Meditation in the Open-Air Garage by Carol Moldaw
Dust of Snow by Robert Frost
My People by Langston Hughes
My Heart like a Nation by Philip Metres
Travel by Edna St. Vincent Millay
When your son abandons the lawnmower for the second time in as many days by Peter Grandbois
Group 1: Judith read aloud Nemerov, Santa Claus http://sacompassion.net/poem-santa-claus-by-howard-nemerov/
Group 1 did have a little extra drama with the arrival of a nutcase harassing us for not wearing masks when it is clearly marked to do so in the library. It added a few new twists to the Metres poem...
Apologies for the noisy transition... but, indeed, those in the library were reluctant to go... our hearts "warm with the friends -- and better friends we'll not be knowing"... and hard to take the train...
Neither group read With the Face by Laura Riding...
Thank you to Maura for bringing "French Touffe" -- tufts of chocolate, nuts and apricot! and I believe Ken slipped in some white chocolate pretzels.
My thanks to each and every one of you for attending, sharing, reading, staying connected whether long-distance or in person!
Nutshell:
Meditation: The title reminded me of this year of pandemic... hearing concerts performed in driveways... the need for open air spaces when meeting masked in person... Open air Garage takes on a different tack in the poem... what is a garage? and how does opening it up change anything (or not)? Leaves... and the first group went to Autumn, memories and nostalgia of jumping in them, raking them, the smell of burning them... Perhaps a hint of leave-taking... Group 2 went beyond the appreciation of the charming sounds. David remarked that wind only makes noise because of what it confronts... so the willow, cottonwood, aspen might well be holding on to their leaves. It is not about season but something deeper.
Wind, associated with spirit, is at work here. Elaine brought up the paradox of "cushioned against/
concrete" and the sound as lack of mind, lack of heart as ecstasy-- how can that be?
Putting on a zen hat, emptiness allows breath to enter. As Susan put it, "let the breath breathe you".
Breath as spirit nesting inwards. The first group was eager to find a different last line... "empty sack of me" didn't seem to match the spirit of the rest of the poem.
Dust of Snow: 2nd group had the pleasure of hearing David read it -- twice, the way a haiku is honored.
Susan could see the blue-black of the crow, the white of snow, the green of the hemlock... Each word creates a step in an event... yet has (to quote Susan) a "haiku pithiness". No matter what is said, everyone concurs, this is a poem that uplifts... the kind of poem you pin on your refrigerator to remind you... ah...
yes... life... and remind you about savoring moments...
Jim shared a prosaic rewrite about an experience in his canoe about geese.. and a sudden burst of "cream"... One could ask "why me" -- but Frost's poem directs us to a larger thought.
The poem prompted Paul to share several wonderful stories about crows, who can imitate a dog -- or laughter... Which brings us to the next poem.
My people: Joyous incantation (thank you Jan) F.U. quality (thank you Marcie). The craft is indeed stunning. We read it in two parts. Dream-singers to the repeat of Dream-singers. He goes on with the list... not just Dancers, but God ! What dancers! He takes dream away from singers, and repeats,
God ! what singers. We didn't bring that up, but indeed noticed how "Loud Laughers" turned to "Loud-mouthed laughers. And that question mark. Laughers? Look at the change: loud laughers in the hand of...(lands in fate) vs. "laughers in the/ hands of fate."
It's a quiet manifesto... the list of lower class jobs.. and the more you look, the more the ache of the dream.
David suggested a comparison with Hughes homage to essential workers:
Necessity
Work?
I don't have to work
I don't have to do nothing
but eat, drink, stay black, and die.
This little old furnished room's
so small I can't whip a cat
without getting fur in my mouth
and my landlady's so old
her features is all run together
and God knows she sure can overcharge-
Which is why I reckon I does
have to work after all.
My Heart : What is a nation? A Heart? I was so glad that people wanted to read more Amichai and thank you Rose Marie for sharing this about the poet:
https://kenyonreview.org/kr-online-issue/2018-marapr/selections/philip-metres-656342/
Bernie filled us in on the Hebrew translation of Amichai's name.
How absolutely uncanny that in the first group at this point, a man came in and aggressively assaulted
us for not wearing masks!!!!!!!!
How do we treat people unlike ourselves? How do we respond to crazy people?
The poem is complex, moving. The discussions looked at the problem of homeland (the kindness wanted) at war with state (cruel and built on the blood of another.). What is promise vs. reality? What does a heart want but the sh-sh-sh of any agony?
When your son...
The note about the poem explains the wasp's nest -- but we stumbled in understanding "that cousin of the eyelessness of space..." and guessed that referred to a neutrality towards bad things that come at you.
The stranger who so rudely interrupted the first group seemed also to be "barking at the thing we can't see"... this anger at covid... at things we can't control... Indeed, human nature seems to be quite good at "stumbling through white fog searching for the doctrine of our own breath", or as someone put it, "attempt to stamp meaning and understanding on the world."
And wouldn't the son also be angry that his father promised this would never happen again (mowing, and hitting a wasps' nest) only to hit another nest? The note also says the poem, "posits another more hopeful answer than anger, withdrawal..." Perhaps the truth that "no one walks through their story un-unstung"
and acknowledge it.
**
Thank you Paul for sharing Is minic a bhris béal dune a shrón. (It's often a man's mouth broke his nose).
to hear the Gaelic: https://daltai.com/proverbs/relationships-dealing-with-others/advice/is-minic-a-bhris-beal-duine-a-shron/
Thank you Mary that you mentioned that the weekly poems and discussion provide "hope". I heard "o pen" as in our weekly gathering to discuss poems and share and see different ways to see.
Gang #1
Gang #2, but missing Bernie and David, Rosemarie
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