August 25

Flying Crooked by  Robert Graves

excerpt from Black Liturgies

Clouds by Carolyn Forché

It’s Hard to Keep a Clean Shirt Clean  by June Jordan

The Proof that Plato Was Wrong  by Eaven Boland

This, Then, Is How the World Oscillates—Jen Ashburn

Satire on Paying Calls in August  by Ch’ēng Hsiao (220 AD —would place him in Han Dynasty,  prior to Tang poets Li Po, Tu Fu, Wang 

I thank everyone present yesterday for the extreme patience required to surmount the awkward set up of  5 of us in person... 5 by zoom... Hopefully, whatever gleanings shared, partially heard, mostly intimated, were worth the time and strain!  I am sorry 

that I have little control over technology... 

Flying Crooked: In two sentences, the first, a rather digressive, interruptedly-written 8 lines. Unlike the traditional decastitch, divided into two sets of 5 lines, usually posing and answering a question, Graves maintains an even 8-syllable line with aa—bb—cc—dd—ee rhyme scheme, with the final t’s of the first four lines matching those of the last two lines, the slant rhyme of the long I  in the first two lines, matching those of  lines 5-6.  The scrambled syntax imitates the flight of the butterfly, where the word “now” stumbles into the 3^rd line (most readers  often mistakenly pronounce it “know”!).  8 lines of observation:  sorted out, simply:   The butterfly will never master the art of flying straight. Apparently for the speaker of the poem, identifying with this “just sense of how not to fly” the method seems haphazard (by guess, by God) and paradoxical (the lurching involves both hope and hopelessness.). The delightful irony pokes at the “politically correct” swift, giving the butterfly the “last word”  confirming his  “flying crooked” as "gift”. 

Perhaps a sense of “the road less travelled” — a common reference to Frost’s “The road not taken”, also an ironic poem, apparently penned with a jest in mind. 

Judith brought up Graves’ life and his haunting experience in WW1.

If these small ruminations interest you, you might enjoy reading Graves The Caterpillar https://poets.org/poem/caterpillar  and this article by David Orr on Frost The road not taken... https://lithub.com/youre-probably-misreading-robert-frosts-most-famous-poem/

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/315303/the-road-not-taken-by-david-orr/

  

excerpt from Black Liturgies:  my apologies for not providing more information about Black Liturgist, Cole Arthur Riley who curates this site at Cornell. https://blackliturgist.com

I shared that she is influenced not only by poets Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, but also theologians and thinkers like Juliana of Norwich (1343 — living in the time of the Black Death), Thomas Merton and Dietrich Bonhoeffer, anti-Nazi pastor executed in 1945 and the idea of redemptive suffering. 

A similar, but darker message  than Graves about being true to oneself.  Judith noted that “exhale”on the penultimate line makes her think of exile. 

 

Clouds: My words fail to convey the power of this 16 line poem. Judith made a beautiful poem of her description, which I can only paraphrase:  a capture of time, provoked in memory of the past, widening to end in blossom.  Indeed, these Russian Antinovka apple seeds, symbol of the immigrant experience, arrive in the first mention, line 3, of 50 years prior to a present moment, ending in a repeating of 50 years as “apple blossoms/in wind at once.”

From bird (now) over orchard, its history, and the title “clouds” reappearing on line 10...“islanding a window very past” a sense of return after death... and this resurrection of blossom.

It’s Hard to Keep a Clean Shirt Clean:  My apologies for missing the last line which repeats the title!  We concurred— a delightful poem!  We noted the clever crafting of  3-syllable words which Jordan uses sparingly in this poem of short lines— “delicate”, “accidents”  “restoration”, “eleventh”, “unfortunate”, “transparent”, “beautiful”.   The short vowel sound i, also weaves a delicate sound, which plays with  the sibilance  (sunlit, jasmine, easily, fist, this, sting, prints, shirt, spins, rinse, India, wish, everything,)but also the occlusive “pricking”  and the quietly plosive “limp” and “hit”.   We spoke briefly of the dedication to Sriram Shamasunder, her student who carried on Jordan’s focus on poetry for the people, and what is involved in suffering.  We imagined the youthful idealist, waiting while his shirt is scrubbed 11 times... his soft fist repeated as the metaphor for his shirt... working “its way with everything” — such a hopeful poem,  yet addressing the hit and hurt wrapped up in this shirt.

 

The Proof that Plato was Wrong:  One needs to start with a quick review of Plato, to appreciate this poem. He did not respect imitation and reflection in poetry... mistrusted poets for the potential of perpetrating false ideas.  Valerie pointed out the visual  form of the poem with the reflecting of lines facing each other starting in two places.   Paul mentioned the canal in Dublin which goes East-West, thus reflecting the sun’s path.  Boland sketches for us reflections of trees, birds, and we sense the season shifting... and the power of the imagination to bring bird song alive within these reflections.  The enjambments... the juxtapositions that imply time (I was young here.  I am older here.); the triple use of “here” to imply place both as physical moment experienced and as memory, and potential future add to a pleasing  brilliance. 

This, Then, Is How the World Oscillates:  The response to this poem was to question its disappointing lack of point, especially after the Boland.

Judith recalled TS Eliot’s “This is the way the world ends— not with a bang... but a whimper...” (The Hollow Men... sequel to The Waste Land). Granted, the idea of the pendulum swing, announced in the title seems promising, but seems unable to move from “malingering trajectory”, “desperate collective entropy and if the Japanese kanji for Jisho (release; let go, set free) is to help this “arc of heart-threads unraveling” ... how depressing to end on the final word, “implode”. 

 

Satire on Paying Calls in August:  All the more refreshing to end on a very funny satire of how visiting almost 2,000 years ago, still holds true today.  This would be a terrific performance piece... Elaine remembered Bernie’s poem on how to be a good host. (not sure if it was that last stanza of The Current State of Affairs, Egg-wise?

 

“I think of us all as eggs

Bumping and rolling along

A conveyor belt of life

Now clumsily caroming off and denting our neighbors

Or linking invisible arms for the long haul

Clasping each other or shoving away

As we roll on down together

With all that glorious light

Leaking in and leaking out.”

August 18

The River Village  by Tu Fu

Build, Now, a Monument  by Matthew Olzmann

Squander by W.J. Herbert

The Lover Tells of the Rose in His Heart  by W. B. Yeats

Their Lonely Betters  by W. H. Auden

Postscript  by Seamus Heaney

Such a joy to first, discuss in person (10 of us) followed by a second discussion  with 5 on zoom and 5 in person.  Next week, we will try for ONE hybrid session, try the "muting of the room" for the reverb problem.  Of course, for in person attendees, there will be time before and after the actual "session" to continue discussion!  The room will be available from 11-2, but the actual session will start at noon.

Summary 

The River Village:  Tu Fu, 712-770 AD, was contemporary with the older Li Po.  And yet, someone offered the idea of "flashfloods of now"-- the current of the river... the flow of current events far away from the peaceful scene in the first 4 lines. The "old wife" and "little sons" brought up the possibility 

of several wives... A contrasting translation of the penultimate line "I'm provided with the herbs I need" lent a different tone, however, both versions intimate a man at the end of his life.  By choosing "necessities" the Lowell translation intimates the question of "what is truly necessary for happiness".

For those interested in knowing more about the "golden age" of Chinese poetry https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/pdf/10.1080/25723618.2001.12015296

Judith summarized what Arthur Waley describes about Chinese poetry-- see his introduction here: 

170 Chinese poems replete with introduction here:   

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/42290/42290-h/42290-h.htm

The translation by Ayscough and Lowell reflects their 1900's aesthetic.  We all appreciated the wisdom of acceptance... a lovely "non-courtly", unpretentious observation -- 

Build, Now, a Monument:  What is a monument, and why do we build them?  What do we seek to preserve?  The poem starts with the human preoccupation with time and change.  It almost seems absurd to trade an hourglass for a staircase "to lament every transient second".  The "now" in the title, is repeated twice in the 4th stanza, "for now..." which is quite different than "building Now"-- a slippery affair-- for how does one build a moment in time, except by living? And if one is busy commemorating the present moment, how can that be lived?  It's much like a mobius strip...

The inclusion of the rarely encountered word "misoneism" is a perfect stumbling block to pronounce and comprehend as well.  If there is "hatred, fear of the new",  does a monument protect against innovation-- with the insinuation of intolerance-- and what good is a bridge "between /Earth and what Earth cannot touch"?  

We did spend some time in the first group wondering about "anger" in the 3rd line 5th stanza... and whether auger as in the tool to drill a hole, might be better for building... or augur, as in foretelling... but the emotional anger is as much involved in the process of building as sawdust and hammer.  

Suddenly, in the 5th stanza, we are in the past... memory of a friend... an old pain... which spurs him to think of the 4,000 muscles of a caterpillar, every one of them used "to become something other than itself".  We agreed that the question, is the body is a cocoon, lends to meditation on what emerges as we live... 

We enjoyed the surprising turns, and especially how the enjambment from  penultimate stanza to the end echoed the final enjambed line.  "his view of the world (line and stanza break)

expands. Mention of three monuments (Graceland, Grant's Tomb and Parthenon) and all ends. 

We join the poet in not comprehending how "around those endings, everything else (line break)

continues.

End of poem.

Both groups found the poem intriguing, and thought of Escher stairways ascending/descending in his work "Relativity". https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Relativity_(M._C._Escher)

 

Squander:  Bart was reminded of the song, Walking in Your Footsteps  by "The Police" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KgjXzKvZQcY

 

hey mighty brontosaurus, don’t you have a lesson for us... 

full lyrics: lyrics of Walking in your footsteps

The opening allowed us to speak of hoarders... and some fun stories came up, like Jim's (about his backpack in the Grand Canyon, left for a moment, and a raven raider opened the top pocket and laid out everything in it on the ground.  No shiny objects, so nothing stolen... but some are not so lucky).  

We wondered if the poem were written by a young person, upset at what is left for the younger and future generations (as her debut collection selected by Kwame Dawes in the National Poetry Series Competition), but from her website, she does not appear to be young.

Turning the phrase, "all that glitters is not gold"-- turned to as metaphor for what we have done to our planet thinking to amass "treasure" gives an extra punch with her details of "made with-fracked-gas plastics", and imagination of what kind of species will replace us as we replaced the dinosaurs... Indeed

what blood chemistry will it breathe?  

Although a rather dismal view of human nature, with prospects of the future going from grim to trimmer... the title is not a command... but rather invites us to consider our actions.  Squander, as transitive verb, which can be both "to waste" (time, money, effort) but also to pass up or lose an opportunity. 

The Lover:  Paul filled us in with a portrait of Yeats,  as quite the womanizer, and we agreed with Judith that this was not "top drawer", lacking the bite of his later work.  Note: casket is not coffin, but rather a small chest, coffer, in which to store valuables.  (From French cassette.). Is there some sarcasm involved

with this proposed righting of the  "wronging of your image"... ?  Certainly, melodious but borderline hallmarkish.

Their Lonely Betters 

The rhymed couplets are undisguised to the ear... and yet there is something intriguing about "the noise" a garden, or humans make... The gentle sarcasm of "betters" -- are we "better" than robins and vegetables, rustling flowers?  Who says?  But for sure... loneliness, one of our human problems is something we do try to amend with words... The lovely liquids in "let them leave language to their lonely betters" -- contrasts with a sense of a joke to say "which pairs should get mated" (not so much for robins, but for poetry) -- and how are we better with our lying, our knowledge of dying,  and "rhythm and rhyme, assuming responsibility for time"? 

Did Auden copy Robert Frost in the final line?  Perhaps. Poetry does indeed owe debts to poetry as Richard Wilbur explains (https://www.jstor.org/stable/3850610).  It matters not... The poem allows us to look at how we use language... and perhaps as Bart brought up in the Mary Oliver poem, "Straight Talk from the Fox"  ... we might consider whether we want to trade places. 

 http://www.ayearofbeinghere.com/2015/02/mary-oliver-straight-talk-from-fox.html

Postscript:

from Sylvie: "Seamus Heaney's poem did "catch' my 'heart off guard' and did' 'blow it open.'   I am,in fact, a hibernophile, and so,after reading Postscript I was so filled with the imagery and place I could not sleep (not unusual for me), my entire being filled with  the language, with the 'wind and light; with that watery greenery that is Ireland, so, all of this is to say thank you, thank you.  My friend Karen said something like: It is a poem that would suffice if one never wrote another !

  

The group:  I wish whoever reads this blog had been there to hear Paul (who is from Kilkenny, Ireland) talk about the beauty of County Clare… the fjords... the beehive huts of the 4th century monks... the surprise of seeing pods of whales breaching... and how County Clare is known for its music.  Indeed, Seamus Heaney would often recite his poems with musician Lynch... 

The group concurred that indeed,  by saying this poem aloud, you realize the movement of the mouth to form the words, are in tune with the breath… 

The last lines pay a tribute to the power of poetry… how indeed, it catches the heart off-guard and blows it open!

Jan sent this: "You are neither here nor there,  A hurry through which known and strange things pass…”.  What a beautiful description of our conscious lives so often.  It reminded me of the hourglass in the Olzmann poem.

Thank you all, as ever. 

Poems for Aug. 11

4 haiku

My Invisible Horse and the Speed of Human Decency  - Matthew Olzmann

In Summer Twilight-- Joshua Henry Jones, Jr.

The Theatre by Jana Prikryl (from Aug. issue of Atlantic)

Keeping Quiet by Pablo Neruda 

The Total Flowering of the Apocalypse by Alicia Hoffman (p. 65, Le Mot Juste)

Session I (11:15): Paul, Judith, Mary, Carmin, Martin, Ken, Jim (8 counting me)

Sesson II (12:30-ish) with zoom: Elaine, Ginny, Jan, Susan, Valerie, David S., Emily, Bernie (9 w/ me)

in person: Barb, Carolyn, Marna, Paul and Martin (5)

**We did not read the Haiku in Session II, as Carolyn, who enjoys haiku, was busy helping get the zoom set up and session I's view of the haiku was rather dim and due to tech set-up, the session's start was delayed.

Haiku:

IV: we did appreciate the larger link of "river's mouth" to a more mythic metaphor... whiskey as the water of life... but the first impression was one of zen humor turned Irish and Judith sang a parody of "the gin was getting low..." 

V: the "he" in question might be a lover, a husband... his touch like the first snow-- often unexpected, announcing a change in season.

VI: old age, for sure.  How many languages does a tree speak?  How do we recognize and what defines for each of us  "my language"

VII: borderline could be geography, or Martin suggested the half moon when you see its thin edge, between darkness and light.... This started a discussion about the Perseus meteors in August, how you can visible see the redness of Mars...

My Invisible Horse: 

In session 2, I asked everyone to focus (silently) on the title, before reading... which perhaps prompted a focus on "speed" and how decency is a "slow" process... with the adage about the horse and cart clearly applying to the idea of what moves it forward.  Of what good decency, if it has no "horsepower" to put it in action?  Elaine mentioned Olzmann's reading of it -- which gives no space for any breath.

Certainly the idea of "people tell me" , what the world, the Office of Disappointment and the roundtable of friends say, combined into a common "they" -- where "the cart!" and "the horse!" is left to our imagination, and  the "they say, 'Haven't we told you already' " confirms that indeed, we have no clue

what will help move us towards a kinder world.

Judith shared the idea of "copybook heading" in the old-fashioned school notebooks, where an adage  reflecting some accepted "truth" would head the page... and  Dickens'  novel Little Dorritt which satirizes the shortcomings of both government and society including the institution of debtor's prisons, where debts were imprisoned, unable to work until they repaid their debts. 

We all enjoyed the oppositions between concrete details like hotdog stands and Nasdaq (stock market index) juxtaposed with abstract hopes associated with "hallelujahs" and the moon (whose face is described as "adumbral" which Judith pointed out, rhymes nicely with "tumbrel", an old fashioned wagon).

As for the footnote about the "Great Filter", fortunately, people were familiar with  physicist Ernesto Fermi, his work on the atom bomb... which gave rise to associations about how we want to hear something intelligent as response to how we are destroying ourselves, something of use to address the crisis of global warning.

Ah... an invisible horse... the importance of imagination -- and society's failure of imagination --

and that  hypothetical mouth, the missing ear... of the horse... of what seems not to exist to help pull the "little grief wagon" to a better world... 

Another poem worth spending time with by him: https://therumpus.net/2021/04/national-poetry-month-day-1-matthew-olzmann/ (Like a Dish Rag Soaked in Bleach) 

Interlude:  Session II heard Ginny read her poem, I said goodbye today... 

a gentle embrace of the last days of autumn-- and although poets are warned to avoid words like "soul" and "heart", here, in the final stanza, the whispering of the heart "to rest" as we wait for the return of spring is perfect.  

Her lyric poem perhaps allowed the second group a kinder reading than the first of the poem by Joshua Henry Jones In Summer Twilight, with its careful arrangement of non-intrusive rhymes and pattern.

There is something consoling in recognizing the familiar Victorian flavor, albeit, knowing in 1919 there were strikingly different approaches to poetry that would mock the old style.  

The lovely enjambment of nodding/Adieu... the lightness of "twitter" and "flutter"... capture the gentleness Olzmann imagines for the world -- where twilight is not arrival of dark gloom, but a reminder to be quiet, 

as Neruda begs us to be, to observe the immensity of the theatre of possible universes in the sky.

The Theatre: Who knows what the original Czech might have conveyed in this rather surreal poem.

Many felt a bit unnerved by the opening 6 lines.  What is "that one", and why the repetition of "as usual"--

and yet, how familiar... too much to read... so much not understood... The shift to the plane reminded Mary of one of the Seabreeze rides...  How does the speaker of the poem deal with the world?

and with her lover who is confident that the plane won't sink, and not surprised there are no casualties?

Without overtly offering the reader a choice, would you not rather be in the camp of the author, fully endorsing her prize possession, surprise?  

We do not know how the play will end -- but since the couple is walking through the gate, untouched by danger... there's a sense of perpetual repeat in store --"as usual", the same scenario "I couldn't understand" .

Is that the prize/price of surviving?

Neruda: A Callarse: 

I was pleased that both Paul and Martin found time to work with the Spanish and compare the more traditional and literal translation by Alastair Reid with the quite different response/translation by Julieta Venegas.  "If we were not to single-minded/about keeping our lives moving" --

and we discussed this 21st century compulsion of being constantly "on" and "connected" with our various iPhones, screens, electronic toys, a sense of chasing after something... but caught by an "invisible horse" quite different than Olzmann's imaginary one-- 

Martin mentioned the biblical references in the stanza about the  Fisherman, evident to a Spanish catholic,  

and perhaps even without this, the  details leave as Bernie says, a sense of something both simple and ambiguous.  

Judith brought up the value of stillness -- especially in dance... and how choreography has changed,

preferring "writhing and coils"...   Indeed... 

"If for once we would do nothing... perhaps a huge silence might interrupt this sadness

of never understanding ourselves.... never understanding each other... threatening each other with death."

We spoke of global catastrophe regarding climate... of the heartbreak of violence breeding more violence, wars... which provided a perfect segue to Alicia's poem.

Apocalypse: (p. 65 in Le Mot Juste) 

Her image of poppies, references to Flanders Field... observation of modern trampling of flowers, 

to paradoxically get a picture of them (before their destruction)... the contemporary replacement of this, since the pandemic did not allow a visit to see them, by watching "small apocalypse's blossom into emergency".  We discussed the "it" in the final line -- what are we daring? 

The double-edge of "bringing us to our knees" -- what brings us to prayer... what humbles us? and

what destroys us.  David suggests the entire dance in the seven lines of the last sentence-- between

Scylla and Charybdis -- the world an "entire field of us", how we point our images to the sky, etc.

 (She does not specify the way we launch English words on rockets into the universe hoping some "intelligent life" will decode them-- but there's an underpinning there... )

We are but fragile things in the wind indeed.

As antidote, Ken suggested this link to 24 hour streaming of music: https://www.yourclassical.org/

Bernie asked if I had any Ferlinghetti to help change the mood... which prompted me to read his marvelous poem, also in Le Mot Juste:  The Current State of Affairs, Egg-wise  by Bernie Shore

Indeed!  A perfect "an-egg-dote" to help us roll on down together/ all that glorious light/ leaking in and leaking out.  If you misplace the hand-out, feel free to contact me to send this marvelous poem,

or go to the Pittsford Library to check out "Le Mot Juste 2021".

***

Available in one hand-out as follow-up: 

 

1.     oral rendition of Matthew Olzmann’s poem:  “My Invisible Horse and the Speed of Human Decency”

 https://soundcloud.com/poets-org/matthew-olzmann-my-invisible-horse-and-the-speed-of-human-decency

 

2.     two poems from Le Mot Juste: Ginny’s (p. 46) and Bernie’s (p. 74) 

 

3.     Martin’s translation of the Neruda A Callarse:  the original Spanish here: https://www.poesi.as/pn58005.htm

 

4.     Ken’s share of https://www.yourclassical.org/ a free 24 hour classical music streaming service from APM and Minnesota Public Radio. 

Poems for August 4

3 Haiku from Akitsu Quarterly

Give-Away Song by Gwen Westerman

Bats by William Heyen

Today I think I'll be a doorknob by David Yockel

Letter to Someone Living Fifty Years from Now  by Matthew Olzmann

United by Naomi Shihab

The two  August 4 sessions were special in so many ways!  First, my thanks to everyone for the concern about the Delta variant... the use of masks, zoom still part of our landscape... and the wonderful GOOD HUMOR as we navigated the hybrid session.

I opened by showing  Le Mot Juste, now in the Pittsford Library and reading the last page with Thomas Warfield's reflection, The Poetic Path. Indeed, Poetry feeds us forever inside and out".  Jim added this quote from Shelley:

“Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.”

Haiku:  It is a challenge to understanding this form from vastly different culture and language.  I had no information  about the writers of the three haiku chosen.  It was a joy  to see how the first group of 9 responded, suggesting changes in line order and ending up with the idea of the three providing bones for a story!  In the second hybrid group of 18, I heard very different comments: an appreciation of bioluminescence in the first haiku stressed  rather than seeking syntactical sense.

crossing the lake as first line provides a sense of lake as cosmos... and the non-specified subject of who/what is crossing...  The third haiku for one, had responses from "not evocative enough" to "rife with implication".  Both groups agreed the second haiku gave a sense of resurrection with the pull between death and  life, (leaping as trout)... Judith reminded us that "The Japanese can cheat on the syllable count" by added an extra "ka" (which syntactically is related to turning a statement into a question!).  Lori was reminded of the style and feel of William Carlos Williams, "Red Wheelbarrow". 

For such a small collection of syllables, (not chained to 5-7-5 arrangement) not only did we have a fine discussion, but also had the feeling of playing a very pleasant party game.

Give-Away Song: both groups listened to Gwen Westerman read her poem and were taken by the very slow, chant-like style which contrasted sharply with how one imagine imagine the sound from simply reading.  The shift from give-away (gift-sharing, so misunderstood by those driving the Dakota off their land, persecuting children in boarding schools) to give-way -- a "way" as a manner of living inherent in a life-outlook, gave the poem an added note of solemnity.  Marna brought up the Navaho "blessing way"; 

Judith brought up the fact that singing enhances just about anything and the fun of imitating rhythms,

so Longfellow's Hiawatha can be imitated as parody by Stephen Leacock, and the listener will at first be hard-pressed to know the difference.

Bats: We read the poem in two equal parts of 4 1/2 couplets.  What a wealth of response from the children's book, Bats at the Beach, to Die Fledermaus and calling on expressions such as "bats in the belfry" and "going bats", not to mention Rose Marie's real bat...   Not everyone appreciates poetic leaps, and what some might think is too clever a mismatch (meta-time, angelic membranes) others think are delightfully in keeping with the "coal mines in our skulls" and the brains' vellum-- all of us "monks illuminating a hymnal called The Book of the Bat" ! Paul reminded us that harbinger has another meaning of manuscript, which helped the verbal 'cursive'.  Certainly by the end of the discussion, anything perceived as awkward fit in an appreciation of rich travel from dark to light...  thinking about bats... and unfathomed caverns...  

Martin noted this about Paul:  you say you are critical, but your voice is giving the message that you making comments in good humor! Interesting -- just like singing a poem, vs. reading it -- two very different interpretations!

Today, I think I'll be a doorknob

We picked up on some underlying hurt... the rather flip start, reaching out, tongue-in-cheek association with objects... and universal problems  such as feeling like a human doormat... 

The power of the imagination draws us in by the absurdity... and the almost reassuring statement of

knowing whatever happens, the speaker's feet will indeed hit the ground.   

 We had no problem picking up on the metaphors— the mayfly who only lives one day…

the classification of bar stool as totally necessary (in some situations) or ornamental,

like stained-glass windows… the fear we all have… waiting for a light, wondering

what the weather will do to our surface, like the candle and lake… “committed to

heat, reflection, (doomed to) erasure”.  Hard not to think of passion… the importance of thinking… 

and the inevitable end for us all when our physical death comes. 

There’s a sort of melancholy in between the lines as Yockel sketches creative ways 

to address mood changes… arriving at a sense of peace… and the clincher — the return

to the human hand, holding a pen, etching thought into words addressed to a friend.

Letter to Someone... Emily was reminded of a poem we read sometime back about elephant ivory and piano keys... Certainly a timely poem, although written 4 years ago.  As I pointed out in the note, it was used for the American Academy's "teach this poem" with reference to five other poems.

Marne brought up a conversation she heard on WXXI between Millenials and Baby Boomers... 

the anger of the former... the day and night responses of the latter.  I suspect the "We" in this poem

is all of the human race... which, even if you do not participate in dousing a lawn with chemicals,

are careful about supporting healthy farming practices, ecological mindfulness, etc, indeed, our

planet has an unremovable history of trash, as noun and verb.  Olzmann's poem starts off with an apologetic kindness-- "most likely" and "it must seem" and "you probably doubt" leave room for bees to pollinate even a small euphoria of flowers.  Absolutely...and I assure...  smack of two types of transcendence needed: (Ego: self: beyond ego; self-transcendence: beyond the self:) and indeed, once can hope for the third (spiritual transcendence: beyond space and time.) although it seems highly unlikely any understanding of it will be arrive, or save the bees from dying..

United:  Who knew of the fun one can poke with State Mottos.  New York was not included... but what might you have to say about "Excelsior"?  It is good to laugh, to meet the irony of "united" in the title,

and Naomi's questions!