the rest of the poems for April 18-19

How Forever Works by C.L. O'Dell

 Threadsunsby Paul Celan, translated by Pierre Joris 

On the Beach at Night by Walt Whitman

The Eye by William Heyen

I have never thought about "forever" as an entity that "works", like the Deists thinking of

time as a clock set in motion...  What is "forever" -- how do we use it in language?

The poem starts off with "The soft tick of snow"-- as if snow makes the sound of a second hand,

an active tick of what we consider cold and white...  but it also reminds me of the soft inner ticking

of a lining... a shrouding of sorts.  The poem is in the past tense, except for the final enjambed final

line.  To whom is "love me" addressed?  And how many ways are there to read. "anyway"?

(Love me in any way possible; love me in spite of whatever might have made me unloveable...)

Is the "us" in the 3rd stanza a personal entity, perhaps a couple, a family,  or a country, a  general collectivity?  Not that these questions need suggestions for answer, as the poem hints at much

in an aura of mystery... as if to suggest "running out of time" however it means -- days left to live

as someone with an illness, or days left for survival of our earth, is part of the fact that nothing

is forever.  Not even memory.  To quote Hamlet, "who shall escape weeping".

The next poem comes from    —- from Breathturns ( 1967)published in 1968 and translated here by Pierre Joris in 2005, was the second collection from Paul Celan's late period, when the poet had turned to highly obscure allusions and polysemy.

He plays with compound nouns to invent new ideas-- a single thread + plural suns.  tree-high thought, where high describes both tree and thought; (baum-hofer is used as an adjective in German) and "light tone".  For those knowing German, I show how beautifully the translation works.  

Fadensonnen has an element of "fathoms" the shafts of sun reaching deep into the ocean.

Threadsuns by Paul Celan, translated by Pierre Joris  

Threadsuns

above the grayblack wastes.                    thinks of ocean…

A tree-

high thought

grasps the light-tone: there are

still songs to sing beyond

mankind.

   —- from Breathturns ( 1967)

Fadensonnen

über der grauschwarzen Ödnis.   wasteland… 

Ein baum-

hofer Gedanke

grieft sich den Lichtton: es sind

noch Lieder zu singen jenseits

der Menschen

Comments:  a different kind of Holocaust poem.. one which allows a sense of re-awakening, 

transcending the weight of gray black wasteland through ascending thought, ribbons of light...

beyond the destruction man wields...

One says a translator is one soul stretching his hand out to another soul.  This is a remarkable

collaboration of poet/translator.

 The Whitman:

a note on pronunciation:

Up through the darkness, 

While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,

think  ravenous,  pronounced with a short "a", as in starving,

 as well as black-winged;

likewise "lower" from the etymology  "lour"--This verb initially meant “to frown, scowl; to look angry or sullen,” 

From the beach the child holding the hand of her father, 

Those burial-clouds that lower* victorious soon to devour all, 

Watching, silently weeps. 

the inner rhyme: lower/devour... the ou of cloud;  the interruption of the syntax,

"the child watching, silently weeps"... the tone of tenderness as the father chides the child

for considering only the burial of the stars... or considering the burial of the stars, alone,

not knowing that something there is... which reminds us we are not alone... 

The Eye. by William Heyen-- beautiful capture of a moment and a loaded title.

I love how Heyen goes from the physicality of the title (one thinks of an eye, not seeing)

to the metaphor of the gold eye of the sun, which allows us to imagine, understand beyond

perception. But what clinches the poem for me is the desire in the poem--

not desire of the poet for something concerning the poet, but the compassionate empathy

to embrace the "just in case" darkness.

Is it for just one person?  A specific belovèd?  Any reader who comes along?  Regardless,

Heyen gives us a gift of writing down words... you can read "the sun turns on the page",

like turning on a light, allows the page to provide the eager space to receive what the

imagination provides.

   

Poems for April 18-19 -- Aubade + Elegy : two poems from Boston Review "What Nature"

Aubade by Kaveh Akbar.  (discussed Rundel 4/12; for Pittsford 4/18) 
Elegy beginning in the shade of Aunt Mary's mulberry tree by Camille T. Dungy

For both groups I showed the cover of  Boston Review's publication: "What
                                                                                                                          Nature"
where the title is set in the clouds.  How will you say those two words:  WHAT.
NATURE.  What punctuation might you add to give instructions?

Indeed, all the poems this week relied on the spoken intricacies of pronunciation and timing.

Rundel received the preface to "What Nature"  by email.  It is accessible here: https://store.bostonreview.net/media/1621.pdf

The two poems from it discussed by both groups: Aubade and Elegy beginning in the shade of Aunt Mary's mulberry tree.

Aubade by Kaveh Akbar:  An Aubade, written at dawn... often to capture the feeling of

lovers parting... Is this one conversation of two lovers.  Is it "us", speaking to Earth?  Is the "you" the same throughout the poem?

The opening couplet hints at the subsequent enjambments which heighten a sense of interruption--

as if the lines are being battered, abused, the way we have battered nature... To whom is he speaking?

Is this an overheard conversation?

Pardon my asking, but do you think I could drink           

this and be okay? I am still learning the scents.   (sense)

The tone feels cryptic.  We  enjoyed the homonym of "scents" and "sense"... but much less comfortable

with the gruesome detail of making tea from "anything"  which includes 
...the tongue cut 

from a corpse.  We bodies carry so much

flavor inside ourselves—the unborn

gorge and pulse in their glee. Can I say I like

you best when you share yourself, when you

lend me a comb or toss me your jaw? I trust               

you completely, with your bruised lungs

rattling like stones in a jug. 

I am at risk of quoting the entire poem-- but wanted to show the enjambments and how a phrase
We carry so much continued on the next line, We carry so much flavor inside allows the coexistence
simultaneously of two very different meanings.

One person felt the "lend me a comb, toss me your jaw" came from one of the translations of Cyrano

de Bergerac.  Be that as it may, this not very clear situation feels anything but reassuring... and
"toss me your jaw" takes on a violent physicality as opposed to "lend me your ears; give me your words".

The complexity of being human is "fungal-- with that sense of being part of an intricate part of a complicated, interwoven biosphere.  The thought then leaps onto commentary on the powers of

observation.. our inability to "detect/ danger" in our "handsome/predicament". 

Many thought this resonates with denial of our current political situation...    

predicament: we are born with the ways                       

we will die already built in. Don’t bother...  (with the copperhead/giant black eyeball rolling in the garden)

One suggestion was that the "you" was the poet speaking to himself... " You were supposed to warn me before/ you discovered the ark" -- and the sense of all being in the same boat...

The final stanza could be a reference to how we have  mechanized ourselves-- perhaps also a call to "self-examine."

a tractor trailer with the heart of a living                       

boy. I am doing all of this to myself.

The reference to "fill out pockets with shells" could go in several directions... missile shells ?  the luxury pastime of collecting what is left on the beach, the metaphorical implication of stuffing our pockets

with the outlines of what could have been... ?  How do you hold three such different meanings? 

My favorite comment was that Akbar was doing to the poem, what we human beings are doing to our Earth-- chopping it up as if with no vision to the big picture.  


None of the poems were easy to fathom, dissect and tie up into a neat package nor do I believe, is that the point.  


Both groups delved courageously into  Elegy beginning in the shade of Aunt Mary's mulberry tree by Camille T. Dungy.  Dungy, who will be the judge of the Lucille Clifton Prize offered by Backbone Press. 

“Poetry is a matter of life, not just a matter of language.” -Lucille Clifton 

Here, unlike Akbar layering various meanings onto words, Dungy plays with a confusion of syntax
so that Aunt Mary, her dog,  the other kids who climb the tree, [and the daughter who doesn't]  and the Mulberry Tree itself all could be subjects of what for the sake of simplicity could be called "ascending".    Going up.

Some the words that struck people:  
--The week after she died, it was some relief/to stop pacing circles whose circumferences/                        
measured our grief, (to see the leash where the tree split [implication?])

What sense is there to make of this?
No sense in this either, referring  at the end (after the comparison of the leashed dog, the old woman was tied to life -- and tied, rhymes with died).. once released, becomes like her younger self dancing.
-- contrast in the use of Thanksgiving: full almost to  excess; vs. There was something graceful in that ascension.  "This, too, is a way to speak about thanksgiving./

Her legs, her heart, her vision worked like necessary/

magic."

What do we learn about Aunt Mary? It isn't spelled out, but, if kids come over the climb in her tree,

and many understand the large heart that made the poet feel loved (emphasized by"—some of you

          understand this—feel so deeply loved.") sounds like she was important and loved in her neighborhood.

I love that the elegy begins in the shade of the mulberry tree -- what is outside of Aunt Mary's house,

what is on her property, but shared; this tree that served her dog; allowed itself to be climbed;

and was split.   Perhaps this implies a mirror of Aunt Mary?  

Some wondered if it was Aunt Mary climbing to her death... if it were a story about a lady who  came back in the spirit of her dog.  Was the chaotic telling reflecting a beautifully messed up chaotic life--

or merely choked up emotion trying to find a way to tell a story about her.  Were those hornets 

buzzing… like Emily Dickenson's fly, a small innuendo of impending death?

Regardless, the conclusion of the discussion is that when we do not understand something, we need to think of a different way to approach it.  This poem is rife with invitations to explore.  Lively discussion was an understatement.  Thank you all.

Poems for April 11-12

Given that Ishion will be coming to UR for the Plutzik series-- two of his poems.

A March Launch Audio in a New Window by Ishion Hutchinson

Black Space by Ishion Hutchinson

Dog Tag by Jane Hirshfield

Often I Imagine the Earth by Dan Gerber

These Poems  by June Jordan

 Aubade by Kaveh Akbar. (see April 18-19)

The Plutzik series invited the Jamaican Poet Ishion Hutchinson (pronounced EYE-shawn) on Tuesday April 10.   Although I was not able to attend, the two poems by him were stunning examples of layered meanings
rife with historical references.  

How do you understand "March":  a month (thank Anschluss, March 12, 1938)
                                         March as verb, as noun... as protest, as military goose-step 
"Launch"?  new book, war, missile, etc.
"New Window"?  New vision; on the computer, a new document... 

At first it looks like language play, removing the T to make Syria... Many looked up this fairytale-looking country in Southern Austria, with its White Panther on the flag, and some maps highlight it's heart-shape
in red.  
A curious perspective -- "above my voice" -- and a reference to the tarry, bituminous muck  and not to get
too hung up on "the terms".  3 stanzas with jarring enjambments,  ex.  on edge... //
on edge of shriek... It feels like entering a horror movie without any introduction... Words like entropy--
 dispersal of energy -- but irreversible... like war... the end of an old order... 
the public weal... obtuse centurions in a  "flare"(which now seems military)of  bougainvillea... (what should bloom peacefully...) -- but we're not finished with centurions... their patent-seeking, gift kindled.
That last cluster gives a definite "emotional feel" although logically it takes a while to parse for meaning.
The group came up with patent-seeking as the military-industrial complex... and "kindle"-- a "gift" ignites
something that has potential to burn.  One reads the fragments perhaps as charred remains...

The discussion came up of the syntactic sense threaded in a poem, sometimes as a hint, sometimes
more accessibly, much akin to playing music and disregarding the bar lines.  

The final stanza delivers the image the previous 5 tercets prepare us to see in a "new window"...
white panther... and I think of  white supremacy... the black panther's response... the seen and the unseen
of power's shadow.

Black Space is another case of a loaded title. 
Black:  black hole; night; dark; depression; skin color; 
Space: living space; ghetto; outer space; breathing space dealing with others...
The poem is dedicated to Erna Brodber: black artist.https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erna_Brodber
who created an space for black artists...

The epigraph: Richard Crashaw, one of the Metaphysicals: the last line of his poem "Wishes to His Supposed Mistress"
http://www.bartleby.com/331/124.html

The intense and intimate depiction of Richard Crashaw that prefaces his English volumes of poetry (Steps to the Temple, 1646, enlarged 1648) is also a candlelit window that opens on his soul. To look through this window is to discover Crashaw in the state of unruffled devotion...
Perhaps the intent is to intensify a sense of the sacred. Perhaps there's a slight echo of the Crashaw in the 3d to last stanza -- myself/outpaces me/in wonder of her.
A lovely tribute to this woman at least twice his age, elevating her to muse.  
The image of the salmon bell combines sounds... the color, but also the idea of the leaping fish...
I'm not sure I understand what cloud fractals... but have a sense of worlds within worlds--
safe from black feelings of grief, malice.

Dog Tag... again... what associations?  The clink of them against a living heart... the identification of the dead...   Without the note, we struggled with the 6th line... the reduction of the full significance of these three things into 3 terms "Blackcap Mountain.  Blue scorpion venom. Persimmon Pudding".
The poem could almost work without that... 
The final two lines bring shivers.  An entire portrait of a man with a great heart.
The dog tags, the echo... 

The Dan Gerber poem: One of those satisfying Zen, well put-together nuggets (Susan)

nothing is anything by itself…  (David)

last lines of Nemerov… those… we build our Babels of. – from The Makers.

The perspective of an atom -- the smallest unit... but mostly empty... 

form is emptiness, emptiness is form... and this miracle of flying... because of connection...

We chuckled at the "Teach this poem" prompts.  Sure... there's the line,"These words//they are stones in the water// running away".

But we didn't need the image of stones in the Black sea to relate to Jordan's metaphors.   

Stones are markers of time... are compressed matter... 

I love how she alludes to the fact that poems arrive, tap the poet -- and perhaps the poet cannot tell

you where or why or how... but there is a you for whom they are written.

Maybe like Whitman and his idea of being part of the cosmos, containing multitudes or himself,

and others... 

2nd stanza.  are the stones running away or the water?  When I am by a brook, I see that,

and she captures the ambiguity with the line break.