Ancient Music by Ezra Pound
A Walk Around the Property by Tony Hoagland
In a Dark Time by Theodore Roethke
Silver Filigree by Elinor Wylie
Things We Carry on the Sea by Wang Ping
What Counts in the End by Carol Flake Chapman
Pound: He is having fun with the mid 13th century song, "Summer is I-cummin in" --
to survive the winter. We played the music of the summer song, with the growing seed and meadow bloom, cavorting farm animals, bursting woods. Indeed, the "ancient" song is like a medieval wiki site, with reference to medical texts, herbs... although, what we retain is the refrain,
"sing cuccu".
Hoagland. Brilliant gem of a poem! The title sets up the idea of "what is proper to man" --
a sort of self-assessment, in the midst of disconnection and loneliness... What brings us to the "heart of the matter" -- but feeling... in spite of doubt, fear of being abandoned, the repeated "heart" in the
final stanza reminds me of the ivory carvings of an elephant, within an elephant, within an elephant... how, beyond the small talk, we continue inside, to carve... Love that the poem comes from a book
called "Priest Turns Therapist
Treats Fear of God".
It is not a sermon, nor a therapy session, asking us to "Sing a Song of the World", but a poem
showing how we construct narrative, replete with satisfyingly deft craft.
Roethke: Like Hoagland, knows how to manipulate sound, metaphor. Starts out like Dante... the quest, the search. Depression has a way of distilling things to their essence... "A man goes far to find out what he is..."
Which I is I? Again, a sense of one, nestling in the larger One.
Wylie: We will have a session which shows the brilliance off this poet, who like Millay, unfortunately was relegated to a minor status in anthologies as a ladi-da, trivial rhyme-ster.
That aside, both on and beneath the surface of icicles, Wylie (1885-1928) celebrates art and beauty.
Wang Ping: The anaphor, "We carry" morphs into "We're orphans, refugees" and a poignant plea
that others know the experience of leaving homeland, filled with words of hope in the mother tongue-
a sense that love, peace, hope, also is drifting in rubber boats, searching for a poem.
Chapman: What counts? How do we bank our experiences? How does this change us?
How can I show you my experience? Not just the pretty memories, but the hidden nuggets which wait to be "panned like gold".
Highly satisfying discussion in both groups.
Pound: He is having fun with the mid 13th century song, "Summer is I-cummin in" --
to survive the winter. We played the music of the summer song, with the growing seed and meadow bloom, cavorting farm animals, bursting woods. Indeed, the "ancient" song is like a medieval wiki site, with reference to medical texts, herbs... although, what we retain is the refrain,
"sing cuccu".
Hoagland. Brilliant gem of a poem! The title sets up the idea of "what is proper to man" --
a sort of self-assessment, in the midst of disconnection and loneliness... What brings us to the "heart of the matter" -- but feeling... in spite of doubt, fear of being abandoned, the repeated "heart" in the
final stanza reminds me of the ivory carvings of an elephant, within an elephant, within an elephant... how, beyond the small talk, we continue inside, to carve... Love that the poem comes from a book
called "Priest Turns Therapist
Treats Fear of God".
It is not a sermon, nor a therapy session, asking us to "Sing a Song of the World", but a poem
showing how we construct narrative, replete with satisfyingly deft craft.
Roethke: Like Hoagland, knows how to manipulate sound, metaphor. Starts out like Dante... the quest, the search. Depression has a way of distilling things to their essence... "A man goes far to find out what he is..."
Which I is I? Again, a sense of one, nestling in the larger One.
Wylie: We will have a session which shows the brilliance off this poet, who like Millay, unfortunately was relegated to a minor status in anthologies as a ladi-da, trivial rhyme-ster.
That aside, both on and beneath the surface of icicles, Wylie (1885-1928) celebrates art and beauty.
Wang Ping: The anaphor, "We carry" morphs into "We're orphans, refugees" and a poignant plea
that others know the experience of leaving homeland, filled with words of hope in the mother tongue-
a sense that love, peace, hope, also is drifting in rubber boats, searching for a poem.
Chapman: What counts? How do we bank our experiences? How does this change us?
How can I show you my experience? Not just the pretty memories, but the hidden nuggets which wait to be "panned like gold".
Highly satisfying discussion in both groups.
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