poems discussed June 17/24

"The world is full of magic things patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper" -- Yeats


Poems for June 17 Poems for June 24

For Once, Then, Something by Robert Frost Love – Dorianne Laux
A Green Crab's Shell by Mark Doty The Witch of Coos -- by Robert Frost
SUNFLOWER NUMERO DOS – by Joseph Millar Indian Stream Republic by Stephen Burt
Sunflower William Blake Room in Antwerp by Laure-Anne Bosselaar
Sunflower Sutra – by Allen Ginsberg


Although I wasn't here to moderate June 17, a dose of different sunflowers reminds me of how "different" is only an excuse to pay attention to a unique quality in something. We say one thing, mean another, by the nature of language. "Truth?"
"Not exactly green" scuttles into looking into a small part of ourselves and what might lie underneath...

In the same way, Dorianne's poem from "The Book of Men", Love, takes one sentence, wound into 13 carefully crafted lines.
Dead center, is the root... the closed heart, where the ones you love, (magma core of regret) lead you. The title, love, repeated in the first two lines, returns with multiple mmmmmm's,as a muddy, misshapen country-- the phone ringing, ringing, interrupted by "for your mother's dead and buried sake". The clipped diction "pick up" is a perfect confirmation of the opening "The ones you love make you/remember why you love them/when all you want to do is forget.

We read the Witch of Coos with a narrator, the men alternating the lines for the son, the women alternating the lines for the mother. Kathy receives kudos for her excellent reading! A great halloween tale, so much fun to read aloud in a group!
David corrected the mis-print of "staid" which should be stayed and the last name: Lajoie not Barre. So, Toffile (Love of God) Joy. A great study of mistaking metaphor for reality, and how easily we can spin different versions of a tale.
"But tonight I don’t care enough to lie—"
and the suprising reflection:
"I don’t remember why I ever cared. What has happened...
"Toffile, if he were here, I don’t believe
"Could tell you why he ever cared himself…."


Truth and history in the Stephen Burt poem brought up Coos as a real place, and brought to life a political incident
far removed from the initial stanzas.

The Laure-Anne Bosselaar poem has all the marks of her usual musical mastery, deft use of imagery of dust lit by the light, rags of noise, building a believable nostalgia that could apply not just to a specific room, but how we remember details.

As ever, what the multiple viewpoints, thoughtful sharing make each poem come alive. The poets have sung of glimpses of magic their senses have captured.