December 23

 LIFE WHILE-YOU-WAIT  by Wislawa Szymborska

Letter Spoken in Wind by Rachel Galvin

Astronomers May Have Reason for Milky Way’s ‘Lumpiness’ by Marvin Bell

In Lies Lie Beliefs by Bruce Robinson : to hear the poet read: https://www.rattle.com/in-lies-lie-beliefs-by-bruce-robinson/

Creatures  by Marvin Bell

Moving a Baby Grand by Sarah Strong to listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yyvQENVSOkI&feature=youtu.be. 6:14

T'was 3 weeks before Christmas. 

 

email included links to 

Alberto Rios: When Giving is all We Have; https://poets.org/poem/when-giving-all-we-have

Toi Derricotte Christmas Eve: My Mother Dressing –https://poets.org/poem/christmas-eve-my-mother-dressing

NUTSHELL SUMMARY

Life While You Wait:  Szymborska is one of the most endearing and witty philosopher-poets in my mind. This poem is a fine example, which immediately brought to mind Shakespeare and his haunting permanence (all the world is a stage and we are but actors in it-- "As You Like It"... ).  It is also a magnificent snapshot of the universals that plague all humans: our doubts, insecurities, vanity, arrogance, but also humility.  No matter what it is we do,  life is a drama and as such... we have no choice but to take part of the play. As a poet,  whatever is written, published becomes  an unretractible record  of what we have done.

The discussion, per usual, was rich and varied and we all agreed how this poem is a perfect one to read

when needing a reminder that  knowing oneself is neither easy, nor a given.   Her humor is reassuringly delightful...  By the end, having acknowledged how "ill-prepared for the privilege of living" we are... it feels a comfort to know "the machine rotating the stage has been around even longer" and "the farthest galaxies have been turned on."

 

The poem Jan wanted to share after the Szymborska is an echo of sorts.  

 

The Boat Itself by Ursula LeGuin

 

 The boat itself

 the boat myself

 alone

 my crew my life

 that I have never known

Letter Spoken in Wind

The title is intriguing... both the idea of "writing in wind" (breath?) instead of ink, and words spoken to the wind, which carries them off... perhaps to the person to whom one is writing, or thinking about, but wind, like spirit, is part of the mysterious, and if a keeper of such letters, invisible.   Written in tercets which

descend like a small set of stairs, the reader might feel included in the "we" walking in Southern Denmark in Winter.  We discussed who the "you" is in "your voice on the phone" saying in Yiddish "a blessing on your head"... and Susan wondered if the woven dove was not a reference to davening and the Tallit, the prayer shawl, decorated with this bird of peace.   "Words shed overcoats, come//to me undressed... have no letters yet" inspired the idea of holiday cards, wishing for reunion... the poignancy of feeling the absence of a loved one... 

The metaphoric lighthouses, like the 8 candles of the Menorah with the 9th one (the Shamash or helper) lighting them, provide a strong image of the power of faith, making light when there are no candles,

akin to the Hanukkah celebration.  I love this affirmation of our human ability to create what we need emotionally to keep going, in our imagination.

I did write down "Ptolemaic them vs. church" -- someone's idea... but I can't remember the context or see it now in the poem.  

Astronomers May have Reason for Milky Way's Lumpiness

(forgive the typo -- it is Milky, not Milk).  This poem was referred to by Tim Green in his Rattle broadcast as tribute to Marvin Bell who passed away December 14. 

I loved that after 10 minutes of discussion, admiring the details, such as parallel lumps, and oppositions of reason with faith, science with the muse, David remarked, "let it not go unnoticed that this IS a sonnet"--

not just for the 14 lines, but the important volta, or turn.  Indeed, at the end of line 8, "Let me"... repeated line 10 "Let the desk" -- poet and poet's workplace, contrasts with the Astronomers' position announced in the title and first line.

Followed by Bernie's parsing of  the admirable set up of  three images:  faith and ritual (Brother.. where the knowledge will produce a new ritual with which to blister sinners); the moveable lump of the muse (implied breast cancer vs. metaphorical speechlessness) and the almost celebratory imperative to rejoice in that paradox of  "unattainable" we can embrace with our imagination.  

We touched briefly on what makes us speechless -- perhaps anticipating something great... perhaps an overpowering emotion... and the fierceness of the description of our planet-- "reeling in space", and our fixed sun actually a "swinging lamp" in a "warped galaxy"...  "blistering" and "bellowing" carry equally savage weight.

Thought is the great adventurer!  David suggested we read Robert Frost, Bond and Free:https://poets.org/poem/bond-and-free -- first stanza below.

Love has earth to which she clings  

With hills and circling arms about—  

Wall within wall to shut fear out.  

But Thought has need of no such things,  

For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.

In Lies Lie Beliefs:  We listened to the poet read this three-part poem.  

Although I did not mention it, I was reminded of the splendid book by Dorianne Laux, Facts about the Moon where she addresses the same argument between labeling, hoping it suffices as truth, and an emotional honesty.  Perhaps more accessible and incredibly rich with a lyric loveliness -- "familiar things become flinch-worthy".  (Dorianne Laux, "Walk in the Park" - one of the poems in Facts about the Moon.)

Bruce Robinson's poem is a complex meditation.  I was pleased that people were patient to give it time to coax it come alive with all the various reflections.  Thank you Jim for reminding us about the difference between luminescence and brightness. Luminance is the luminous intensity, projected on a given area and direction. Brightness is a subjective attribute of light. 

The ideas of darkness... seeking light... the stumbling on stars... are part of the "onset" -- and at first the relationship to the title seems obscure.  "The Muddle"  clarifies this search... not  just for one star... but a search for meaning on life... and ends with fact that the moon, and ourselves, are only illuminated by something other than ourselves.  The "lie" of what we want to believe, the way we want to see the world,

is indeed hard to admit.  However, it is only in examining that we find what beliefs "lie in the lie". The "Mend" has only two short sentences.  Our contradictory stubbornness, 

moving from the opening "he'd seen the moon" and after reflection, ending with a commentary on human nature... we all fall for lies we tell ourselves.   It helps me feel less negative in judging 

"fake news" or "alternative facts".  

Creatures: This poem, read in two parts to reflect the careful set up: the first part of 11 lines poses the moral dilemma of killing an unwanted spider, ant, mouse in the house, garden pest, i.e. invader of our self-proclaimed territory (with the ironic underpinning that this question is so important that our attention to it  "precludes the moral disquisitions of a study group".  The second part, like a turn in a sonnet, focusses on the honeybee.  Bernie jokingly called his comments an "essay on imagery" in this poem.  Discussion included  thought about sea legs, the role of beekeepers, and service, and what Cindy said about what it's like to be in the Navy for 12 years... 

What the poet saves is the beekeeper -- a saver who saves a saver who serves us... 

Moving a Baby Grand:  pardon typo in stanza 2:  humiliation... 

Piano, as elephant... the weight of making a living... Again a turn, in the beginning of the 4th stanza... transfer to the ivories, as sawed-off tusks and then metaphor of suffering... which turns out to be the suffering itself... A little Archimedes -- Give me a place to stand and I will move the world... contrasted  with the expression "not to lift a finger"-- and suddenly, 3 glasses of water become the fulcrum -- even if only to play a single note... and an homage... the piano deserves Beethoven, the moving men champagne... and the elephant, the world.  She does not say what kind of world... but certainly implied is a world that would respect an elephant to be safe from humans!  It was good to find out that piano keys no longer are made out of ivory!  Brilliant poem. Having started with a comparison Elephant and piano, the poem adds specifics, reality of the here and now, and then opens into an even larger consideration.  

Twas 3 weeks... 

Just silly and a fun take on Christmas in Covid times.

I close with a quote from Marvin Bell.

Marvin Bell: “It’s true that, no matter what, the literary world is full of insult. When you put yourself out to the public, you’re going to get some negative stuff. But writing just feels wonderful. I mean, I love the discovery aspect of writing. I love that. I love saying what I didn’t know I knew, not knowing where I’m headed, abandoning myself to the materials to figure out where I’m going. Of course your personality is going to come out of it, of course your obsessions are going to make themselves known, of course if you have a philosophic mind a matrix of philosophy will be behind things; everyone has a stance, an attitude, a vision, a viewpoint. All that will come out. But in the meantime, you’re just dog-paddling like mad. And that’s fun. That’s what I always liked about every art.”