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.