March Madness by Joyce Ritchie
Sweater by Jane Hirshfield
Three Dog Night by Faith Shearin
Life Plans by W. Conway
Fanny Linguistics: Publix Hieroglyphics by Nickole Brown
Salmon by Gabrielle Bates
"Fire Destroys Beloved Chicago Bakery" by Nathan McClain
I had mentioned in the send off for the poems the exhibit at the MAG, In Praise of Trees :Woodcuts by Naoko Matsubara. https://mag.rochester.edu/exhibitions/in-praise-of-trees/ I might not have time to share all the poems, but should you wish to see them I would be glad to send you the link.
Barb found more poems responding to the artwork of Naoko Matsubara by Penny Boxall. https://www.washiarts.com/books/in-praise-of-hands-naoko-matsubara and has ordered her book!
Nutshell of discussion:
Perhaps the poems this week were all related to how we try to understand the "how" of living. The responses were rich and abundant, which should confirm how lucky we are... to take time to read, think carefully about we have read and share our multiple responses!
March Madness. Mary, a basketball fan, was delighted with the title. She informed us that "Hoosier" came from "Who's yere" (when a visitor knocked on a pioneer cabin in Indiana). No one ever explained by this was more typical of Indiana than of Illinois or Ohio. Apparently there are a few more explanations. https://www.in.gov/history/about-indiana-history-and-trivia/emblems-and-symbols/what-is-a-hoosier/
About the poem: Indeed, Mars, God of War could be blamed for weather, akin to war, so succinctly described in the first stanza. And mention of Thalia, one of the muses, associated with comedy, along with her sister Grace and Mirth counters it beautifully in the second. The astrological sign of Pisces, or two fish might explain the yin/yang aspect of this month known for temperamental weather!
Such a beautifully economical description of spring which had everyone remarking on scylla, winter aconite now painting lawns bright yellow and blue, and clumps of snowbells ringing (wringing out last vestiges of snow?). A quick sketch completes the ice cream clouds and sunburst on our mortal stage with "a patch of new spring green, three robins, a single spray of snowdrops".
Back to the title: Why is it we want to put the blame on someone/something, when the madness involved (effects of climate change, war) is human?
Sweater: I am not sure if originally this poem was a 14 line sonnet, but I do not have a copy of Come, Thief, her book published in 2011 from which it came. Regardless, two simple things: a sweater and a coffeecup. Instead of rhyme, she uses what I might call "grammatical anaphor" which Judith immediately identified as Whitmanesque and which enchants us by putting the adjective first. Three instances of Lucky the one, just as the six syllables of un-meta-physical is made of three components.
How beautifully later turns to Acrobatic at last, the sweater, and the adjectives continue: elastic as breath, patient as the table (with its pale Saturn rings of now and before made by the unjudging, ample, refillable coffee cup); irrefusable. The whole poem stretches into its shape, into a beautifully knitted metaphoric sweater. Some saw aging, others gratitude and "unmetaphysical" we agreed was the simple acceptance that "a thing is what a thing is". And yet so much more.
Three Dog Night: Whether in Alaska, Siberia or the Australian outback, this poem lets us know such a night is COLD. We read it changing readers with each tercet so as to appreciate the clever enjambments! Such an engaging way to invite the reader in, and provide time to pause and think how to finish things like you might sleep with/your cousin or sister, your nose... (one of the most amusing ones) and it was fun to hear about childhood memories of jumping on beds, sharing beds, even hot bricks (instead of the bake potato). But the poem just swept us up, "all in bed together"! The nose was indeed buried in the summer of their/hair. Scent and warmth, memory, only to move on to the dead fire, smoldered down to the bone silence of ash. The emotional pull is strong and the final stanza a masterful return to the title, no matter if one, two or three dogs, anything to lie /down with life, feel it breathing nearby.
Life Plans: We thorough enjoyed this poem as well. Whether the two friends are both photographers, both male or female, just like that Chrysanthemum, it is the wrestling of time and intention -- that "tension" as life goes on. Whether "Plan" in the title is about Life doing its thing, or the intimated next projects, what is so enjoyable is the range of possible scenarios. Some related to the chrysanthemum, and the longing and yearning of being elsewhere and otherwise than with that annoying carnation. The poem does not mention that a carnation has a strong scent, but does emphasize its non-stop smile, as if at an eternal cocktail party showing off perfect manners and social know how. Others took up the idea that the Chrysanthemum, if given a chance would proclaim it was not having a hard time at all. This brought up the expression my chemistry teacher taught us the first day: "Never make assumptions of you will be the first three letters of that word". The poet is generous in painting what seems to be his/her projection and what it's like to face that "slow creep of age". The reference to photography, dependent on time (exposure, light, timing), intention (and arranging a composition) mirrors the "wrestling" with an added fun association of "tension" in the sound of "intention". Bernie brought up the concept of "Kavannah". (intention: a theological concept in Judaism about a worshiper's state of mind and heart, esp. the emotional absorption during prayers. see: https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/kavvanah-intention/ )
Fanny Linguistics: Publix Hieroglyphics: Another poem by Nickole Brown from her book Fanny Says. (in the library). As the book cover says: A raucous, bawdy, and hilarious investigation of the South through the unforgettable voice of Fanny, Nickole Brown's fierce, tough-as-new-rope grandmother. "Assumptions" came up again about negative judgements against those who do not read and write. Judith brought up a story of an "illiterate" woman who found an alternative way of labeling using colors which worked perfectly fine, but was fired under the new management because she could not spell.
Salmon : This couple in couplets also has that word "assumptions", but in an unusual way. Usually at a funeral, one does not talk about the regrets of the deceased. How odd, that after establishing the setting, a father tells a son about a funeral speech structured around "regrets everyone assumed the father didn't have". Further, it is hard to imagine stories involving boys crashing the family van and fishing mishaps as being "hilarious" let alone appropriate for a funeral service for a father. If the title is Salmon... swimming countercurrent to spawn, perhaps there is some relationship that one of the salmon nigiri is "orange enough// to pretend it's salmon. The poem continues through the sensuous description of salmon and this curt sentence after mention of the wasabi (also a different name than the dyed green horseradish paste it is.) I know his regrets. Stanza break. An even shorter sentence. I could list them. Those short sentences are a clue to something we can only guess. How else to say it. (like steelhead called trout, the green paste called wasabi). I am my father's only child, and he is my mother. We all had shivers reading the last two stanzas. How good it felt just to be next to him, /to be the closest thing he had.
Fire Destroys. I would love to hear a conversation between Nathan who wrote this poem and Gabrielle, who wrote Salmon.
The title indeed sounds like a News Headline. In trying to find if it had been an actual event and if so more about it, I found this site with 3 other poems by Mathan McClain, one of which is called "Based on a True Story". https://muse.jhu.edu/article/622562/pdfBecause the last poem mostly left a negativity, I offered this little poem Snoepje as an antidote so we could leave on a positive note... and Bernie offered the word of the Day: spizzerinctum; (origin: American English, mid-19th century)
1. Determination, ardor, or zeal.
2. Chutzpah, guts, nerve, or backbone.
https://worddaily.com/words/Spizzerinctum/
Another example of a "malapropism" -- below I imagined sloepje (little boat) by the harbor, as my friend spoke of getting a little snoepje (a cake/cookie) to go with a cup of coffee.
Snoepje[1]
We have stopped to warm up
at a café by the Montréal harbor.
Our Belgian friend's face lights at
the display of cakes, cookies
and I hear, sloepje, word for
a small boat instead of snoepje.
Here in the ice-crusted
port, the slippery sounds of sl,
the diminutive pje become waves
on the beach in summer,
rolling out to completion
only to withdraw,
the way
our friend repeats snoepje,
as if he is licking the sweet sand
like sugar. Ah... now I understand—
Snoepje, what completes afternoon coffee—
and what is transporting
him back to childhood.
We look out at the blue umbrellas
casting their shadows on the snow
and I imagine whitecaps as a wallow
of whales. Why not?
Here in the Port of Montréal
time and place are melting
in memory as we watch
the years soften. He
examines his choice
of cake, whispering
snoepje and I sail
happily in his wake.
No comments:
Post a Comment