JUNE LIGHT by Richard Wilbur, 

Your voice, with clear location of June days,

Called me outside the window.  You were there,

Light yet composed, as in the just soft stare

Of uncontested summer all things raise

Plainly their seeming into seamless air.

 

Then your love looked as simple and entire

As that picked pear you tossed me, and your face

As legible as pearskin’s fleck and trace,

Which promise always wine, by mottled fire

More fatal fleshed than ever human grace.

 

And your gay gift—Oh when I saw it fall

Into my hands, through all that naïve light,

It seemed as blessed with truth and new delight

As must have been the first great gift of all.

 

June 3 + 5

“Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.-- Carl Sandburg

Revolt or Rot, Lover! by Brian Potts; A Witnessing by Ted Kooser; Migration by Jenny George; For/Against Summer, A Spell by Valzhyna Mort; On Growing Old  by John Masefield; An Emeritus Addresses the School by John Ciardi ;  Some Rules by Wendy Cope 

      

Revolt or Rot, Lover! -- To read or not to read an author's bio, is perhaps an optional question,

but brings up the debate about whether a "work of art should speak for itself". (see Death of the

Artist) We have seen in our discussions so many times that knowing more about the poet or the

circumstances of the poem helps round out the understanding of what is on the page. The poet

who penned this writes a mockery of a bio, in the spirit of revolt. Using abab rhyme in sonnet

form, the poet cleverly turns the tables in the last couplet to have the last laugh and confirm a

subtle chuckle in the exclamation point after the palindromic title. We enjoyed imagining the

scene of a demonstration, the placard, the quick sketch of the girl holding it, with the outward

signs of sympathetic rebellion (Che Guevara t-shirt) and perhaps implied elite standing ruffled

with righteousness. The third quatrain is less clear. The 3 lines after the question, "What's

wrong now" could be part of the question or her answer. Death of legalese, unmasked love,

endless global peace are all good. What exactly has gone backward? The poet opens up a bigger

question about protest, rebellion, as fixing the palindrome by reversing will not change a thing.

A Witnessing: The first and last word of this six couplet poem is alone. Interesting that for some

readers, the ending couplet has a positive spin, a mindful moment with no distractions, which

brings us closer to nature. The enjoyment of the personification and images of the 4 + couplets

describing the tussling of trees, for some outweighs the effect of the reader feeling as exhausted

as the trees. For others, the poem feels overwritten, and as the Arab poet last week suggests,

goes beyond the blanket. If the poem had ended with the blustery wind stumbling away/and it

was all over, one wouldn't connect to the title. Is there a religious connotation intended? or a

counter-meaning ? Witnessing is often associated with Christian religion, as proof and testimony

of God's work in the world. If the poem started without "Alone at my window" would the final

alone change?

I think of Carl Sandburg saying: “Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting

to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the

unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.--

How might you apply this to Kooser's snapshot of a moment witnessed?

Migration. I do recommend listening to Jenny George reading the poem. She stresses 3rd line

the "in" on back IN life. This emphasizes the repeated, italized back in, back in -- the return of

the crows and spring, alive again after a long winter. Crows carry diverse implications across

cultures and contexts, serving as symbols of wisdom, transformation, spiritual messages, and

death, however only some actually migrate and not as far as songbirds.

The indented words are examples of parts of aliveness with mention of water, and a jarring

juxtaposition of blood on snow as an example of beauty. The wooden rattles we thought of being

the bare branches.

"Crows like restless souls wanting back in life" is a provocative image, but

puzzling like the juxtaposition of beauty with drops of bright/blood. It might be helpful to

examine the two sets of lines, the left-justified broken into groups of 3 and 5 . The indented 8

lines, are broken into a 5 line question and 3 fragments on 3 lines starting with an em-dash as if

taking a large gulp of air. The second em-dash interrupts "to be startled by beauty" interrupted in

turn with a seeming contradiction and a period. A small 3-word fragment of an afterthought

elaborates perhaps what we want in life: to be radiant.Although I didn't bring it up, I am reminded 

of the story of Snow White and the opening the lines, "three drops of blood fell on the snow-white linen"... 

and Snow White's mother imagines her daughter's beauty would be "lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow". 

She escapes her evil step-mother, temporarily, living with those 7 dwarves, but put into a sleep by a poisoned

apple broken only by the kiss of a prince and returns to life.

For/Against Summer, A Spell: Do listen audio and read about the poet Valzhyna Mort .

As a bilingual poet, writing first in her native Belarus, she picks up the theme of death, whether

it be a plague or war. The anaphor and accumulating repeat of the word despite relentlessly

hammers. We noted her subtle change of voice repeated in the line despite the planted crosses

and flowers cut. She creates a steady rhythm, original compounds such as sorrowship dues,

speech-made wind; sore-throat roosters and swallows infuses the 14 lines with alliterations,

rhyming. We noted the bite into paradox: bile in the buttercup; the repeat of chill, chill extended

to children; the repeat of winter first of hearts, then winter of children.

In the title, For/against Summer interlaces both what should make you be in favor, or opposed.

Summer should be indifferently independent to a war, to sorrow. Indeed, despite the continual

back and forth of seasons, life/death in a spell of time, there is a mournful stress on the losses as

summer returns. Summer, season that normally casts a spell of growth of what will be a good

harvest, and yet, nothing can break the destructive spell.

We agreed that this sonnet was incredibly moving and a powerful example of a form beautifully

crafted.

On Growing Old: Masefield( 1878-1967) wrote this when he was 41 years old, in 1919. He did

live another 48 years, but one senses in this poem, the measured wisdom of an older man who

has made peace with the inevitable. Perhaps the poignant sadness is memory of all those taken

down in World War I. It would seem that the 28 lines are a double sonnet. It opens and closes

addressing Beauty (both capitalized). If broken into 2 parts, the first seems an autumnal

reflection on Beauty, memory of "the fire of it before the embers". The second part implores

Beauty not to forsake us, recognizing that it be the source of wisdom and passion that allow us to

make peace with all else.

An Emeritus Addresses the School: John Ciardi (1916-1986) is well known for his book

published in 1957, How Does a Poem Mean. Notice, if asking "What does a poem mean?", there

is a danger of summarizing with the aim of arriving at an answer. Instead, Ciardi explores the

mechanics and effects such as emotional resonance which encourages greater participation of the

reader.

In this poem, the irony of an Emeritus giving a speech, not intended for delivery to a graduating

class, pokes fun at the times and role of school. Written in 1974, the mockery of the "altitude of

Intro Psych" or indulgence in Indian mysticism (perhaps implying the use psychedelics) where

nouveau-glib means outdated avant-garde ends with a cryptic description of what happens to

"elite" graduates decades latter. The poem ends by returning to the death-wish-- and what it is

we really are wishing whether a sophomore or facing a terminal illness or old age on the brink of

death or simply caught up in wishing for something different. It is quite a contrast to themessage 

and delivery of the Masefield advice on how to face aging. The mindfulness

mentioned at the end corresponds to the title of the collection from which this poem comes. The

Little That Is All.

Some Rules: A villanelle is a highly structured form with specific rules. The form allows the

"two rules", stated in the first stanza on lines 1 and 3, to end the poem side by side. There is also

the advice first line of the 4th and 5th tercets. As one person commented, the poem is more than

"gimmicky" and is creative with the "unk" sounds, which are far from the flowery latinate

vocabulary in English! One person was reminded of Polonius and his advice in Hamlet. The

advantage here, is that it's far less long-winded, with a bit of tongue-in-cheek.