The Second Going by Philip Levine
Even-Keeled and At-Eased by Alberto Ríos
What We Need by David Budbill
Trying to Name What Doesn’t Change by Naomi Shihab Nye
I look at the world by Langston Hughes
Making Peace by Denise Levertov
Short Speech to My Friends – Amiri Baraka
The first two came from the February issue of "Poetry". The titles are intriguing--
Why "the second going" -- what was the first? What relationship to the second coming?
The staggered lines feel like an unfolding staircase... There's a sense of nordic darkness,
where the sun will not appear for months,and conversely, the absence of dark in summer.
Light as the oxymoron of blinding clarity. The unspoken conceit -- "why are we here";
the consolation of small -- a pinch (of salt), a drop (of schnapps, short (life of long nights/absent dawns) little... salt, which removes bitterness... the strong alcohol for the tears...
the enigmatic ticket to the life to come does not have an adjective...
I love how A sticks out on the fifth line. How the poem starts in media res... Again...
without knowing what happened before.
People shared a bit about Alberto Rios, poet laureate of Arizona, a Mexican-American who probably learned to wear a mask of "even-keeled". The title sounds almost like made-up words --
I'm "at-eased" -- someone has given you a command to relax... which in my mind does not seem a situation to be genuinely relaxed. I love the pattern of end lines:
I / I have / I have contracted
I / I have
but no repeat of "contracted.
The sense of humor is delightful. Both groups commented how the poem sounds as if it was written backwards. On Monday, to you... But the truth is... I am Thursday.
The Budbill poem has a pleasing architecture. The first 5 lines look like a billboard or poster -- with a tyrannical tone.
heavy, threatening. The clatter of couplets is broken by the one solo line "we need" which responds to the title: 3 things:
a little (poem), small (song) brief (moment)
kindness, peace, joy. Paul called it DBT model.
Trying to Name What Doesn't Change-- another terrific title!
What doesn't change? The only thing that doesn't change, is change is the old saw --But this poem is not about change, but how we hang on or not to train tracks, soup, the way things die. The last stanza is haunting
What train whistle "still wails" ... and why "ancient" sound as the simple things... how the coming and going
are more than delivering and picking up... what is it that "it takes something different with it every time."
Comments included: now that there are fewer trains... perhaps one day the sound will disappear... how will we understand trains then...
how many ways to feel close to the world... rails have become trails – so that is good...
Luis Alberto Reyes... clickity clack stitching America together...
Jackson Brown: Roads that are leaving, roads that are gone...
cling to our memories... Don’t count on the things you are counting on.
The Langston Hughes was one of the "lost" poems written in 1930. It has a tight rhyme scheme, a sense of hopefulness.. Yes, about being Black, but also about comrades in arms to fight oppression whether it be
capitalism, favoritism of democracies, oligarchies... How do you look at the world? Whose eyes do you use?
What would you see if you were not you...
Making Peace looks at a variety of ways of understanding peace, but also poetic process.
Comments : everything from crystals and the water composition in humans, e.g. fetus is 90%; newborn 70%...
Levertov would agree with Frost: if the idea comes first a poem, it will rely on success as a trick poem...
but not be successful. It is image that dictates mood...
Looking at the indentations... a drop down of a line, space... but it is the 4th time where words, feeling, lines
become "cadence" with the possibility of balance, pulse,
inner peace... outer disaster...
I'm not sure if she is addressing inner peace vs. outer disaster, but certainly, her poem is intriguingly complex.
The Baraka seems disjointed, jumping around too fast. One has to remember Leroi Jones, is the author
layering the voices, clashing emotions... Back to the Newark riots in 1967... We discussed at length the last sentence of the first part.
"Let the combination of morality /and inhumanity // begin.
In part 2, is our daily lie, also our daily "life".
Pittsford O Pen discussion: David mentioned his advice to students reading TS Eliot: "Find the islands" --
the places where you can anchor some sense...
for the Baraka poem, we have to imagine the time period, the voice... which is not 2017 and far from the 1967 Newark riots, experienced in a black person's skin. John brought up a remark made by Camus who as a boy thought that anyone not speaking French, was not speaking a language. The same with jazz... this is not the language of classical music... but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its own logic...
Monday, February 27, 2017
Tuesday, February 21, 2017
Poems for Feb. 15-16
Resignation by Nikki Giovanni (read with everyone saying "I love you" as chorus -- there are 12 such
This Morning I Pray for My Enemies by Joy Harjo (read line by line. no enjambments.)
Red Brocade by Naomi Shihab Nye (read sentence by sentence.
Bugs in a Bowl by David Budbill(stanzas. I love how "Or." is one stanza!)
DetoNation by Ocean Vuong (played the poet reading his own work.)
It often comes up that those who like to know something about the author, feel background knowledge enhances the pleasure of reading the poem. It does make a difference for instance to know that Nikki Giovanni is a fab Black poet born in 1943, that Joy Harjo is American Indian, that Naomi is part Palestinian, the David Budbill is Buddhist and Ocean Vuong's real name was not Ocean, but one his mother gave him as they left the Philippines.
I feel really blessed that in our weekly group, we can share so many different points of view, some based on research, previous knowledge, some conjecture based on experience. It makes such a human tapestry — and I love how one poem can trigger such an outpouring of humanity!
Rae Armantrout has this to say about poetry:
“clarity need not be equivalent to readability. How readable is the world? There is another kind of clarity that doesn’t have to do with control but with attention, one in which the sensorium of the world can enter as it presents itself.”
In the first poem, "Resignation" the anaphor "I love you" pins down "because", compares itself,
considers alternatives, forays into a song by the Dells (Love is so simple) only to end up
with the indubitable power of love, the draws you to another and demands that you "should"
and "would" and how one person changes a whole life to love that other person... and just in case you don't get it... "and decided that I would,
love you
I love you I love you I love you."
She starts big... I love you because the Earth turns round the sun...
and we remarked the capital letters, "North wind" Pope is Catholic, most Rabbis Jewish.
Black (but after coffee, so expanded meaning) and that one Friday.
**
When is the last time you prayed for your enemies? I love that the first question is:
and whom do I call my enemy? Harjo addresses the question of "enemy", or heart/mind, the problem of indifference... of knowing. And that delightful twist -- an enemy who RISKS the danger of becoming a friend!
It goes back to the wisdom of holding what looks to be opposites together. (The heart... hears the gnashing even as it hears the blessing.) The mind has a hard time doing this but the heart is able to open the door in ways the mind cannot.
Stories shared about the KKK white supremacist who left the clan and befriended Blacks. Questions:Who do you want to call a respectful enemy? Comments: It’s a love poem...
enmity/hatred *consumes... vs. forgiveness..
to read: Notes of a native son – James Baldwin... Civil Conversation Project: Krista Tippett
The people who are the troublemakers – what they bring for us...
sand in the oyster that makes the pearl.
We had discussed Red Brocade I am sure, but it is a wonderful poem to read again and again.
Middle Eastern culture is different than ours. Imagine if we said, and truly meant it,
"No, I was not busy when you came!"... Imagine if we did not need the armor of business!
Ah... I feel with this poem a powerful sermon reminding me of my preoccupation with business.
How in High School, I would say how I had to practice piano, had to... had to... but the fact was,
that busy compulsion was just to pretend I had reason to live, unable as I was to help the mother
I loved unable to offer me a simple pleasure of snipping fresh mint into tea to share together.
Did I give my children that message too?
For the form: It is interesting to note the blend of end-stopped, comma-stopped sentences and
general flow -- as if the words stitch a comfortable pillow on which to rest.
3 sentences in first stanza of 11 lines;
5 sentences, two of which are fragments of questions in 5 lines;
3 sentences in stanza three, of 5 lines with a preponderance of initial "p;s" First sentence/line ends with an exclamation! Second sentence/line a period.
Final stanza: 3 sentences. 2 end-stopped. I love how p is repeated in "plate" and "snip".
Bugs in a Bowl gives a gentle poke at our human nature with humor. We do have choices...
Ask yourself every once in a while. Or.
Be the change... You don't like Sisyphus... be a bug in a bowl, look around. Hey, nice rock.
How's the push going?
Some were reminded of H. M. Woggle-Bug, T.E. (Highly Magnified and Thoroughly Educated)!
The final poem was quite enigmatic... the title combining the sense of detonation of a Nation.
How both father and bomb are repeated. Play of dark and light...
How does a bomb tell you: "here is your father" -- one imagines a dead man in pieces.
one's father in the very air you breath... and to write father has the effect of "carving a portion of the day our of a bomb-bright page." The father returns as italics, perhaps a ghost... don't cry
// anymore. The haunting image of a boy, his shadow growing toward his father...
One needs light to cast a shadow...
Apparently in an interview, Ocean said that it is a mistake to think that the poem is about
the poet's father. However, one does learn that the father left... and the war metaphor is apt
to capture loss.
As ever, the discussion allowed multiple angles and discoveries.
Thank you one and all.
This Morning I Pray for My Enemies by Joy Harjo (read line by line. no enjambments.)
Red Brocade by Naomi Shihab Nye (read sentence by sentence.
Bugs in a Bowl by David Budbill(stanzas. I love how "Or." is one stanza!)
DetoNation by Ocean Vuong (played the poet reading his own work.)
It often comes up that those who like to know something about the author, feel background knowledge enhances the pleasure of reading the poem. It does make a difference for instance to know that Nikki Giovanni is a fab Black poet born in 1943, that Joy Harjo is American Indian, that Naomi is part Palestinian, the David Budbill is Buddhist and Ocean Vuong's real name was not Ocean, but one his mother gave him as they left the Philippines.
I feel really blessed that in our weekly group, we can share so many different points of view, some based on research, previous knowledge, some conjecture based on experience. It makes such a human tapestry — and I love how one poem can trigger such an outpouring of humanity!
Rae Armantrout has this to say about poetry:
“clarity need not be equivalent to readability. How readable is the world? There is another kind of clarity that doesn’t have to do with control but with attention, one in which the sensorium of the world can enter as it presents itself.”
In the first poem, "Resignation" the anaphor "I love you" pins down "because", compares itself,
considers alternatives, forays into a song by the Dells (Love is so simple) only to end up
with the indubitable power of love, the draws you to another and demands that you "should"
and "would" and how one person changes a whole life to love that other person... and just in case you don't get it... "and decided that I would,
love you
I love you I love you I love you."
She starts big... I love you because the Earth turns round the sun...
and we remarked the capital letters, "North wind" Pope is Catholic, most Rabbis Jewish.
Black (but after coffee, so expanded meaning) and that one Friday.
**
When is the last time you prayed for your enemies? I love that the first question is:
and whom do I call my enemy? Harjo addresses the question of "enemy", or heart/mind, the problem of indifference... of knowing. And that delightful twist -- an enemy who RISKS the danger of becoming a friend!
It goes back to the wisdom of holding what looks to be opposites together. (The heart... hears the gnashing even as it hears the blessing.) The mind has a hard time doing this but the heart is able to open the door in ways the mind cannot.
Stories shared about the KKK white supremacist who left the clan and befriended Blacks. Questions:Who do you want to call a respectful enemy? Comments: It’s a love poem...
enmity/hatred *consumes... vs. forgiveness..
to read: Notes of a native son – James Baldwin... Civil Conversation Project: Krista Tippett
The people who are the troublemakers – what they bring for us...
sand in the oyster that makes the pearl.
We had discussed Red Brocade I am sure, but it is a wonderful poem to read again and again.
Middle Eastern culture is different than ours. Imagine if we said, and truly meant it,
"No, I was not busy when you came!"... Imagine if we did not need the armor of business!
Ah... I feel with this poem a powerful sermon reminding me of my preoccupation with business.
How in High School, I would say how I had to practice piano, had to... had to... but the fact was,
that busy compulsion was just to pretend I had reason to live, unable as I was to help the mother
I loved unable to offer me a simple pleasure of snipping fresh mint into tea to share together.
Did I give my children that message too?
For the form: It is interesting to note the blend of end-stopped, comma-stopped sentences and
general flow -- as if the words stitch a comfortable pillow on which to rest.
3 sentences in first stanza of 11 lines;
5 sentences, two of which are fragments of questions in 5 lines;
3 sentences in stanza three, of 5 lines with a preponderance of initial "p;s" First sentence/line ends with an exclamation! Second sentence/line a period.
Final stanza: 3 sentences. 2 end-stopped. I love how p is repeated in "plate" and "snip".
Bugs in a Bowl gives a gentle poke at our human nature with humor. We do have choices...
Ask yourself every once in a while. Or.
Be the change... You don't like Sisyphus... be a bug in a bowl, look around. Hey, nice rock.
How's the push going?
Some were reminded of H. M. Woggle-Bug, T.E. (Highly Magnified and Thoroughly Educated)!
The final poem was quite enigmatic... the title combining the sense of detonation of a Nation.
How both father and bomb are repeated. Play of dark and light...
How does a bomb tell you: "here is your father" -- one imagines a dead man in pieces.
one's father in the very air you breath... and to write father has the effect of "carving a portion of the day our of a bomb-bright page." The father returns as italics, perhaps a ghost... don't cry
// anymore. The haunting image of a boy, his shadow growing toward his father...
One needs light to cast a shadow...
Apparently in an interview, Ocean said that it is a mistake to think that the poem is about
the poet's father. However, one does learn that the father left... and the war metaphor is apt
to capture loss.
As ever, the discussion allowed multiple angles and discoveries.
Thank you one and all.
Thursday, February 16, 2017
Poems for February 8-9
For Once, Then, Something by Robert Frost
Spaces by Jenny Johnson
The Chance by Arthur Sze
“Home” by Warsan Shire
Dear Mother of Three by Wanda Schubmehl
+
utube of Robert Hayden reading his poem, “Frederick Douglass”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XeD9XYeIRoI
the poem: https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/frederick-douglass-0
Usually I am good about taking notes, about what each class says...
on the computer, or the copy the library makes at Rundel... It is now a week since the discussion...
no notes. Only the poems.
I can't even remember what our Frost specialist had to say... so bear with me.
What is my role as moderator,but to keep people on task with the poem...
The first poem, 15 lines, has an enigmatic title, repeated again to close the poem.
"Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something."
The general idea of looking over well curbs, becomes specific, on line 7 with the word, "once".
Perhaps he makes fun of the poet, the head wreathed in the reflection, with puffs of clouds. The "once" arrives when -- "for once", he looks with the intent of seeing something beyond himself.
He peers into the well, and sees "a something". Line 10, "Something" repeats and "then" is included: "Something more of the depths—and then I lost it."
The "something" then seems to be lying at the bottom of the well -- which only a drop from a fern
shakes -- and the lovely consonant clusters of "bl-bl" blurred, blotted, turn into the breathy "wh" asking "what was that whiteness".
I loved that everyone applied themselves hard to imagine the scene-- and also "beyond and through" the scene, knowing the poem is more than a description. Some were reminded of the Escher print,
which captures 3 worlds in a puddle -- a fish below the surface, reflections on the surface of what lies above. What is truth but something as slippery as water, whose ripples make it hard to discern. What a boring poem it would be to set out to talk about truth. Instead, a brief haiku-like "once"
with a hint (undefined) at a consequence.
It seemed the perfect prelude to the next poem, "Spaces" where the poet confides she originally wanted to write a poem of witness, but realized "the more honest poem was the one about what a witness can’t know about another person’s experience.”
The short enjambed lines, give a staccato energy of suspense. "I do not know how"... could easily be completed by the words "it happened"...
"... but I keep" -- could be completed by "thinking about her screaming"...
When help comes, and she tries to explain "I found her there after the--..."
the victim interrupts her. We will never know exactly what happened.
The lesson spills out-- yet by calling into question the value of poetry to convey it, confirms the nature both of poems and the complexity of feelings.
Arthur Sze's poem also contains enigma...
What to make of this:
"And as I approach thirty, the distances
are shorter than I guess?"
(going 30 miles an hour, not age 30, we presume). The doubling of language: ironwood, hardens and hardens... passion grows and grows, the desire for "clean white light" -- a bit like Frost's
"something" also blurred when seen reflected in the well, although here is is the x-ray .
His parallels of desire for passion create a sense of urgency that I don't sense in the Frost who creates a scene of "wondering".
Frost uses longer lines with enjambement which contrast with Sze's shorter self-contained lines:
I want a passion that grows and grows.
To feel, think, act, and be defined
by your actions, thoughts, feelings.
Chance... "once" when we are given a moment to "see" or understand, something that seems to "shine".
The problems right now of having a President who didn't seem to be aware of Frederick Douglass brought me to share the wonderful Robert Hayden poem, delivered with the poet's gentle voice.
The other issue of refugees made Warsan Shire's poem quite timely. "no one leaves home" becomes the anaphor that morphs into all the choices no one would make unless desperate. Powerful, authentic.
The poem left all of us with chills, especially closing as it does with "home" picking up the refrain :leave.
"no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-
leave,
run away from me now
i dont know what i’ve become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here"
The letter written to the mother could also be like witnessing a crime, as in the poem "Spaces".
One person felt it was written more for the writer than for the reader or the family in question. Therapy writing is to alleviate some all consuming emotion or helplessness towards a person/situation.
Regardless, we all felt it was very powerful with its intimate, emotional tone. The only exception noted by one participant were
the first two lines especially and later, "I cannot pick you up......although I'd like to." which stood out for her as distant or casual.
Spaces by Jenny Johnson
The Chance by Arthur Sze
“Home” by Warsan Shire
Dear Mother of Three by Wanda Schubmehl
+
utube of Robert Hayden reading his poem, “Frederick Douglass”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XeD9XYeIRoI
the poem: https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/frederick-douglass-0
Usually I am good about taking notes, about what each class says...
on the computer, or the copy the library makes at Rundel... It is now a week since the discussion...
no notes. Only the poems.
I can't even remember what our Frost specialist had to say... so bear with me.
What is my role as moderator,but to keep people on task with the poem...
The first poem, 15 lines, has an enigmatic title, repeated again to close the poem.
"Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something."
The general idea of looking over well curbs, becomes specific, on line 7 with the word, "once".
Perhaps he makes fun of the poet, the head wreathed in the reflection, with puffs of clouds. The "once" arrives when -- "for once", he looks with the intent of seeing something beyond himself.
He peers into the well, and sees "a something". Line 10, "Something" repeats and "then" is included: "Something more of the depths—and then I lost it."
The "something" then seems to be lying at the bottom of the well -- which only a drop from a fern
shakes -- and the lovely consonant clusters of "bl-bl" blurred, blotted, turn into the breathy "wh" asking "what was that whiteness".
I loved that everyone applied themselves hard to imagine the scene-- and also "beyond and through" the scene, knowing the poem is more than a description. Some were reminded of the Escher print,
which captures 3 worlds in a puddle -- a fish below the surface, reflections on the surface of what lies above. What is truth but something as slippery as water, whose ripples make it hard to discern. What a boring poem it would be to set out to talk about truth. Instead, a brief haiku-like "once"
with a hint (undefined) at a consequence.
It seemed the perfect prelude to the next poem, "Spaces" where the poet confides she originally wanted to write a poem of witness, but realized "the more honest poem was the one about what a witness can’t know about another person’s experience.”
The short enjambed lines, give a staccato energy of suspense. "I do not know how"... could easily be completed by the words "it happened"...
"... but I keep" -- could be completed by "thinking about her screaming"...
When help comes, and she tries to explain "I found her there after the--..."
the victim interrupts her. We will never know exactly what happened.
The lesson spills out-- yet by calling into question the value of poetry to convey it, confirms the nature both of poems and the complexity of feelings.
Arthur Sze's poem also contains enigma...
What to make of this:
"And as I approach thirty, the distances
are shorter than I guess?"
(going 30 miles an hour, not age 30, we presume). The doubling of language: ironwood, hardens and hardens... passion grows and grows, the desire for "clean white light" -- a bit like Frost's
"something" also blurred when seen reflected in the well, although here is is the x-ray .
His parallels of desire for passion create a sense of urgency that I don't sense in the Frost who creates a scene of "wondering".
Frost uses longer lines with enjambement which contrast with Sze's shorter self-contained lines:
I want a passion that grows and grows.
To feel, think, act, and be defined
by your actions, thoughts, feelings.
Chance... "once" when we are given a moment to "see" or understand, something that seems to "shine".
The problems right now of having a President who didn't seem to be aware of Frederick Douglass brought me to share the wonderful Robert Hayden poem, delivered with the poet's gentle voice.
The other issue of refugees made Warsan Shire's poem quite timely. "no one leaves home" becomes the anaphor that morphs into all the choices no one would make unless desperate. Powerful, authentic.
The poem left all of us with chills, especially closing as it does with "home" picking up the refrain :leave.
"no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-
leave,
run away from me now
i dont know what i’ve become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here"
The letter written to the mother could also be like witnessing a crime, as in the poem "Spaces".
One person felt it was written more for the writer than for the reader or the family in question. Therapy writing is to alleviate some all consuming emotion or helplessness towards a person/situation.
Regardless, we all felt it was very powerful with its intimate, emotional tone. The only exception noted by one participant were
the first two lines especially and later, "I cannot pick you up......although I'd like to." which stood out for her as distant or casual.
Sunday, February 5, 2017
poems for Feb. 1-2
American History by Michael S. Harper, (1938 – 2016)
almost two pages long:
quaking conversation by Lenelle Moïse
The Children of Aleppo by Chard deNiord
On the Sadness of Wedding Dresses by James Galvin
Still I rise -- by Maya Angelou
Happy the Man -- by John Dryden
Included for O Pen: ( ) by Brenda Hillman
Included for Rundel -- mention of Wind in the Willows (Konrad) http://www.cleavebooks.co.uk/grol/grahame/wind02.htm
*
Length of poem is sometimes discouraging to me, although recently I have come across 3 page poems
which don't feel long at all, but work a spell that a short poem would miss.
I didn't pick "A Brief History of Hostility" by Jamaal May, interesting -- but possibly too long to read, but did pick the amazing "American History" which in 9 lines provides "American History" that is not talked about either in school text books or in the general culture.
From the dates you can see the Michael S. Harper died young (54 years old), and the poem comes from his book "Images of Kin" so you can guess he is black. I would want to read more of his work.
The short lines, the word "redcoats" in italics, the closing rhetorical question enjambed
"Can't find what you can't see/
can you?"
brought up a discussion of tone. Several people gave a try of reading that sentence -- it is
a perfect vehicle to capture commentary... the tragedy of what is unsaid, unspoken, forgotten.
The italics remind us that labeling, such as in "Redcoats" sets up a "them/us"... and the horror
of taking human life to hide wrongful traffic...
Some remarked how at first, there was a sense that the people in the water were being hidden
to be saved... but on second read, of course, imagine FIVE HUNDRED -- the weight of all those bodies,
under water... and the reason -- so those redcoats wouldn't find them...and the slave traders would not suffer the consequence of "breaking the British laws that forbade such trade... This gives the final question a special clout, the turn, "can you", throws the reader a challenge... so what are you going to do about it ?
quaking conversation, takes all meanings of quake-- the physical earthquake, the political consequences that shake a nation, and the general injustice that makes one shudder. The small "i" Doris explained, is a way of saying "we" as opposed to the capitalized I which stands in its solo importance. Curious how Haiti has two "i"'s. The dates remind us of the first rebellions, Toussaint L'Ouverture, Napoleon, and the history of Haiti, which looks like a dirty brown bandage steeped in blood next to the large and lush green of the Dominican Republic; how strange two nations on one island turned out so differently. We learn Haitians greet each other with "honor" and "respect" and the open brings us to consider any victim; we are reminded that we are all subject to consequences of decisions made by our parents, our nation... how what happens to one person could happen to us all. We all have names, nerve, complexity and deserve honor and respect.
The quatrains do the work of oratory... the repetition of "i want to talk about haiti returns, doubles in the penultimate stanza... i always want to talk about haiti -- and the final stanza with it's three occlusive "come", "cry", talk, walk... a plea to consider all the complexity. The "wanting" of the poet, Lenelle invites the reader to talk about history, responses to disasters, and the striking phrase, "Irreversible dead". The next stanza calls them the "newest ancestors”. Thus, dead, but now, benevolent ghosts that still can work, from the past. They will help us talk about corruption,but also to express gratitude that we are living, with choices that bring a compassionate respect to other living people.
The Children of Aleppo: 18 lines. The first 8 tells the story. Children, asking/a thousand questions. Stilled by an answer they never saw, a "surgical strike". The next 10 lines ask an ambiguous question, interrupted and broken by another question.
"So why not the men inside the sky..." could refer to "why do they not ask about why the sky is blue;" or, "why are their tongues not suddenly stilled;" or "why does silence not ring in their place?"
The complexity of the unfinished question includes the question mark about the feeling of flying.
The discussion included the problem of receiving orders, and the contradictory paradox of
fine flyers, with "everywhere to turn" -- really superb-- but no where to go.
The final sentence as one of the participants put it, capitalizes on the enjambment of "really--
a "leaking sarcasm" on the word "superb".
I isolated the sounds of all the consonant clusters with s, as the hissing sibilance threads the poem, surrounds us:
First sentence:
asking, suddenly tongues, stilled, answer, saw, silence, rings, place, stone, Arkansas. thousand (z)
First question:
So, inside, sky, wings, clouds. (z)
continuation of question:
distance, is, theirs, turns, heavens,
continuation of question
Final part of question:
as excellent pilots
superb
The vowel sounds accentuate the EEEEEEE -- which when pronounced, pulls the lips apart to the ears
and has a cutting sharpness to it... the short "i" (children/stilled") moves to long "I",
silence, inside, high, pilots). How the I sound in sky, has two difference views -- those looking up at it,and those bombing down from it.
We discussed at length the ptsd -- not just of pilots, but of those who program the drones.
How do people do what they do in times of war...
The Sadness of Wedding Dresses provided welcome relief -- the oddity of the conceit somewhat funny, but with a sense of sarcasm. Rich rhyming, "less" "dress", the slide of "l's" and ghostly "w's"
hints at something other than wedding dresses. Discussion included cynicism about the "wedding industry", but also, women defending the tradition -- the beautiful workmanship of making the dresses, the poorly-paid work of beading;
Perhaps some felt offended, or irritated at these lines:
"But what sad story brought it there,
And what sad story will take it away?"
although the "tongue-in-cheek" follow-up removes a rather sour view of weddings:
"Somewhere a closet is waiting for it."
The poem allows for a wealth of sharing -- everyone has a wedding story... betrayals
a week after the wedding, happy stories of re-using a dress, the debt one man is still paying off
20 years after his daughters were married...
What invites us to “collude” with the poem are the personal details, we want to add to the universals...
It is not an amusing poem, yet we laugh... welcoming the wedding dress perspective...
whether it be brown taffeta,or 6 yards of satin. Marna, who used to make wedding dresses
brought up the comparison of creating a dress was like being a hair stylist... fitting it just so
to allow the bride to bloom.
Another person seemed to think the highest ambition of the dress might be to go up in the air. Another said it had a very buddhist slant-- that self denial and right thinking is a way to reach Nirvanna. Another thought the sadness came from the fact that one dresses up for special occasions--
and that it infers the marriage cannot match something so extraordinary...
Of course in one sense it doesn't matter what a person wears to go to a museum or theater or church or other event, however, it is a sign of respect, a way to say that the occasion was extraordinary, important.
I'm glad Sherman Alexie picked the poem for the "Best of American Poetry- 2015."
The poem goes beyond wedding dresses… The symbol of a dress usually worn once, then
relegated to a closet reminds me of how easy it is to treat people that way too — We put a spotlight on someone, and for a moment, that person is special. Perhaps like a Christmas card from a far away friend, after read once, it is stored in a drawer, removed from daily life. We forget to pay attention to what matters and the forgotten dresses remind us of that. However, will you forget
"They are flung outside the double-wide,
Or the condo in Telluride,
And doused with gasoline."
What do we draw our attention to? The fate of the wedding dress can be like a beautiful sand mandala — all that work to create — then poof… gone… -- but how it is remembered, is as individual as each dress.
We heard Maya Angelou recite her poem. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqOqo50LSZ0
It proves that a poem memorized can find different words,at a later date...
She replaced "haughtiness" by "sassiness"... "like" by "as if"... eyes by "lies"...
But still like life (instead of air..)
"wondrously" by "miraculously" --
In a way it is like watching a history of a life that prompted those changes.
"And so, naturally," she concludes, "I rise."
We ended on the simple wisdom of John Dryden.
As ever, I am so grateful for all the discussion!
almost two pages long:
quaking conversation by Lenelle Moïse
The Children of Aleppo by Chard deNiord
On the Sadness of Wedding Dresses by James Galvin
Still I rise -- by Maya Angelou
Happy the Man -- by John Dryden
Included for O Pen: ( ) by Brenda Hillman
Included for Rundel -- mention of Wind in the Willows (Konrad) http://www.cleavebooks.co.uk/grol/grahame/wind02.htm
*
Length of poem is sometimes discouraging to me, although recently I have come across 3 page poems
which don't feel long at all, but work a spell that a short poem would miss.
I didn't pick "A Brief History of Hostility" by Jamaal May, interesting -- but possibly too long to read, but did pick the amazing "American History" which in 9 lines provides "American History" that is not talked about either in school text books or in the general culture.
From the dates you can see the Michael S. Harper died young (54 years old), and the poem comes from his book "Images of Kin" so you can guess he is black. I would want to read more of his work.
The short lines, the word "redcoats" in italics, the closing rhetorical question enjambed
"Can't find what you can't see/
can you?"
brought up a discussion of tone. Several people gave a try of reading that sentence -- it is
a perfect vehicle to capture commentary... the tragedy of what is unsaid, unspoken, forgotten.
The italics remind us that labeling, such as in "Redcoats" sets up a "them/us"... and the horror
of taking human life to hide wrongful traffic...
Some remarked how at first, there was a sense that the people in the water were being hidden
to be saved... but on second read, of course, imagine FIVE HUNDRED -- the weight of all those bodies,
under water... and the reason -- so those redcoats wouldn't find them...and the slave traders would not suffer the consequence of "breaking the British laws that forbade such trade... This gives the final question a special clout, the turn, "can you", throws the reader a challenge... so what are you going to do about it ?
quaking conversation, takes all meanings of quake-- the physical earthquake, the political consequences that shake a nation, and the general injustice that makes one shudder. The small "i" Doris explained, is a way of saying "we" as opposed to the capitalized I which stands in its solo importance. Curious how Haiti has two "i"'s. The dates remind us of the first rebellions, Toussaint L'Ouverture, Napoleon, and the history of Haiti, which looks like a dirty brown bandage steeped in blood next to the large and lush green of the Dominican Republic; how strange two nations on one island turned out so differently. We learn Haitians greet each other with "honor" and "respect" and the open brings us to consider any victim; we are reminded that we are all subject to consequences of decisions made by our parents, our nation... how what happens to one person could happen to us all. We all have names, nerve, complexity and deserve honor and respect.
The quatrains do the work of oratory... the repetition of "i want to talk about haiti returns, doubles in the penultimate stanza... i always want to talk about haiti -- and the final stanza with it's three occlusive "come", "cry", talk, walk... a plea to consider all the complexity. The "wanting" of the poet, Lenelle invites the reader to talk about history, responses to disasters, and the striking phrase, "Irreversible dead". The next stanza calls them the "newest ancestors”. Thus, dead, but now, benevolent ghosts that still can work, from the past. They will help us talk about corruption,but also to express gratitude that we are living, with choices that bring a compassionate respect to other living people.
The Children of Aleppo: 18 lines. The first 8 tells the story. Children, asking/a thousand questions. Stilled by an answer they never saw, a "surgical strike". The next 10 lines ask an ambiguous question, interrupted and broken by another question.
"So why not the men inside the sky..." could refer to "why do they not ask about why the sky is blue;" or, "why are their tongues not suddenly stilled;" or "why does silence not ring in their place?"
The complexity of the unfinished question includes the question mark about the feeling of flying.
The discussion included the problem of receiving orders, and the contradictory paradox of
fine flyers, with "everywhere to turn" -- really superb-- but no where to go.
The final sentence as one of the participants put it, capitalizes on the enjambment of "really--
a "leaking sarcasm" on the word "superb".
I isolated the sounds of all the consonant clusters with s, as the hissing sibilance threads the poem, surrounds us:
First sentence:
asking, suddenly tongues, stilled, answer, saw, silence, rings, place, stone, Arkansas. thousand (z)
First question:
So, inside, sky, wings, clouds. (z)
continuation of question:
distance, is, theirs, turns, heavens,
continuation of question
Final part of question:
as excellent pilots
superb
The vowel sounds accentuate the EEEEEEE -- which when pronounced, pulls the lips apart to the ears
and has a cutting sharpness to it... the short "i" (children/stilled") moves to long "I",
silence, inside, high, pilots). How the I sound in sky, has two difference views -- those looking up at it,and those bombing down from it.
We discussed at length the ptsd -- not just of pilots, but of those who program the drones.
How do people do what they do in times of war...
The Sadness of Wedding Dresses provided welcome relief -- the oddity of the conceit somewhat funny, but with a sense of sarcasm. Rich rhyming, "less" "dress", the slide of "l's" and ghostly "w's"
hints at something other than wedding dresses. Discussion included cynicism about the "wedding industry", but also, women defending the tradition -- the beautiful workmanship of making the dresses, the poorly-paid work of beading;
Perhaps some felt offended, or irritated at these lines:
"But what sad story brought it there,
And what sad story will take it away?"
although the "tongue-in-cheek" follow-up removes a rather sour view of weddings:
"Somewhere a closet is waiting for it."
The poem allows for a wealth of sharing -- everyone has a wedding story... betrayals
a week after the wedding, happy stories of re-using a dress, the debt one man is still paying off
20 years after his daughters were married...
What invites us to “collude” with the poem are the personal details, we want to add to the universals...
It is not an amusing poem, yet we laugh... welcoming the wedding dress perspective...
whether it be brown taffeta,or 6 yards of satin. Marna, who used to make wedding dresses
brought up the comparison of creating a dress was like being a hair stylist... fitting it just so
to allow the bride to bloom.
Another person seemed to think the highest ambition of the dress might be to go up in the air. Another said it had a very buddhist slant-- that self denial and right thinking is a way to reach Nirvanna. Another thought the sadness came from the fact that one dresses up for special occasions--
and that it infers the marriage cannot match something so extraordinary...
Of course in one sense it doesn't matter what a person wears to go to a museum or theater or church or other event, however, it is a sign of respect, a way to say that the occasion was extraordinary, important.
I'm glad Sherman Alexie picked the poem for the "Best of American Poetry- 2015."
The poem goes beyond wedding dresses… The symbol of a dress usually worn once, then
relegated to a closet reminds me of how easy it is to treat people that way too — We put a spotlight on someone, and for a moment, that person is special. Perhaps like a Christmas card from a far away friend, after read once, it is stored in a drawer, removed from daily life. We forget to pay attention to what matters and the forgotten dresses remind us of that. However, will you forget
"They are flung outside the double-wide,
Or the condo in Telluride,
And doused with gasoline."
What do we draw our attention to? The fate of the wedding dress can be like a beautiful sand mandala — all that work to create — then poof… gone… -- but how it is remembered, is as individual as each dress.
We heard Maya Angelou recite her poem. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqOqo50LSZ0
It proves that a poem memorized can find different words,at a later date...
She replaced "haughtiness" by "sassiness"... "like" by "as if"... eyes by "lies"...
But still like life (instead of air..)
"wondrously" by "miraculously" --
In a way it is like watching a history of a life that prompted those changes.
"And so, naturally," she concludes, "I rise."
We ended on the simple wisdom of John Dryden.
As ever, I am so grateful for all the discussion!
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Supplements sent out end of January 2017
Dear all,
Further to our discussion, I enclose Brenda Hillman’s poem which speaks about “Saudade” which Kathy brought up-- ( )whose first line is: "The word saudades cannot easily be translated."
(appeared in Boston Review in May 2016).
Anticipating Ground Hog’s day… as the days lengthen, perhaps some of you might enjoy these supplements to our weekly sessions. It’s certainly more than I can keep up with. Should anything strike your eye as something you’d like to discuss, please let me know.
Below the supplement to “Poetry” magazine —
I isolated the “poems of protest” in the enclosure— if you click on the poem you should be connected to it.
You might also enjoy the interviews from winter 2016-17 issue of “The Journal”
http://thejournalmag.org/archives/category/special/interview
**
Poetry FoundationNewsletter
January 27, 2017
jia tolentino
Mind No Mind
BY JIA TOLENTINO
Poems of Protest, Resistance, and Empowerment
Why poetry is necessary and sought after during crises.
Poetry Stars in a Movie
Ron Padgett on having his poems appear in Jim Jarmusch's film Paterson.
harriet the blog
I’m Trying to Wreck Your Mind, That’s All
BY STACY SZYMASZEK
Super Bowl
BY MARY RUEFLE
Further to our discussion, I enclose Brenda Hillman’s poem which speaks about “Saudade” which Kathy brought up-- ( )whose first line is: "The word saudades cannot easily be translated."
(appeared in Boston Review in May 2016).
Anticipating Ground Hog’s day… as the days lengthen, perhaps some of you might enjoy these supplements to our weekly sessions. It’s certainly more than I can keep up with. Should anything strike your eye as something you’d like to discuss, please let me know.
Below the supplement to “Poetry” magazine —
I isolated the “poems of protest” in the enclosure— if you click on the poem you should be connected to it.
You might also enjoy the interviews from winter 2016-17 issue of “The Journal”
http://thejournalmag.org/archives/category/special/interview
**
Poetry FoundationNewsletter
January 27, 2017
jia tolentino
Mind No Mind
BY JIA TOLENTINO
Poems of Protest, Resistance, and Empowerment
Why poetry is necessary and sought after during crises.
Poetry Stars in a Movie
Ron Padgett on having his poems appear in Jim Jarmusch's film Paterson.
harriet the blog
I’m Trying to Wreck Your Mind, That’s All
BY STACY SZYMASZEK
Super Bowl
BY MARY RUEFLE
Poems for January 25-6
Mentioned in Article about Elizabeth Alexander and her Inauguration poem for President Obama's first inauguration.
are the first two poems.
kitchenette building by Gwendolyn Brooks (1961)
Harlem by Langston Hughes
Music by Anne Porter
Trick of the Light by Michelle Y. Burke
Inviting a Friend for Supper by Ben Jonson
Difference by Stephen Vincent Bent
I listed for fun "Your state's name here"...
Discussion:
Background of Chicago "Kitchenettes" -- after ww 2, small apartments with shared bathrooms.
Even without knowing that, the poem is tremendous in the craft that "shows doesn't tell".
Sandwich rhyme (aba; c de c; f g f; h i h) and in 3 tercets and one quatrain...
the foiling of "dream" in quotes, contrasting with dream, uncorseted by quotes in the
grit of onion fumes (tears). Gray "dream" -- not black and white,
The sounds and sensory details paint a powerful picture. How indeed, could a dream "flutter" like Madame Butterfly when "garbage ripens in the hallways"-- even if... past the tsking "t" in white and violet, potatoes, exasperated "f" in fight and fried in the second stanza to the "even if" where "it" (as dream rhyming let it in/begin). The change of tone in the final stanza brings us down into the reality,
where dream and maybe lukewarm water share the final "hope to get in it.
The opening line reduces people to "dry hours, involuntary plan, grayed in...
This is not dream deferred as in the next poem, or rhetorical "I have a dream" -- this is
life -- the 5-syllable "involuntary" a reminder that plan is not something to "warm", "keep clean"
or even anticipate but a noose that the unpronounced word hope can loosen.
Everyone enjoyed discussing this poem -- much to say about this "almost Sonnet"
... Happy 100th birthday this year Gwendolyn Brooks!
Langston Hughes, the "O Henry of Harlem" does not use the title "Dream Deferred". This powerful poem provides the unforgettable image "dry up like a raisin in the sun" -- a double reduction of a grape filled with vital juice-
The end rhyme, sun?/run?... meat?/sweet?, load/explode? does not clang but propels the rhythm -- does it? / or...? Does it? / or... Maybe... and a heavy couplet drags the heavy load... or
the wind up for the final, italicized "explode"?.
The preponderance of "d" -- dream/deferred/ does/dry/load/explode
contrasts with the sibilance : raisin, sun, fester, for, stink, crust, syrupy sweet, sags...
Powerful poem especially remembering how Martin Luther King's "dream" turned into a nightmare...how "dream" in 2017 half a century later still should be interrogated.
And what is the "American Dream" now? Over Hughes grave, an inscription from "The Negro Speaks of Rivers" says, "My soul has grown deep like the rivers."--
This is a perfect segue to the next poem... long and narrow on the page with no help of punctuation or stanza break.
The tone creates the feeling of "saudade" -- the word in Portuguese for yearning, or German "Sehnsucht" -- a sort of homesickness... for childhood, for ancient legends. Konrad brought up
"Wind in the Willows" , where Ratty and Mole travel down the river..(http://www.cleavebooks.co.uk/grol/grahame/wind02.htm )
Paul brought up the lyric feel of Yeats. Others were reminded of Basho.. and the medieval wandering minstrels,(Trouveres) who sang of "sad pleasure, painful joy" triste plaisir... douleureuse joie.
We did discuss the word "wound" -- the opening that pierces the heart-- but also allows a certain "healing"... the tear that allows tears...
Anne Porter apparently didn't start publishing her work until age 83...
There is a quiet wisdom-- a reassurance that in our wanderings like music, we are not alone.
to quote Galway Kinyell: "To me, poetry is somebody standing up, so to speak, and saying, with as little concealment as possible, what it is for him or her to be on earth at this moment."
Trick of the Light is a curious title, for a rather surreal poem filled with delightful details.
People shared stories of pickpockets... noted the incongruency of a thief executing a personal, hidden response to survival with an overt petition against injustice. Light -- as in touch.. as in sleight of hand, as well as sharing light on a vignette, replete with the woman in checkered spandex, twirling the hull-hoop... while standing on her head in the busy subway junction.
Perhaps we are "Involuntary plan"... and it is fitting to hear the echo in "dear unobservant God"...
a plea not to snuff us out. The last line is not a justification or explanation of why or why not.
Rather a celebratory confirmation. We ARE beautiful and strange!
The Ben Jonson is filled with old vocabulary -- a rather blustery, pompous delivery that points
to a time of intense political discourse... Please come over... I promise, I won't rock the boat...
it's not the food, but the liberal display may remind us of liberty...
I think we do need to invite more friends to dinner!
The last poem seems more an exercise -- tight end-rhymed couplets contrasting two minds: One, a map, the other
an uncharted sea... The first stanza seems to have gathered phrases one has seen elsewhere:
Here there be tygers... "dark side of the moon"...
Judith brought up that Wylie was his sister-in-law and thus heavily influenced him.
We were stuck on Wednesday on the image of "moth"
Sewing bright coins upon the tragic cloth
Of heavy Fate, and Mockery, like a moth,
It goes back to the problem of using a word like "soul" in a poem... or in this case, "mind",
albeit the colors are like Brooks' purple onion, "white, lavender".
I far prefer her style.
are the first two poems.
kitchenette building by Gwendolyn Brooks (1961)
Harlem by Langston Hughes
Music by Anne Porter
Trick of the Light by Michelle Y. Burke
Inviting a Friend for Supper by Ben Jonson
Difference by Stephen Vincent Bent
I listed for fun "Your state's name here"...
Discussion:
Background of Chicago "Kitchenettes" -- after ww 2, small apartments with shared bathrooms.
Even without knowing that, the poem is tremendous in the craft that "shows doesn't tell".
Sandwich rhyme (aba; c de c; f g f; h i h) and in 3 tercets and one quatrain...
the foiling of "dream" in quotes, contrasting with dream, uncorseted by quotes in the
grit of onion fumes (tears). Gray "dream" -- not black and white,
The sounds and sensory details paint a powerful picture. How indeed, could a dream "flutter" like Madame Butterfly when "garbage ripens in the hallways"-- even if... past the tsking "t" in white and violet, potatoes, exasperated "f" in fight and fried in the second stanza to the "even if" where "it" (as dream rhyming let it in/begin). The change of tone in the final stanza brings us down into the reality,
where dream and maybe lukewarm water share the final "hope to get in it.
The opening line reduces people to "dry hours, involuntary plan, grayed in...
This is not dream deferred as in the next poem, or rhetorical "I have a dream" -- this is
life -- the 5-syllable "involuntary" a reminder that plan is not something to "warm", "keep clean"
or even anticipate but a noose that the unpronounced word hope can loosen.
Everyone enjoyed discussing this poem -- much to say about this "almost Sonnet"
... Happy 100th birthday this year Gwendolyn Brooks!
Langston Hughes, the "O Henry of Harlem" does not use the title "Dream Deferred". This powerful poem provides the unforgettable image "dry up like a raisin in the sun" -- a double reduction of a grape filled with vital juice-
The end rhyme, sun?/run?... meat?/sweet?, load/explode? does not clang but propels the rhythm -- does it? / or...? Does it? / or... Maybe... and a heavy couplet drags the heavy load... or
the wind up for the final, italicized "explode"?.
The preponderance of "d" -- dream/deferred/ does/dry/load/explode
contrasts with the sibilance : raisin, sun, fester, for, stink, crust, syrupy sweet, sags...
Powerful poem especially remembering how Martin Luther King's "dream" turned into a nightmare...how "dream" in 2017 half a century later still should be interrogated.
And what is the "American Dream" now? Over Hughes grave, an inscription from "The Negro Speaks of Rivers" says, "My soul has grown deep like the rivers."--
This is a perfect segue to the next poem... long and narrow on the page with no help of punctuation or stanza break.
The tone creates the feeling of "saudade" -- the word in Portuguese for yearning, or German "Sehnsucht" -- a sort of homesickness... for childhood, for ancient legends. Konrad brought up
"Wind in the Willows" , where Ratty and Mole travel down the river..(http://www.cleavebooks.co.uk/grol/grahame/wind02.htm )
Paul brought up the lyric feel of Yeats. Others were reminded of Basho.. and the medieval wandering minstrels,(Trouveres) who sang of "sad pleasure, painful joy" triste plaisir... douleureuse joie.
We did discuss the word "wound" -- the opening that pierces the heart-- but also allows a certain "healing"... the tear that allows tears...
Anne Porter apparently didn't start publishing her work until age 83...
There is a quiet wisdom-- a reassurance that in our wanderings like music, we are not alone.
to quote Galway Kinyell: "To me, poetry is somebody standing up, so to speak, and saying, with as little concealment as possible, what it is for him or her to be on earth at this moment."
Trick of the Light is a curious title, for a rather surreal poem filled with delightful details.
People shared stories of pickpockets... noted the incongruency of a thief executing a personal, hidden response to survival with an overt petition against injustice. Light -- as in touch.. as in sleight of hand, as well as sharing light on a vignette, replete with the woman in checkered spandex, twirling the hull-hoop... while standing on her head in the busy subway junction.
Perhaps we are "Involuntary plan"... and it is fitting to hear the echo in "dear unobservant God"...
a plea not to snuff us out. The last line is not a justification or explanation of why or why not.
Rather a celebratory confirmation. We ARE beautiful and strange!
The Ben Jonson is filled with old vocabulary -- a rather blustery, pompous delivery that points
to a time of intense political discourse... Please come over... I promise, I won't rock the boat...
it's not the food, but the liberal display may remind us of liberty...
I think we do need to invite more friends to dinner!
The last poem seems more an exercise -- tight end-rhymed couplets contrasting two minds: One, a map, the other
an uncharted sea... The first stanza seems to have gathered phrases one has seen elsewhere:
Here there be tygers... "dark side of the moon"...
Judith brought up that Wylie was his sister-in-law and thus heavily influenced him.
We were stuck on Wednesday on the image of "moth"
Sewing bright coins upon the tragic cloth
Of heavy Fate, and Mockery, like a moth,
It goes back to the problem of using a word like "soul" in a poem... or in this case, "mind",
albeit the colors are like Brooks' purple onion, "white, lavender".
I far prefer her style.
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