A Prayer Of Thanksgiving by Max Coots (1927-2009); Basilico by Sue Ann Gleason, They Ask If I’ve Seen the News by Rawi Farawi; They Arrive by Richard Krawiec; The Soldier by David Ferry; Benediction by Stanley Kunitz
As one person put it: Great poems! Friends compared to a growing garden, Soldier contemplating his mission in life, Horrifying news that gives us waves of uncertainty, dealing with a loved one with memory loss, Benediction of the reality of life now and hereafter...
Paul shared at the end, the surprising coincidence of repetition of things in threes in many poems --
like 3 basilicos in the Gleason, 3 "pens" in the Krawiec; at least 3 mirrors... using both the Ferry and Kunitz and more.
So... we opened with Reverend Coots, and closed with Kunitz' beautiful Benediction, which as Elmer pointed out ressembled the "Go Forth" of the ending charge of a church service.
It would be fun to share with what vegetable quality you identify next session. Judith mentioned Okra, not at all to be overrated with a delicious Indian recipe; Graeme picked the unpretentious cabbage, Elmer picked the Oyster and Maura brought up the advantages of the "garbage plate" approach in cleaning out the fridge and then sharing a feast with friends. Vicki (Rundel) identified as a "cornucopia of brussel
Sprouts, sunflowers, and parsnips , with a sprinkle of generosity and love". It would be wonderful to have such an uplifting pastoral message each week! Elmer pointed out that parsnips can also be started in the root cellar, 3 weeks before planting in the Spring...
Basilico:
whether an elegy, or an experience with a loved one with Alzheimer's, an exquisit poem set in couplets, where space is give with enjambments between them, and a long space between the "permanent furrow// (line break) of brow searching. The navigating of empty space, the search for words (and memories) that won't return, and then-- the scent of basil grounds the man and you feel the final word... his only tether. We loved the "p's" of the only experience of pasta of the neighbors (perhaps they are Polish!) : pillow-shaped pierogi . We remarked how a poem like this, taking a small, ordinary detail, like basil in the garden becomes a pillar much larger to support not only memory, but perhaps hints of the immigrant experience, and Basilica as "a nave flanked by aisles and an apse", an architecture which Romans would have used for secular administrative functions, but which later is used for cathedrals. Basil is also known as the most aristocratic of herbs, and associated with holy in India.
They Ask... This poem's form, like a tower constructed playing jenga, cleverly addresses how we respond to the news, and the kinds of "stories" they are repeated. The metaphorical "tower" reminds us of the famous tower of Babel... and stories, not just architectural layers, but published news towering ...
breaking news.. Lots of repetition and noun-verb switches along with spaces -- even ne//ws is broken
by a line-break with no hyphen. We had a sense the "wow", somewhat isolated after "top story"
had sarcastic overtones. "The view" is "below" the "would you look at". Indeed, the "shape of news" is an interesting concept... we "mine" the news, report what is happening... but when we "watch the news" the poet says, "we watch like we have no idea what is." We spoke about how we care less and less,
our attention is careless. Bernie brought up semi-conductors -- the most complicated and fragile piece on which our modern world depends-- but so complex, only is made in Taiwan... One person felt the effect of the poem as a rudderless boat... the "never short//on materials// just breath" a creative way to describe the exhaustion factor of reading news. Is the ending a serious plea-- would you look at the actual view
of our world? Certainly there's a level of sadness even if the form is somewhat playful. Those who play jenga know it is better to "push, not pull". What is real... and can we regain perspective?
They arrive: this "poem", presented in a block prose form upset a few people as a disservice to what is happening in Gaza. It got a discussion going about the insanity of wars. Judith brought up Samuel Butler (this gives a summary of his life: https://www.jstor.org/stable/25108902?seq=4) Curious, if you google only Butler + insanity you will see a quote by Smedley Butler, about war being a racket, and this marvelous quote from Octavia Butler's novel: https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/9024746-the-war-was-an-insanity-he-had-never-understood-and
Certainly we feel the powerlessness in the rather "not very subtle" repeated banging. The p's of paper, open, pressure, pen...pressed, powerless, etc. the "almost choice" of escaping instead of flowing of ink.
The Soldier: brilliant poem. A very different spider than the one in the haiku which ends the poem above. We weren't sure if the Swift's spider in question referred to the orange-legged Swift spider (corinnidae) who might use the web as a snare, but does not depend on it, or Jonathan Swift's spider... https://digitalcommons.colby.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2556&context=cq regardless, soldier and spider both seem to hang by the thread of their guts. The story told from the point of view of a different soldier writing a letter as if seeing himself mirrored by soldier, spider, adding metaphorical diving bell, where one lowers out of one's depth, and "unseeing guts" the only hold on the world outside.
All of us were touched by the description of the young soldier readying himself to go out on pass, shining his boots, observing his own submissiveness in their mirror.
I'm not sure it was about this poem above, or the one after that I wrote down, "What a terrible era in which idiots govern the blind" (Tragedy of Julius Caesar, Act. 2, Sc. 1) which Paul shared at the end of the session.
Benediction:
We noted three kinds of fear: shy, soft, tigrish... and the idea in many cultures of covering mirrors when someone dies... or only unveiling them when used. The mirror in Greek myths... and how we need psychic mirrors to help us examine what we might not otherwise see. Without saying so, Kunitz implies much about how to live quietly, without imposing on others in this prayer for protection, for instance, "If you must weep// may God give you tears, but leave// you secrecy to grieve".
"and islands for your pride" and the beautiful plume of the ending, of the most vital part of being human, Love.
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