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/