Practice by Susan Barba
That Place by Charles Rossiter
I Save My Love by Marge Saiser
Hunger by Adrienne Rich
Sestina by Marci Nelligan
When I Rise Up by Georgia Douglas Johnson
It is so interesting to lead two very different groups each week, with the same poems.
Pittsford is larger, and I am sure there are many "participants" who remain silent, but have plenty to say. Rundel, because it is small perhaps forces/allows each person to voice their opinion.
Practice... the first poem, where the title could be noun or verb, with a host of different understandings met with really different receptions. The Pittsford discussion embarked on a Buddhist slant, informed by Bernie who gave an excellent overview of Zen practice. Rundel participants, on first read, "didn't get the first part" and would have liked a small word like
"however" to join it to the second part.
How do we deal with anger? What do you understand of
"Write the necessary elegies" ? In general, of course, things die, we deal with losses... but in the context of anger... the discussion focussed on the need to acknowledge emotions... then put them to rest... I loved how Barba made not just an enjambed line, but emphasized it by a stanza break:
the songs of temporary
fury. Human seasons are
as leaves, not oaks.
The play on the noun "leaves" leaves an implicit taste of the verb. Oak, as symbol of wisdom also gives a sense of grounded strength, rising above the fertile "rot".
We all enjoyed the comment by Naomi Shihab Nye who selected the poem...
"This poem — bearing words like “testify” and “judge” — echoes our current moment and offers relief. The title itself is a strong suggestion: We have to keep working at not letting the anger overtake us, hold on too long."
Comments:
helpful. Anger not important when looking at the oak.
Buddhism: part of practice is to recognize the impermanence of things.
seeing, hearing and making judgement vs. noticing
rage. does have a powerful energy…. rabble-rouses.
outrageous…. rage is part of it.…
The second poem has a playful conceit which starts with the title: How do you say "That Place"?
I think the "That" is what is accented -- as opposed to the "here" of "this place". Can we get to "that"? How does one get there?
What does "doing nothing" mean to most people in American culture? To a Buddhist?
How does perfectly fit in with reality both applied to "nothing" as noun, and "doing" as verb?
Judith brought up a story by Mencken about a bunch of musicians drinking far too much beer, and playing all of Beethoven. Of course, not well-played, but they had a ball drinking, playing, enjoying each other. Who is to judge the worth of playing all of Beethoven despite the fact it was played badly. We enjoyed discussing the fulcrum points as we swing from one subjective judgement to another as we make choices. John brought up that cultures that advise “Stay calm” (like monarchies) promote passivity… Other discussion points.
we’re all at war… vs. misuse of chanting Nam myoho renge kyo — works for middle class…
The three basic forms of American Buddhism — Zen, Vajrayana, and Vipassana — represent only a small fraction of the various forms of Buddhism actually present in America. In fact, they exclude most of the forms followed by the immigrant Buddhist population that makes up the majority of Buddhists in this country
**
One person brought up a sister in law, when the situation would "rock the boat". Her response: That’s not a rock in my boat… "
How do each one of us balance? What goes into our decisions?
We all enjoyed the sense of humor of Rios... yet he brings up important philosophical points. Do we see the tree for the forest? Mistake the leaves for the tree? The images of webbed hands… green scales… light post, make the leaves feel alive, vs. inanimate fragile leaves that are arrive then leave.
The ending is perfect. Yes... the leaves stop us from seeing... if you are a bird watcher, you'll miss the bird. What else do leaves stop us from seeing? understanding. In my mind, it's hard not to equate the noun with verb... what effect do we feel when someone leaves... ? What remains?
The ending makes an analogy between the self and a naked tree:
The tree: I
Cannot see it. The leaves do not want me to
So that when I say I see the tree,
It is the leaves I am talking about.
So, how do you understand the role of the leaves? What do we "fall for" that obscures the central
source?
I save my love... could be "to put on hold" or "with-hold" or hoard. Saiser repeats this phrase to spin the meanings like a prism. Sight, scent, (taste) and what stays... We discussed impermanence,
the fact that you can’t give everything all the time…
and we wondered how she meant "safe" and if it is a final leaving...
There were only a few points in the Adrienne Rich that intrigued me... I loved the chinese ink stick analogy-- that "sequence of blurs the ink stick plans..." that returns in the 3rd stanza:
We can look at each other through both our lifetimes
like those two figures in the sticklike boat
flung together in the Chinese ink-scene;
The fact that the poem was for Audrey Lorde, also Lesbian, but black, makes this both for her, but also for any of us in general.
Kathy gave us an excellent summary of her work, her struggle and her books, Lies, Secrets and Silence and Dream of a Common Language. Her language is provocative... why "hose" love (which has a negative connotation) on the world so hungry for it?
One person said the poem read like one from the beat generation. All over the map… Her passion overrides her contradictions…
The most frightening word in the poem: wordless.
The sestina was difficult to say the least. The fact that it is "after Hieronymous Bosch" reinforces its surrealistic effect. The word "orange" really stood out for us all. The ending tercet with "pith and peel" as both noun and verb is effective: what is sweet? what bitter? How to understand the paradox of being both?
The opening line, "There’s no there there, no here here—" has a Gertrude Stein quality -- how do you want to say it? There's no THERE THERE.
or there, there, as a murmur of comfort for a child...
The final poem was a relief... eloquent, dignified. The rising up as in going to heaven... but also to rise up as in revolution in the here and now... Not accusatory.
Jan wanted to share February by Margaret Atwood
I ended by reading aloud Rios: Short Stories and referred to Stardust and Centuries, both from
**
If I had more time... I would write something more than this attempt to capture a few hours of
animated discussion. Perhaps like the group playing Beethoven badly, the point is the rich sense
of connection, mindful listening that each person feels each week. It is a gift.
I was particularly touched by a big box of valentines to celebrate 12 years of O Pen...
