Because of the Inauguration, no meeting of poetry, however we had the gift of a national youth poet laureate, in addition to the inaugural address!
Amanda Gorman's poem, We Climb the Hill: https://www.nationalmemo.com/amanda-gorman-
Much is in the press about her: poemhttps://www.npr.org/sections/biden-transition-updates/2021/01/19/958077401/history-has-its-eyes-on-us-poet-amanda-gorman-seeks-right-words-for-inauguration?fbclid=IwAR2cjEvAfM3dGEZ51x7-K0mPukhQr7eZJitNZPmBw2wRIfcxUbKirTRhyW8
Back to poetry...
Roman Poem Number Thirteen by June Jordan
The Admission by Marvin Bell (1963)
The Alphabet by Marvin Bell
Yes by Marvin Bell
Song on Porcelain by Czeslaw Milosz
Dutchman’s Breeches by Mary Swander
Yellowjackets by Yusef Komunyakaa
What do you think June Jordan means by a "roman poem" ? How are the poems from Marvin Bell still pertinent to today, (although The Admission was written almost 60 years ago)? The Milosz poem was suggested by Judith, having heard a lecture offered through the Frick on Messien porcelain. In view of the storming of the capital the week prior to the inauguration, it seemed a fitting "scant on the destruction of war" to adopt her expression about Milosz referring to the violent destruction of the 1000 piece Swan collection made for a Germano-Polish magnate of the early 18th c. There are only 100 pieces left of this ornate original (exhorbitantly expensive) set after the Soviet army came through Messien and not only used it for target practice but deliberately ran over it with tanks.
Reminders of spring come with Swander poem... and in the final poem, a fine portrait of the hard life of a worker—and through metaphor, the terrible, clumsy beauty of his final moments.
Nutshell:
June Jordan: We puzzled about the title -- are there other "Roman Poems" (I only saw #5) -- is Thirteen a symbolic XIII in some way? Who is Eddie? Although we didn't discuss the last line... Perhaps he is "my love".
This is a more complex poem than perhaps we had time to understand. What is choice? What kinds of choices are no choice at all? The second line reminded us of a CNN screen... or current zoom rooms.
The line breaks with "last" and "past" accentuate what seems like a choice between a rock and a hard place, i.e. neither desirable. The opening is haunting -- "Only our hearts will argue hard against - the news and it looks at first to be a choice between "the small lights letting in the news" and those who choose between the worst possibility and death; the [temporary] winners of a war and the war that kills us all. But she goes on-- and twice the question is posed "who can choose". She is not shy to give answer: There/is no choice in these.
If you have any doubt that killing and war are horrific and leave no winners, this poem will be sure to extinguish that thought.
We thought "dry gas" domination a metaphor for the extra "umph" in cold weather when the car doesn't start and a little dry gas does the trick. Poems of Exile, published in 1974. I'm not sure when this poem was written.
Marvin Bell:
These three poems are from a marvelous interview with Marvin at age 83 -- https://decembermag.org/an-interview-with-marvin-bell-and-three-poems/
The first, written when he was 33; the second at age 39, the last at age 78.
1) The Admission. Another poem that is challenging, and yet, filled with recognizable themes and familiar words. To start with the title... why The Admission? Some of the thoughts: an admission is an acknowledgement, and in the case of being admitted to something, allows/permits a potentially life-changing experience. It would seem the poem is addressing a couple from the angles of both in time and space, with the implied past of bridges burn behind... the "landscape"... We discussed at length the mysterious "it" after the beginning of the second sentence: "The surroundings affect us;/it is a cause /for love/that you call it/something logical,/taking pleasure in/our finding/ ourselves here/
Why do words matter when our actions speak louder? and yet it is the affirmation, confirmation of words that lead us to understanding. David S. brought up Henry James and the plight of the man who never declares himself. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Beast_in_the_Jungle
There is very little punctuation, only a few semi-colons... and one senses the poet is not trying for a poem that "has a terminal pleasure" but rather painting a sense of time passing... an imbedded stumbling "I have not turned towards you" leading to "before I forget... /openings I had not thought of /turning toward" --
to tell you, and to tell you/to tell me. After reading it for the 20th time, I'm still not sure "I've got it"... What does it mean to say to someone, "I love you"... how would you say what it means to you? For sure, one agrees, "words have meaning... no gift will do". Admission is not a gift.
2) The Alphabet. Ah! what happens when you make 26 letters your own? I love that the reader is given the enigmatic hint: "lines between birthdays"... three parts: how "people" use words (commonalities, but how differently we all manage); the importance of developing your own voice... individuation of a proper name...
Bernie brought up the idea -- that one's name [i.e. one's life live up to it] be a blessing. In the third part,
facing the common road, like everyone... the as yet unvoiced expression that his job will be to find his way.
We spoke a bit about encouragement as well: to earn encourage requires courage to be willing and able to try out your own voice.
3) Yes . We live differently if we see ourselves as part of the whole of life. What will our ashes contribute?
Almost 40 years later, we see an echo of "The Alphabet" -- everything interconnected -- and imagine the possibilities of that! You think we're goners? There is a satisfying lyricism in the first 10 lines, describing the sensual world; the final 4 that "intangible reach of our being"-- a sonnet-sized confirmation of positivity.
Czeslaw Milosz: for an accompaniment to the Frick Lecture on Porcelain ("cocktails with a curator"
For a link to MEISSEN PORCELAIN: https://www.frick.org/tags/meissen-porcelain) this article from the New Yorker: https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/the-european-obsession-with-porcelain
To appreciate the Meissen swans swimming in the bullrushes, all in relief: https://www.lyonandturnbull.com/news/article/the-meissen-swan-service/
In three stanzas, Milosz paints a vision of the end of WW2, "Of all things broken and lost/The porcelain troubles me most". The present tense of the verb in the opening and closing stanzas, the flashback in second stanza with the haunting scene at dawn "the earth wakes up, and moans..."... the addition of
"Sir" -- as if talking to one of the soldiers in the column marching by the destruction...
"In sorrow and pain and cost/Sir, porcelain troubles me most.".
David recalled "Is Paris Burning" -- and we all commented on how higher artistry is destroyed in war as symbolic vanquishing of the "enemy".
Imagine, 4 years to created 2,200 pieces... and in one day, destroyed, used as target practice, crushed by tanks... as Judith put it, "a descant on the destruction of war."
Mary Swander: June brought up that she is involved with healthy food systems and gave this lnk. https://www.agarts.org/ We enjoyed the rich references, how the difficulty of getting through winter eases with thought of the double bloom of names and flowers-- their hard work of waking up... the hard work of survival... I love the 5th line, "breeches hang on the line" -- both referring to the six blossoms... and faith, hope restored perhaps. We didn't go into the Dutch names van (of): dry, wilt, sickle, patter, water, glen. The sounds were enough... skimming the slough -- I love that slough, if pronounced as "stuff" means shedding skins, like snakes... "slooo/slou rhyming with cow" means wet, swampy ground.
The same with "rout" -- to root about, or rout out...
Yusef Komunyakaa: For a title, "Yellowjackets", it is only the cause of the scene... where the poem actually seems to be about the horse at the end of a work day. Wonderful sounds and images... and Marne informed us that yellowjackets do not sting at night... Taken from "American Life in Poetry", Kooser says, the poems" shows us a fine portrait of the hard life of a worker—in this case, a horse—and, through metaphor, the terrible, clumsy beauty of his final moments. What an incredible last image... the whole/Beautiful, blue-black sky/Fell on his back.
Not sure why he choose "goofy" for calmness... perhaps to create that sense of "clumsiness"?
https://perugiapress.org/2021/01/emerging-biwoc-poet-spotlight-5/
Just in case you haven’t seen other inaugural poems and want to keep the spirit of last Wednesday:
https://poets.org/inaugural-poems-history?mc_cid=a80d7b45b3&mc_eid=248758c95e
[1] Dutchman's Breeches: the flower ressembles a pair of pantaloons hung upside down. https://www.wildflower.org/plants/result.php?id_plant=dicu
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