January 26

This is what was bequeathed us  by Gregory Orr

Counting, This New Year's Morning, What Powers Yet Remain to Me – Jane Hirschberg

Imaginary Conversation by Linda Pastan

Poem that Leaves Behind the Ocean by Jim Moore

"The function of art is to do more than tell it like it is - it's to imagine what is possible.” bell hooks

Thank you Paul for sharing these links to a daily wealth of poetry from Ireland —
https://onbeing.org/series/poetry-unbound/?mc_cid=949f1e9d67&mc_eid=39a0251408

https://onbeing.org/poetry-home/

Thank you Bernie for suggesting this poem: https://onbeing.org/programs/craig-santos-perez-rings-of-fire/  ( the actual read of the poem starts at 0:52

Nutshell summary:

Gregory Orr: First off, apologies: The poem starts with repeating the title, "This is what was bequeathed us" not "Listen"... that was to hear him recite the poem in his quiet, very slow, almost mournful and unaccented voice. to hear:   https://onbeing.org/poetry-home/

We discussed the small b of Beloved-- where, "the beloved" is all who live and lived on this earth, not a singular being. The multi-layered "left" has both the sense of "bequeath", a beautiful almost antique word, and the act of departing.  David shared the feeling when one's parents die and you feel the weight of being the new  oldest generation. That feeling his wife shared with him on the death of her remaining parent -- "It's just us now."  Judith remarked the use of the  colons, how skillfully they accent the precious gift of our earth in the first two, and reinforce the importance of the instructions after the third.  We must turn all "this" of our earth, what is left, and what has left, both the beauty and destructive traces humans have left (those k's in black smokestacks accentuate it.) There is no emphasis on the words "No meaning but what we find here".  No accent on "find" or "here".  A simple matter-of-factness of being in the present.  Although the poem ends with an almost celebratory note of possibility that indeed, we can still  "sing awake", this song of the earth, there is also an elegiac tone in the clear message that we have a responsibility in determining what is left... 

  Kathy reminded us of Martin Buber, and the sacred nature of every day in the here and now.  There is no hereafter, only "this world". ( In  Buber's "I and Thou" he emphasizes the connection between humans, life, ultimately God and the primacy of the spoken word.)

David was reminded of Wallace Stevens, "Sunday Morning". https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/13261/sunday-morning

Merwin: How wonderful to address the New Year... a sense of companion, who is there again and again... no matter what changes in us as the birthdays collect and mark years.  Carolyn brought up the sounds of the poem which corroborate the sense of silence in "the sound of you", inviting the reader also to still, be present.  Kathy reminded us that the poem comes from Merwin's book of odes, Present Company.   There is an uplifting sense of innocence, as if the reader is invited to witness the birth of a day, so pure, indeed, the last word "possible" seems absolutely true.  Hope when addressed like a mantra, with Merwin's concentrated, mindful manner, indeed fills with an invisible but real potential.  The lovely "such as it is" and "such as they are" flavor the "is-ness" of the new year and our hope-- whether or not anyone is aware.  Merwin does not use punctuation, but as David pointed out, the phrasing of the words, the parsing reinforced by the line breaks, is a sign of good writing, where the voice knows exactly how to posture.  Singers now this as well.  What  beautiful layering  in the spacing between "the voice of a  dove calls"-- then next line  "from far away in itself" // another line: "to the hush of morning." 

 A good poem refuses paraphrasing, but it is tempting to try: The dove calls to the hush,... and the dove (spirit) both far away (from us) /(inside us) in itself calls... The lushness of meaning is fabulous!

Hirschfield: Another colon ends the opening line!  And what can you make?  can you do? -- the partial answer of "can admire, can make, climb" does not start with I.  What counts and how do we count perhaps lies in the title as well as coupled with this idea of "what remains".  We wondered why the repeated "4 years".  One possible explanation might be to the length of political, office, and since a recent poem, referring to  four years with Trump in charge. The waking up for four years to the mountain then the question" perhaps might be the use of words as propaganda,  the postcards and stamps letters to representatives.

That aside, we noted the reverberation of words like "recalcitrant" and "bespangle" in otherwise simple language. Mountain ... problem, "recalcitrant, shuffling its pebbles, sheltering foxes and beetles"  is quite a loaded phrase!  Indeed, the words feel "bespangled and bewilder".  And yet language is what is there to help us untangle bewilderment, write down thoughts we might unpocket, share with a friend.  The day, with the world repeatedly asking, is ironically part of the healing.  

Judith was reminded of the zen training-- the eagerness of the young monk, and the elder's wisdom of discipline in routine.  "Have you had breakfast?  Then, next, wash your bowl".  Carry water, chop wood.  We had an interesting angle looking at the word, "falling" which Kathy wanted to read as "failing".  Falling, perhaps as in stumbling, but not a Humpty Dumpty who cannot be put back together again.  Falling as in Adam and Eve, falling from grace, the Archangel cast from heaven... and the opposite-- raising a question.  We noted the food references, the Southern connections of black-eyed peas, collards, sweet tea.  The sacramental elements of salt and oil, as in the sacrament of  extreme unction (annointing of the sick).  Stone did not turn to apple. War did not become peace.  And yet, Joy remains Joy.  She doesn't mention that sorrow remains sorrow -- but that too would be true.  And indeed, suffering continues -- and always surprises.

There is so much wisdom in this poem-- and hope!

Oliver: The repeated end word of each couplet makes one think of a ghazal -- but as Paul pointed out, there are far more complicated rules for that form.  Elaine pointed out that one of the ideas is to balance positive and negative, which seems to happen in many of the couplets.  The opening has a sense of myth, and a hopeful implied "flame" (blameless borne by the too young archers)-- a waiting for what will happen with a question mark of what the distant future will bring. The poem was broken at the bottom of page 2 ending with the line:  "Grant me this, that until my end I may read and understand."

Many would have been glad to end the poem there.  The poem in Judith's terms, was "an over-egged pudding" -- and perhaps somewhat immature and pretentious.  I had put footnotes about the various stones, hoping that it might help understanding, but not really.  Zaftig, as stuffed, swollen, really didn't fit in the mood of a ruined world.  Perhaps the intent of the poem was to juxtapose a sense of disconnection in the chosen images  and the repeated hopeful "distance".

Pastan: How do you understand "live each day as if your last"?  Does this push you to make the most of it, or underline impending and imminent death?  This witty poem, Imaginary Conversation, struck us as funny.  Well-told using the "old saws" we think we know and think are true, and leaving us to wonder if perhaps they aren't!  We all loved the unusual description of the manner with which "you" grinds the coffee-- "with a small roar of a mind/trying to clear itself".  The verb choice of "baptized" is perfect for the attitude of "I" who proposes to live each day as if the first. 

Moore: We felt this 3 part poem was not only "over-egged pudding", but used too many recipes!  The first section doesn't really "gell"  and it is hard to know  what the title means.  Ada Limon's comment on it, as "quietly resilient" also didn't seem apparent. Martin was kind enough to remind us that we meet, talk about the poems, responding with what comes to mind.  It is only fair to respect Ada's comment, look in the poem to see human suffering.  We had a sense of a description of the pandemic, what is forbidden, the loneliness, the way we hide from the truth of things.  The poems does seem to end on surrender, breathing deeply.  

Although we didn't understand the connection between the Manatee the  special pendant of the speaker's mother, one senses a message about not trying to be in charge of the earth -- nothing is ours to keep.