poems for Aug. 16

On not knowing the possibility of becoming a forest psychologist  by Martin Johnson

Choice by Peter Goldsworthy

#33 from “A Far Rockaway from the Heart”

Nanny Fairchild Offers Wisdom to her Nearly Grown Up Charge  by Kathleen Jones 

A Lotus Just Bloomed on the Ocean by Thich Nhat Han

When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities  by Chen-Chen

Day of the Refugios by Alberto Rios.

We opened with Martin's poem, which surprised him, as he had no idea of the ending...
after discussion of the line-up of poems, we ended with him reading it again, and commenting
on the length of line.  His poem indeed, invites the reader to "expand" -- each line contains a kernel
that could blossom into its own poem.

"Choice" comes from a book of poems by Peter Goldsworthy,  Bernie introduced.  Goldsworthy is Australian and spends half his time as a writer and half his time as a physician and blends his mathematical mind with a range of emotions and humor.   The title of the collection, This Goes With That  is a perfect "concept" for a beautifully arranged poem, where the first sentence mirrors
the last sentence.  Not only that, but visually, the "check" of a V next to vices and virtues separated by the doubleV (W) of the single word, whereas provides an hourglass effect.  Such a small
poem generated lengthy discussion ranging from the possibilities of meaning for "whereas"
(legal implications, both/and vs. on the contrary; in addition) the neatly aligned stanzas and how it would be had he not mentioned "vices" first, and  "virtues" second.  This latter point opened up a discussion about human nature -- are we born innately good or bad,  or both and if so, why it is so difficult to embrace that fact ?  If indeed, we are everything and its opposite -- the torturer and the victim, and are constantly shifting, what does this mean about us?

In the title poem of the book, "This Goes With That" the opening stanza is this:
"Significance everywhere, you say, recalling
the day I smote my cheek against a wall
chasing a wide backhand, only hours
after threatening to punch you in the face.

Must all things be explained?"

I will save this poem for discussion when Bernie is present, and will have taken his vows of commitment as a Buddhist practitioner.

** The next poem comes from a volume of poetry written 40 years after Ferlinghetti's "Coney Island of the Mind".  Moving on to "heart" -- what is the significance of "that year", mentioned twice?
Although we don't know the answer, we noted the multiple repeating of the word "light"--
the musicality and the pleasure of the shifting words on the page.  A poem about beauty... 
and poem celebrating a little capsule of time, speaking about light in the "sere and yellow leaves".
All told in the past tense-- yet with a haiku-like immediacy -- jumping in out of no where --
poem #33 -- no title to tell us where, or why...  The repeated "how" is the breath of admiration --
not so much the description of the manner the light infused everything -- just a breathless
transcendence... as if passing out of life.   

We all laughed and hooted at the fun of Nanny Fairchild's wisdom.  It's not really about confusing
"preserving with pretending" although the poem goes into surfaces, like plastic wrap and lamination and layers, dressing up paper dolls, models we build and the natural world.
What is particularly pleasing to me is the sense of non-sequitur that almost makes sense, yet
does not fall into lines of expected reasoning.  What is normal?   What do we try to keep under wraps?  What is real… ? The title indicates that  all these things are what a child is offered--
what kind of relationship does that imply?   What do we teach our children about our social norms? 
 The end is sudden -- the couplet pattern broken by the final line: 

Gangs of children packing water pistols, which are fake guns

that shoot genuine water. Your suitors will offer you fabric roses,

roses dipped in wax, roses stolen from their mothers, carnations. 

Carnations -- as in the flower worn in the lapel for a funeral?     

The next poem by Which Nhat Hanh is based on a real incident in 1976, during an operation to help the boat people, when a baby was born on one of the boats we hired, the Roland.  "When we received the news that she was born, I wrote this poem." -- The discussion explored the metaphor of the "lotus blooming", the celebration of a new birth,

there, where the circumstances are so dire... No mud, no lotus, perhaps... The language  gives a clue: the percussive quality
here: "The waves tap on the sides of the boat,

punctuating the prayers."

I feel like the waves, shaking my head... not able to see that any birth, any time, is a shining...

"Only the light of the stars

shines the way for you to enter life, little one.

Down below, the waves are shaking their silvery heads."

The poem insists on the celebration of the 282nd life -- and yes, praise be, in spite of everything,

yes, this little girl is born, named after the boat named after the famous Hero, Roland.

The human race is still there.

Imagine if we celebrated each birth as a testimony to the possibilities of the human race and hope 

for future generations.  

Of course we celebrate-- we would be heartless otherwise. -- the poem asks the baby questions...

but "She does not...

but we have to give answers."

What answers can we give?  Is help available?  Where do we take our newborn hope?

The next poem has an intriguing title, and is rooted in the sadness of this gay Chinese poet's life.

Who is he, as an immigrant?  What advice, unlike Nanny Fairchild's, does he receive.

These lines are beautifully crafted to underline his dilemma of "how to be" in a country where

he is asked not to be part of that country. 

To be, in my spare time,

America for my uncle, who wants to be China

for me.

How can he be who he is, if he has been raised in conflicting storms... What does it mean to be

 "a season from the planet                            

of planet-sized storms."

How to live, wanting both to be yourself, and to  desire to be what your loved ones want you to be?

I would have wanted answer from the Things I Will Tell My Children About Destiny   by Cynthia Manick-- but that is for next week... 

Day of the Refugios by Alberto Rios

The importance of a name... hanging on to one's identity reflected in a name... how "Refugios"
does not mean refugee, but rather, shelter -- and in a country where people are named after Saints,
and there is no Saint Refugios, the name itself has a sacred role of protecting... 
The tone is upbeat, celebratory -- the long line of women called "Refugios" in his family --
and living on a border town, where 4th of July can be celebrated as more than one thing.
I loved this line as it captures that spirit: 

Refugios everywhere,

Refugios and shrimp cocktails and sodas.

As Rios says, "If I know that el vaso is also a glass, or an iguana killer is also a baseball bat,

I've immediately got two ways to conceive to it.  The thing has depth, and therefore, I can't help but understand it better."