Poems for 6/28

In the Room of a Thousand Miles by Billy Collins

Neighbors  by Stephen Morrow

The Statues and Us  by Yannis Ritsos

Part by Phillis Levin

The Year of the Eclipse by Elizabeth Knapp

What We Can Do  by Abby Murray

Poem for my Daughter Before the March by Abby E. Murray

Nutshell:

Collins:  The title gives the reader a hint... as does the mention of a "world beyond my inkwell",

the calligraphic nuance of thin pen to " along with mention of the manner Chinese poets  and idea to write down"  a bird -- a  poetic attempt to capture the moment of its singing, starting, pausing, starting up again.

Quite a contrast form the usual expectation of "furniture of the world".  We picked up on "aperture" as opening up to a bigger ... some would have preferred he leave out details of his wife, others appreciated the biographical intimations in this confession of what a poet really prefers to write.

Morrow: A different type of portrait, perhaps a dream.  We noted the child-like flavor -- enjoyed the "slippers" -- first comparison "like a river inside a slipper" then repeated, "like a map...." and the beautiful language contrasting with the functional UPS truck. What moves you?  What moves a UPS man? or, in this case, someone who seems to be dreaming the dreams of other people?

The Statues and Us: Good food for thought, and embellished by Maura describing her time in Greece as sculptor (picture of her sculpture of Abou Ben Adhem shared with the send out of next week's poems.) 

Imagine, touching a statue from thousands of years ago... 

We delved into the etymology and meaning of "uprightness" both in physical and moral aspects... It is almost reassuring that time and the times may indeed "ravage", but the mention of "infinite love-making" gives a sense of hope, no matter how we are naked, no matter how lumpy the bed.

Part: Brilliant use of form to illustrate the word  "part" with its multiple meanings. We noted the end punctuation of stanzas... at first a semi-colon; then a comma; then nothing, with a parenthesis,

finishing its flow in the next stanza.  Then, fragmenting. from noun (part of hair) to A verb: to break 

and what feels to be an unfinished or unspoken thought.  I cannot bear to ever... 

Powerful way to look at the pain of leaving... where parting may indeed be "sweet sorrow", but also the roles we play, to add some Shakespeare. 

Eclipse:  We tried to refrain from politics and mention of the effects of Trump.  This sonnet indeed uses the volta at the 8th line... starting with BUT.  Everything would seem normal under a sky we never assumed to be permanent. Hmmmm... Who is involved with the "we"?  Compared with "The Statues and Us" how is it to only have only "the idea of love", as what remains before the closing of the lid?

Kathy brought up Annie Dillard  https://www.theatlantic.com/science/archive/2017/08/annie-dillards-total-eclipse/536148/

it is a noted occasion... (from Teaching a Poem to Talk ) and read the last paragraph. We never looked back. It was a general vamoose, and an odd one, for when we left the hill, the sun was still partially eclipsed—a sight rare enough, and one which, in itself, we would probably have driven five hours to see. But enough is enough. One turns at last even from glory itself with a sigh of relief. From the depths of mystery, and even from the heights of splendor, we bounce back and hurry for the latitudes of home.

Judith brought up Azimov's short story Nightfall, the story of planet where people have never seen the sun.

We did not fully discuss the last two poems: What We Can Do and Poem for my Daughter before the March by Abby Murray.  Both moving, and the final poem better understood knowing the father is in the military.  It brought up the detail of the  Bread and Roses rebellion in the textile mills in 1912, https://newenglandhistoricalsociety.com/flashback-photo-the-1912-bread-and-roses-strike/

Poems for June 21

 The Lifeline by Pádraig O Tuama

Occasional Poem by Jacqueline Woodson

Playing with Bees  by RK Fauth

The World Beneath  by Devon Balwit

Mind Wanting More by by Holly J. Hughes (from 6/14, didn't get to it last week)

The discussion involved many words that start with under...the undertaker, and of course, understand, and how each poem had so many layers underneath.  Each week, it is fascinating to watch how poems can offer a rich treasury of feelings which trigger multiple responses and associations.   

Usually our discussions don't lead to pounding and apologies!  This week,  the first, short poem   seemed to touch so many of us, as we all described our own personal “excavations“. We all seemed to want to linger in that tender space and not leave it.

We are a sensitive bunch, but I am glad to see harmony rules as the final word.

Below the "nutshell, I include more sharings of the group: Paul's manual containing recipes, which if read with a certain poem could indeed be considered sensuous poems; Judith's response of recalling Ragenau's poem about almond tarts.  I include as well, an  "occasional poem" Bernie offers about his second daughter's wedding.  

All of this rich sharing confirms the lines of the poem by Holly Hughes-- indeed, what is, is a largely sufficient confirmation that we are amply served with plenty of positives, appreciated all the more by

what drives us to want to defend them from incursions of those negatives. 

As if, two such simple words,

 that mirror what might be —

can you see, those dual birds

winging plus, minus energy

of our desires, as if, as if,

until we sift them, shift

to better listen to all we have heard

look again and all we think we see.

Nutshell:

The Lifeline: After Paul read it for us, giving the proper Irish pronunciation of Patrick, he was reminded of the song, Michael Finnigan  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXF4e5Jt2ak where each verse goes faster and faster after ending with "begin again"!  Echoes of John Donne, (echoed by Hemingway) For Whom the Bell Tolls, become unspecified "echoes" in the second stanza, joined by a touch of Celtic carving, Egyptian parsing of organs in canopic jars, and hints of escavating past losses. People continued to draw parallels with books, such as The Undertaking by Michael Lynch https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/56803 and An American Boy . https://www.amazon.com/American-Boy-Michael-Miragliuolo/dp/1432769642

Curious that most people responded to the poem as a meditation on death, and as such, Martin remarked that he felt little empathy for the speaker and why he would embark on such a dangerous idea as to "gut himself".    How to link a sense of loss with the title?  We all are prone to comparisons, to "getting to work to create something" on hearing news of death.   Bernie noted it as a metaphorical excavation of griefs and losses rather than a physical one and how some poems don’t seem to impact us so much, and we leave  discussion of them quite promptly. 

The discussion also including the thought that perhaps bells might be a thing of the past, and how music is a blessing... 

Occasional Poem: a touching poem told from the point of view of a young boy which paints not just a teacher with her young charges, and in particular,  one boy, Lamont, but Lonnie, as speaker of the poem.  Barbara brought us up to date with Locomotion, a book of poems which tell the story of Lonnie, a foster child, afterhe tragic death of his mother.  Bravo to the readers who all adapted a different style, including a Southern twang.  Discussion involved the complexity of Lamont, mirrored in the description of his coat,

and all this from the lesson about writing an "occasional poem" which in this case focusses on a specific Tuesday in January in a classroom, where the spotlight is on a child for whom a birthday is a metaphor for something better far away from the miserable present, and the speaker interrupted from a chance to write about his mother's funeral.  The unsaid that is underneath speaks volumes.

Playing with Bees:  a very busy poem, laden with metaphors, as much at risk as the bees.  Each loss is more than the physical loss of a bee-friendly plant.  Nothing, nobody... and much as "spry as a daisy" works, it is not the usual combination of words and the simile for "nothing in particular/by any other name would smell as sweet as—" is unfinished.  In case you hadn't associated "verbal dearth" as a ripple of

extinction, this poem paints an airy pointillist image at first, ending with a stalk of stanzas,

"slimmed down" to shorter lines with similes, none of which can be said, if no bees.

The practice of indigenous cultures of naming with characteristics came up.  Overkill of metaphor to mirror actual disappearance of bees?

The World Beneath: winner of one of Rattle Magazine's ekphrastic challenges with commentary of poet and also by the artist. If the painting is indeed a "precursor" of our current "disappointed world", the poet weaves in the sounds of P's... peel, primaries, impediment... poorer, poles, shapes -- and the organized patterns of houses indeed, create a "tuneful hum", speaking a language before language.   

So we ended up, after questioning precursor and impediment, before seeing the patterns.  

Mind wanting more: a perfect poem to end the discussion which brought up the childlike mentality which doesn't focus on mind.  

**

Extra sharing:  Paul's cookbook -- a manual of instruction, perhaps published in early 1900?  

Read a recipe ... the verbs, cream, beat, sift, blend, mix, etc.  take on new metaphorical meaning when

making Coconut Buns:  

Grease the baking sheet... drop onto the tin in small heaps... 

This reminded Judith of Ragueneau, the local pastry chef at whose bakery Cyrano meets Roxane in Edmond Rostand's play Cyrano de Bergerac.   Ragueneau is very fond of poetry (a little jealous of Cyrano) and in a meeting where he hosts fellow poets,  he then reads his latest composition: https://www.cheftalk.com/threads/almond-tarts-from-cyrano.4123/

Judith notes, the only worthy translation is by Brian Hooker... who translates this tartlet recipe as lime... 

this is obviously not the Hooker translation, but gives you the flavor. 

A Recipe for Making Almond Tarts

Poised on steady legs, 
First your poet begs
Several eggs.
Froth them to a mousse,
And then introduce
Lemon juice.
Shimmmering like silk,
Aromatic milk
Of Almonds will c-
-ome next. And next prepare
Pastry light as air
To coat with care
Each pretty pastry mold,
Which sweetly will enfold
The liquid gold.
Smile- a father, fond,
Wave your fiery wand,
Bake till blond.
Melting mouths and hearts, 
Ummmmm, saliva starts-
Almond tarts!

And to inspire all to write "occasional poems" : Bernie shares his occasional poem

Wedding Day  

 

 

 

 

,

White dress, silver ring 

a day of hopes and anticipation

built of tears and laughter 

and a thousand choices,

condensed to this moment,

a swirling diamond day.

 

 

And yet.

 

Everyone knows it’s just one day,

one link in the chain of days

that make a life, two lives,

that what’s come before

and what comes after

tells the tale. 

 

 

It’s in the waking up in bed together

on ordinary mornings

the quality of eyes sipping coffees

before hurrying to work,

the remembering of affection 

while doling out chores or

scribbling a shopping list.

 

 

Poems for June 14

Poems from Poetry of Presence: an Anthology of Mindfulness Poems edited by Phyllis Cole-Dai, Ruby R. Wilson, 2017

Paul will lead the group, as I cannot be there. 

Sifter  by Naomi Shihab Nye
The Patience of Ordinary Things by Pat Schneider

The Word by Tony Hoagland

Untitled - Kabir (translation by Robert Bly) 

Hermandad/ Brotherhood by Octavio Paz (translated by Eliot Weinberger)

Fluent  by John O’Donohue

A Gift  by Denise Levertov

from Mind Wanting More  by Holly J. Hughes

Kathy noted that I did not include the full text of this last poem, -- I had omitted a few lines at the beginning and end so the poems were contained on 4 pages.

here is the full poem:

Mind Wanting More

   Holly J. Hughes

Only a beige slat of sun

above the horizon, like a shade

pulled not quite down. Otherwise,

clouds. Sea rippled here and

there. Birds reluctant to fly.

The mind wants a shaft of sun to

stir the grey porridge of clouds,

an osprey to stitch sea to sky

with its barred wings, some dramatic

music: a symphony, perhaps

a Chinese gong.

 

But the mind always

wants more than it has—

one more bright day of sun,

one more clear night in bed

with the moon; one more hour

to get the words right; one

more chance for the heart in hiding

to emerge from its thicket

in dried grasses—as if this quiet day

with its tentative light weren't enough,

as if joy weren't strewn all around.

   —-from Poetry of Presence: An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems, 2017

We discussed this on 6/21.  For the clouds, Susan shared the term mammatus clouds:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59891752-the-wanting-way

These most unusual and distinctive cloud formations with a series of bulges or pouches emerging from the base of a cloud. The shape of mammatus formations can vary widely; from the classic protruding shape, to a more elongated tube hanging from the cloud above.  Quite a visual "porridge"!!

We discussed at length this "wanting thing"... how indeed, we seem to clamor for it, but then in retrospect wonder why. 

Paul's report of discussion: 

 I was afraid there was not enough poetry to fill the time and so, for Father's Day, I recited/read Patrick Kavanagh's, Memory of my Father. Lovely, short, evocative work of art. Then began what was to be a lukewarm interest in the selections...which made for a rapid rundown of the material. So, when we got to the Spanish/English one about ???, I suggested that the translation didn't fit the outcome. Wellll !

That bought me a good 15 minutes. All agreed that the thing was awkward and no one could come up with a coherent explanation of the meaning. We left a call at Mr. Ptolemy's office to enquire about his position on the author's translation. Nothing yet. 

Jim was, as usual, a riot. The ladies were, as usual, terrific in insight and Marna got everyone "going" on childhood memories....dredged up by the first poem and the kitchen utensils. As usual, one more time, it was a rollicking good time and the social hour came to an end around 2PM.  

About lukewarm interest: 

hmmmmm... 

1. Naomi's poem:  What a terrific prompt!  Become a kitchen implement

in 2 descriptive paragraphs, 

And what a terrific metaphor -- a sifter, to cope with good and bad days.  As ancient wisdom would propose:  stay with contradictions!  There is always something more than 2 opposing truths -- the whole truth includes their reconciliation-- 

Perhaps a little play can be added with the letter H.  The sifting allows that subtle shifting we do as we look into the mirror... 

2. Pat Schneider's poem:  Have you ever thought about patience as a quality of things? Her metaphors are delightful and I would have hoped provocative for examining the rich layers of perspective!  Have you ever thought about how the floor feels about shoes walking on it?  What it is like to be a tea cup holding very hot water? The uncomplaining nature of soap, drying in its dish, knowing with each wet use, it is shrinking?  Or the helpful gesture of a towel?

3.  Tony Hoagland: Again, the tone seduces me.  My list would not contain brocolli or green thread, but I chuckle that his does, as a larger reflection about to-do lists.  He doesn't say why those things are on the list or what will be done with them, which is also part of the fun... 

, And how do you "accomplish" pleasure?  Surely a discussion of what this means could fill up tomes ? Just what is it that makes us feel "pleased"?  When you look out the window to "check" the weather, is it really about the weather-- or just how you are hoping it will behave?

Back to kitchen implements, Hoagland chooses the coffee grinder... then moves on to the garage with a spare tire.  But the bottom line remains this unpinable word we use,  love, -- knowing how vital it is.  Not just practical.  Essential for our well-being.  Indispensable Word.  The title underlines that.

4. Kabir: Beautifully translated text to help us try to understand more dimensions of love. 

I am reading a novel now by José Saramago, The Cave -- seems to be directing itself to Plato's ideas-- and the problem of ideas and things... this particular man, particular woman, particular word, particular moment means something to one person... but viewed from a different angle, comes to signify doubts, perplexities, troubling signs, presentiments to another.  Kabir joyfully reassures us, such contradiction and struggle does not preclude this fleeting emotion of joy that laces itself onto wings of love.

5.  Octavio Paz responds to this with his version of what it is to be a man (person)  among many men (people.)   Judith proposed the alternative meaning of the word enormous, and not just "huge" or "vast" but defined by Merriam Webster as "outrageousness, wickedness" or some poetic extension of those. 

6. John O'Donohue adds his spin as does

7. Denise Levertov sums all these questions up as gifts... and

8. Holly confirms, of course, our mind wants more.

**

So, poems allow us these tools of words... sometimes a reader will wonder.. how are these words helpful to me?  Are they worth saying?  Hopefully by sharing the poems outloud, each person finds new light that brings a different sense of "consequence" to them!  

Poems for June 7

from  Listen to the Golden Boomerang Return by CA Conrad

Poems by MJ Iuppa

Passing the Hat

Night·Traveler 

Snowlines

Chrysalis

The Gift 

Grief is Milkweed

Rock and Keep

Nutshell:

CA Conrad: this shape poem indeed could be a "wild creature vibrating in the center of its body, standing on the bottom of the page".  Some saw a coiled cobra; others a bird, if you looked at it sideways.  Perhaps a profile... a ribbon -- or, quite clearly, a boomerang.  Another thought was a head, with a dent left by the boomerang.  One of 72 poems from his forthcoming book "Listen to the Golden Boomerang Return".  Elaine offered the explanation that he is a "somatic poet" and certainly there are plenty of sites to explore to understand better somatic "rituals" and exercises.   https://writing.upenn.edu/~taransky/somatic-exercises.pdf As Conrad summarizes it" the writing of (Soma)tics is an engagement with the thing of things and the spirit of things. 

Many saw an ecological metaphor in the boomerang... we are receiving the consequences of our actions.  The poem has no sentences but rather flows with multiple layers.  Ex: How to live so...(i.e. so= thus) could also be  how to live so wilderness never becomes mythology (so- in order that), with a sense of paradox.  How does one put something in a park to "be wild on purpose" that is reduced to a museum representing only part of what once was?

We enjoyed the selection of the MJ Iuppa poems-- each one quite poignant.  Although not intentional, the selection seemed to focus on grief, and variations on "weight".  Mary was particularly pleased with the selection which brought back fond memories of living in the country. 

Passing the Hat:  the double entendre of "Patient" in the first line, both adjective, and noun sets up the series of double-meanings to "closing up" and steps to be taken, both for a summer lake house and preparation for death, and the multiple meaning of "hat".  MJ's father was a doctor, and is passing on his wisdom, tossing his hat to his daughter, rivaling his delivery of 10,000 babies with her 10,000 poems.

The question came up, "why does he turn his face away" -- and is the "it" the chuckle... or perhaps emotion he  can't face? The matter-of-fact, "this is the way it is" closes the small window of emotion, but not quite. His hat, brim pulled over her eyes, and he asks, "Are you ready"?  Yes, the doors now shut on the house... but leaving the home, and is she ready for his passing?  Hard not to read this poem without a catch in the throat.

Night Traveler: this one entailed a long discussion as we explored directions.  Why is the poem told as if in the second person yet seems to be the speaker talking to herself?  And yet, however each experienced the strange mystery oyf the poem, we all felt caught in that moment.  One person wanted to hug those grassy-tongued cows.  We realized what is moving is not at all the car.  Holsteins out at night?  Doesn't seem logical some said.  What is "crossing to the other side"?  To join in the sea of faces, or die and go to heaven? The cows definitely seem in charge!

Cold Cuts:  skillful play on "cold" and somewhat playful on one level.  It's wonderful when a poem makes us laugh-- the "Proud to serve" and capture of the wait-in-line experience with the counter clicks and "all the words not spoken when the customer is right" does this.  Some picked up on an emotional edge of self-portrait... perhaps a role reversal. Something else is going on to support the opening line "I know I'm helpless..." or the deli woman looks through me. Why be embarrassed, confused by her accuracy? Unspoken are the prejudices we have perhaps that she could produce the proper thickness of thin. Does the speaker need approval? Need to give approval?

Others picked up on the assembly-line/job fatigue, the lack of friendliness (no served with a smile here! nor an effort for the servee to give a smile to the server!).   Martin brought up the idea that we bring to poems whatever is on our minds, and having just read about a transgender experience, thought maybe the server's indifference was her defense.  Bernie countered with the doctor's training dictum:  don't think of zebras when you see a horse!  

Bernie also offered this idea: what would happen if the "Anything else" didn't have a question mark after it?

Snowlines: unusual to challenge to the usual image of soft downy snow for making angels with the growl of grief, gritty powder, those angel wings a way to skirt the world's/gravity.  The poem flows well, landing on gravity, with its double play.  Shadow lines, old oaks, a sense of build up of generations point back to the title... perhaps a sense of baptism in the "rinsed clean in new snow", and a biblical overtone in "fall".

Chrysalis: Describing the magical process of transformation as a careful dream adds to the mystery, reinforced with the double-play of the word "lie" as a place to lie down, a lair, to prepare beauty, and a disguise.  The final stanza is surprising and deep.  "Perhaps the world is empty/as I am brief/like a reckless soul/turning int light—/weightless beyond safety.  So much packed in those five lines.

The Gift:  A lovely Maundy Thursday poem filled with lush images and sound.  Magnolia unleashing a litter of tongues, bells, drones in the grass, and the speaker carrying on their tune.  It took a while to see  singing the words that took (i.e. that took root) separate leave off, and the final word, forever. 

Grief is Milkweed: I believe we are going to have a field trip in the fall, and make sure that Mary can relive the delight of blowing milkweed silk and seed from the pod.  How does this relate to grief?  Whatever loss, or anxiety, incompleteness, like a poem released, thoughts find words, are written, available for anyone, perhaps received by no one. It remains an act of release of grief.

Rock and Keep: tender and poignant string sharing between mother/daughter, the play on the word cradle!

Poems for May 31

Mid-Century Modern  by Rae Armantrout

Attention  by Nick Laird

the great escape by Charles Bukowski

Elegy for a Ringmaster at Civilization’s End by Dante Di Stefano

One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII  by Pablo Neruda (transl. Mark Eisner)

Nature Redux by M.J. Iuppa

Ode to the Joyful Ones by Thomas Lux

O Pen has about 45 active participants, fortunately, only about 20 or so showing each week.  Whatever the combination,  we all enjoy the kind of spirit of repartee found in lively families.  Case in point, I opened the session, complimenting Judith on her reading of her poem, Parking in the Pittsford Parking Lot in the Rain at the end of last week's session, (see blog post May 26) and one comment led to another which prompted Bernie to toss his cap with the caption Make Poetry Great Again (with a raven embroidered on it) her way.  To which Judith promptly quoted  James Russell Lowell (who knew that Barnaby Rudge was a key inspiration for Poe's poem, The Raven) from his work, "A Fable for Critics":  Here comes Poe with his Raven, like Barnaby Rudge/ Three fifths of him genius, two fifths sheer fudge. To which Paul added an anecdote about  F. Scott Fitzgerald astounded at impertinence of another writer criticizing his work... "unable to distinguish the difference of work by a noble horse and contemptible ass!  To which the writer retorted, How impertinent you sir, to call me a horse!  

I might not have all the details down, but Graeme kindly puts it this way:  "O pen is a self-renewing, poem-centered collective intimacy that generates smiles, catalyzes friendships, defeats loneliness". What a gift EACH ONE provides.  

Emily brought in a towel to wrap around the microphone so we could roll it safely across the table (it does help for hearing).  Some objected, and said passing it acceptable. Paul decided it by picking up the mic and tossing the towel... to which Judith responded, Don't throw a foul with a towel.  All in good humor, and Emily was gracious enough to take it all in stride.

NUTSHELL:

I played the recording of the first two poets reading reading their work (from the New Yorker).  In this case,  it truly enhanced the poems.  

1. Mid-century:  I asked if anyone had heard the term "Collapse acceptance"-- a mindfulness approach to dealing with climate change, as the poem seemed to have overtones of that.  

On the other hand, some associated the "slightly smoky air" with a campfire... others with a sense of tenuousness, confirmed by the metaphor implied by "what supports us is flimsy".  Perhaps also by  twisty legs of the pretzel chair.. the "almost" familiar of the marshmallow sofa (both items of furniture applauded and defended by Barbara as supplying comfort at affordable prices for the working poor).  Graeme identified parallel, simultaneous actions, but in a different scale of time in each stanza.  Others felt the poem was about how we get used to things.  A hint of Billy Collins' cryptic in the 3rd stanza  ("an off rhyme goes a long way if you aren't going anywhere") and Jan noted the R's of the end word in each stanza (air, popular, anywhere, familiar... and we joked about adding "r" to idea!) She also shared the cover of Collins' book Musical Tables with a sheep comfortably settled in a sofa which adds context to the marshmallow of sofa.

This ramble of collected comments is a healthy sign of a poem, enjoyable on many levels, and carrying on the proud tradition of being impossible to summarize.

2. Attention:  The size of the poem, the use of repetition, the indentations make the poem feel like a statue being sculpture.  So much to admire... the opening metaphor of "attention as a single white marble"... how that transforms to a scene in Italy and white Carrara marble... and the repeated dropping of the initial marble until it wedges beneath the tyre of a Vespa.  Martino becomes fleshed out, and then, as we get to know him, understand the cancer eating him, we hear his shortened name.  The question of Moses and the horns came up -- a mistranslation from the Greek in a description of "beams of light" with the unfair association of demonic attributes to Jews.  Judith added the angle of the Renaissance understanding of power, comparing Michelangelo's horns to the treatment by Titian in his portrait of a doge.  Paul demonstrated the Italian hand gesture of horns.  

Perhaps we needed such asides to deal with the powerful emotional effect not just of the statue, but shift from attention to the attending, the terrible, helpless waiting... ad tendere, literally, stretching towards the end.  The final sentence confirms the empty stillness, not yet dead, of a man waiting for the final moment.  "To love a statue so much, Michelangelo is reputed to have hurled his hammer at it, cried that it would not speak."  Powerful, powerful poem that melds a tenderness towards a human, with the statue. As Graeme said,  "When in love, every detail becomes etched in your brain. 

3.  The great escape:  a little comic humor was necessary.  Bukowski, known as the "Laureate of American Low Life" paints what might seem to be a comic scenario that could happen in a prison, an assembly line, (recalling Chaplin and "Modern Times", or the Chaplinesque humor in the Great Dictator). There's a profundity behind the anecdotal description of crabs trying to exit the basket -- and indeed, perhaps it is not so much that other crabs are pulling the ones climbing to the top, but they all are trying to escape... 

4. Elegy:  Mary brought up that she knew Jerry Springer when he was mayor of Cincinnati, and what a good man he was... others brought up his positive aspects as serious politician, as well prior to hosting "a circus-like freak show" on TV.  His sign off line as newscaster "take care of yourself and each other" which is also in the poem...followed by "take care of the dark".  

The poem uses long dashes which cause us to pause.  It's not just a poem about Springer, but a poem about where we are at in this time period.  Is our legacy the reason or excuse for negative behavior of the beasts, ghosts, monsters /clambering in our own chests? His background history, having fled Germany, during the holocaust, arriving in London, his training as lawyer, working for Robert Kennedy, and initial good work would seem to make his evolution impossible.   Judith brought up the book by Jacques Barzun:(1957)  The House of Intellect: How Intellect, the Prime Force in Western Civilization, is Being Destroyed by Our Culture in the Name of Art, Science and Philanthropy https://www.amazon.com/House-Intellect-Jacques-Barzun/dp/0313200718

 5. One Hundred Love Sonnets #17. It is helpful to see the Spanish, especially to understand the word "tight" in the 2nd stanza translation "Oscuro" --as "hidden" in the translation appears as "living dimly" .

 Another idea might be  the plant still tightly furled in bud or better yet... the light of the flowers lives tightly bound in his heart, preparing an aroma that will arise from his heart.

https://www.babelmatrix.org/works/es/Neruda,_Pablo-1904/Soneto_XVII_%28No_te_amo_como_si_fueras_rosa_de_sal,_topacio%29/en/32901-Sonnet_XVII_%28I_do_not_love_you_as_if_you_were_salt-rose,_or_topaz%29

e amo como la planta que no florece y lleva 
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores, 
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo 
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.

As Polly put it, this is not the "usual gush" of a love poem.  We all appreciated the "earthiness".

6.  Nature Redux (redux= brought back; revived): For gardeners -- as Mary put it, this is a "beautiful poem for those of us with the itch to get flowers out in Spring"!  We also examined the subtleties of relationship, the curious "love had lost its shape" -- whether a husband, loss of a father to dementia, death?  The goodbye in the first line is mysterious.  The fierceness in the description of the bulb is almost off putting, and one senses anger  Many saw regret... the misplaced box, the lost shape, and then, finding return... Indeed, the poem leaves us with a sense of hope.

7.  Ode:  Lux means light... and here, the poems lays out the power and example of those who are filled with it. The courage to do right, not be afraid of the storm...  Whether or not those who walk in the light need praise or protection, we indeed need their light ! Paul brought up an understanding from the viewpoint of  a commemorative poem for Veterans. This  enhanced a fuller understanding, and corroborated the appearance of the poem on Writer's Almanac on Memorial Day.