Poems for April 27

Desert Places  by Robert Frost

Dead Stars by Ada Limón 

The Year of the Goldfinches by Ada Limón

Oral History by Elisa Gabbert

Troubling Myself with Things Too Great for Me by James Silas Rogers

The Leash by Ada Limon

Rundel Group will have the Sokol award poems which will be presented by video at 1 pm on Thursday in the Kate Gleason Auditorium at Central Library followed by a tour of the reading garden with Tom Pacer.

Mary Fraser has organized a drawing from participants to give out a book of poems about trees and field guide. The poems hanging on trees

Desert Places:  When we think of desert, we think of arid land, devoid of water, but have you ever thought of snow-covered landscape as wasteland?  Here, with the sonic moans of O (snow, Oh, repeated lonely, loneliness), Frost confesses a third kind of desert of inner darkness.   We discussed the difference between deserted (abandoned) and empty. 

Written at a time that Frost was dealing with depression, he said about this poem that he wrote it "without fumbling a sentence."  Indeed, both a personal and observational poem. 

We discussed the "absent-spirited", the layered meaning of "count" and "benighted".  The "they" in 

the 4th line before the end allows us to think on what  scares us with empty spaces, take a look at our own.

For contrast, see "Old Man's Winter Night".  

Dead Stars: In the first line, the word "bowing" could be a bow like a curtsey,  a bough bending, or a bow for an arrow, or an instrument.  She starts from the personal to move to the larger environment, and the multiple alliterations and repetitions crescendo, change tone --- ask that we act.  To "survive more" asks not just for words,  to represent "the mute mouths of sea, land"  (take the dust out of our mouths) put our bodies, our full weight into bargaining for a better planet for  "the safety of others".  Yes, we should learn some new "constellations" and stop forgetting... stop being terrified... be as big as stars... 

Hard to recap the many puzzling pieces and the ending,  "after all of this is over".  

The year of Goldfinches: The sounds are masterful,  and as Judith put it, "now there's a poem!" after

saying the other is "frosting on the political cupcake".  Almost a sonnet, and she continued, "the quality of vowels take care of protruding bones... no lumps in the dough".  It is the season of "gold" --  willows, feathers of finches, forsythia...  but also the  "low-watt/female"... A beautiful window into joy and the unconscious at work -- a painting of sounds  with a sense of Easter paradox, "feasting on thorns and liking it."

Oral History:  Interesting title -- as if at a teen-age poetry reading,  although not clear... We all could make a catalogue of things read -- and many readers did fact-checking, surprised to see some of the "news" recited is true.  Many commented on the adolescent feel, the contrast of fact with the bored life, and the Billy Collins-esque "boredom as luxurious misery", "Marooned in time" with nothing interesting happening for eternity, as far as we're concerned on either side.  The strange ending reminded Valerie of a teenager wondering if s/he were adopted... also the teen preoccupation with  "how one is supposed to look" and vanity of one's self...  We brought up the idea of the "super senior" which stretches out the length of adolescent... Dante, "at 30 I knew where to stand" is perhaps no longer... 

Troubling myself... Love the title and Galileo's description of wine as "sunlight held together by water" and the almost surprising ending on "love" as what calls the world into being. 

From miracle to chemistry to transformation... a hint of Euclid who alone could look on beauty, or

Galileo "yet it does move"... and symbolic resurrection of Christ's blood.  As for St. Augustine, he was no "prig" in his libertine days... 

The Leash: There are many ways of thinking of leashes and what is being leashed and how.

What makes this poem worth reading for you?  We imagined Ada's physical limitations, politics, 

and after the first part which sounded like a ritual of politically correct observations about our human propensity to poison, to hate (note, a crepitating crater of hatred)... 

I love that someone substituted "garbage" in image of the wound closing like a rusted over "garage" door.

We spoke of enthusiasm in dogs, and how we too are "hurtling our body towards what will obliterate us"...

what we think to control with a leash...to allow that peaceful walk... until the next truck comes.

I gave two references to Bill Heyen's book, Crazy Horse and the Custers...  and did read Bayonets and Grapeshot to give contest to "meretricious musings"...

As ever, the delight was in the sharing, the puzzling together as we took time to peruse.