May 5-6

Japanese Hokku by Lewis Grandison Alexander

A Habitable Grief by Eavan Boland

I Know My Soul by Claude McKay

Kissing in Vietnamese by Ocean Vuong

Numbers by Mary Cornish

Extraordinary Rendition  by Paul Muldoon 

This write up reflects comments from the "zoom" group, on Wed. 5/5 and two groups that met at the Pittsford Library on Thursday 5/6.  With gratitude to Joyce, as Pittsford resident for arranging this,

and to the library for allowing small groups to assemble in the large Fisher conference room.

What joy to reunite in person!  Three more dates have been scheduled.  Note, even if vaccinated,

a limit of 10 people, masks required, and wingspan of 6 feet apart per regulations.

Nutshell:

I wish to thank the curators of "Poem a Day" who continue to provide so many "new faces",

including in April, the fine work of Lewis Grandson Alexander, born July 4, 1900.  Part of the Harlem Renaissance, in his short life (died Nov. 25, 1945) his work reflects excellent mastery.  One of the magazines in which his work appeared, "The Crisis: Opportunity and Fire" was endorsed by the NAACP. 

I would be interested in reading the other anthologies mentioned in his bio: "The New Negro", "Caroling Dusk", and Ebony and Topaz.    

Hokku: 

The western world became more aware of Haiku in 1905.   It is clear from his 20 arrangements of  syllabic 5-7-5 tercets, that he captured the spirit of this form in our non-syllabic English, but also is not shy to experiment with form.  In that spirit, we enjoyed "playing" with the haiku as if rearranging them like checkers.

1) Hokku, technically, is the name of the first haiku that starts off a renga...a chain of haiku. Elaine suggests reading: livinghaikuanthology.com

We examined  meanings by "playing" with rearrangement, somewhat like moving checkers.   What happens if you re-read the sequence, starting with I, going directly to the last one, XX...?  It certainly works in terms of logic. 

Reading in different order sensitized us to find different kinds of comparisons: Where are the questions? (VII, (2 of them!) XII, XX).

Where does it feel like a love story between "I" and "you"-- perhaps between the poet, and the moon,

as Goddess as poetry (VIII, X, XIII and more)?

2) Some had seen in the opening, a "zenistic ambiguity", like the symbolic lotus, where the beauty of the flower is linked to the roots in the mud...  The "chain of moods" like a chain of haiku, leads to the repeated word "moods" in VI.  The sense of universal is present in the mention of XIV, we are all "units in a parade" and can relate in XV to those w's "within... weaving... web".  

3) Some felt a love narrative, and in IX and XIX felt the poet was speaking to someone who had died.

There is a sense of emptiness in XVI -- the heart a shell, moans... and yet, contradictorily, is too full to sing... only to "wrap the song" in XVIII, which some felt was a little "Hallmark" in sentimentality.

However read, everyone sensed great depth in the simplicity of the haiku form.  We did become more sensitized to spotting colons  (II, III, IV, [in line two], V [last line]) . (Later, we noted their extensive use in the Mary Cornish poem, "Numbers".)  How seamlessly he addresses the soul, winding it as  sound of wind, and yet, silence within.  

What a gift to have such a poem which can provide endless inspiration and subject of meditation!

A Habitable Grief: Paul, our resident Irishman, was present at both the in-person sessions on Thursday,

and alerted us to the inner workings of the sadness one lives with.  (Indicated by the title.)  I couldn't find an Irish song on this theme, "How can there be a second Elizabeth, when a first had never been?" But Paul cited the reference for us.   It relates to this line:  "what had never been, could still be found".  The three fragments in stanza 6 underscore the grief of the divide imposed by English as "lingua franca" as the common tongue in Ireland, the "lost land". How do you live with "a contrary passion /to be whole"? 

 Kathy brought up the importance of Boland's work to bring credence to women, also put down, especially in Ireland. (Object Lessons: Life of the Women and Poet in our Time- 1995).  She was reminded of the Hirschfield poem "What Binds Us."

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/52468/for-what-binds-us

Judith cited Robert Graves' The Crowning Privilege  and the long ago tradition of the great Irish bards who had to pass stiff exams in language and poetic form-- and there were women among them.  Perhaps the most noted: Liadan of Corkaguinney. Graves tells her story, which is probably legend. (See Lady Gregory's English translation of the Irish girl's lament for her unfaithful lover. https://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2010/apr/19/poem-of-the-week-lady-augusta-gregory

We discussed the repeated "just enough" at the end... A scar is no superficial mark...caused by abrasion, loss, and yet, healed  "just enough to be a nation."  Yes, back to the title... where one lives, with a palpable grief.

The poem elicits  concern for the difficulty of immigrants, and our growing awareness of how in the US we stamped out indigenous culture, and Western powers doing the same elsewhere.  It begs the question of how to be "whole", beyond artificial boundaries.

I know my Soul:  Beautifully crafted sonnet-- and yet another lens to better understand being African-American, as well as to revert to what dangers are involved in regarding the soul. Mention of Adam and Eve came up, where that fruit on the "tree of knowledge"  is forbidden.   

 The adjective "awful" line 7 can be understood in both senses as  key to "awe" and way to confront a painful (awful) situation.  I was struck by the undercurrent of /k/ sounds, perhaps like a narcotic, a numbing strum for the ending line, which repeats the title.

Judith remarked the feel of a Shakespearean conceit (rather twisty).  Indeed, the more you study and read it, the twistier it appears. Socratic "know thyself" does feel comforting... but  I'm not sure I feel confident in comprehension without a sense of control.

Kissing in Vietnamese: We are immediately transported to the Vietnam war... and can feel the productivity in this Grandmother marked by trauma.  There is a sense she conveys that she will not be here later, but can protect her grandson now...". There is an intensity of purpose in her kisses.   It came up that Eskimo kisses also involve inhaling.

The alliterative B's in the second line might change how you feel about our national anthem-- I know for me it did.  The imbedded "as if" contrasts between the first and second sentences, the first, laced with the Grandmother's past trauma, the second the way her kisses feel.  The final sentence breaks down the

5th line into three separate lines. as if somewhere, 

"a body is still"

(still) falling apart.

How do we take in each other?  This poem works on so many levels to remind us we cannot undo 

the violence of war... nor the intensity of love.

Numbers:  We needed a breather!  I love this poem -- that something as "calculating" and calculable as numbers can be infused with humor, and like good nursery rhymes, hold you in the comfort of imaginative  alternatives.  Generosity of numbers!  Subtraction never loss, but addition somewhere else...

and those odd remainders... The last stanza I believe has an echo of Giro, Giro Tondo, or the sailor who went out to sea. Judith immediately recited the Emperor's Rhyme (A.A. Milne) https://voetica.com/voetica.php?collection=3&poet=685&poem=3358

We noted the "piles of colons"!

Extraordinary Rendition: Ah!  this poem really started to come together for me after THREE groups batted it about.  Sure, the title, implies transfer of prisoner... But Paul filled us in with more Irish history,

and how Part I, speaking for the Irish in Ireland makes perfect sense knowing what the English did in the mines at Allihies on the SW tip of Ireland.   https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allihies_Copper_Mine_Museum

One arrives at "the rich vein" by elevator... the "cage" ... the landing stage would be the pier and dock,

as Allihies is atop a cliff by the sea.  The "you" is English... 

I do like that the poem came from his book A Rooster in Tepoztlan --  about 46 miles from Mexico City, and is a place  that means abundant copper or broken rocks.