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.