Boy at the Window by Richard Wilbur; Wondrous by Sarah Freligh, Supermoon by Abby Murray, If Only Blue Could Suffice, by Georgia A. Popoff, String Quartet, by Carl Dennis, Counting, This New Year's Morning, What Powers Yet Remain to Me by Jane Hirschfield
Discussion:
Boy at Window: This is one of those poems where the sensitivity of the poet is revealed. Not only has Wilbur created a rhymed, perfectly balanced poem of two octave stanzas juxtaposing a viewpoint indoors looking out,, and viewpoint out, looking in, but adds an unusual metaphor for a display of compassion. What is the boy afraid of? Why does he weep? Regardless of the details, Wilbur has created a snowman who looks at him akin to what we can imagine is indeed a "god-forsaken stare, as Adam gave to Paradise."
Judith brought up the agony in Eve's face, in Massacio's "Expulsion from the Garden of Eden.) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Expulsion_from_the_Garden_of_Eden
Some felt that image of banishment was what hit like a thunderbolt. Others were hit by the response of snowman, on one hand, not wanting to "go inside and die", but moved enough to melt just one drop of a tear... Again, more than this: it is "a trickle of the purest rain". I love that the closing lines could imply an acceptance of impermanence to some, but also that what seems to be the indoor warmth, light, has also been lent compassion of love, the response to whatever it is that makes us weep.
Wondrous: I gave the link to the article that explains that the poem is part of Lunar Codex, sending up thousands of pieces of art and literature to the moon this past Valentine's day. As the poet explains, we write because we want to reach someone. Her poem about her mother reading Charlotte's Web, and that not only the mother, but the author could not read aloud She died alone without crying, speaks to the power of words, and how they mark us, bring back memory of how they first marked us, as they continue to do so. This elicited several anecdotes of stories. Kathleen picked up on EB White calling himself ridiculous, which is how she felt about her sympathy for the cat, Blackie. Another said "We all have a need to cry" -- and stories give us an outlet to do so. Others spoke of stories they finally removed because they made their children feel so sad. Judith recited her experience reading DH Lawrence, "The Rocking Horse" which cannot be read with a dry eye. We could have talked of stories for the rest of the afternoon.
Supermoon: This poem immediately draws you in by the syntax... how the specific title embraces something much bigger in the first word, "It" and that ironic first enjambment breaks on "continue"-- which underscores the cruelty of all that doesn't continue to exist. The tenderness of a mother explaining to a child that human kindness doesn't change, leave in spite of a cruel world.
We were indeed gobsmacked by the collective noun of the "persuasion of clouds", preceded by the images to describe craning necks up to look at the moon akin to tourists in a cathedral, and the alliterated tidy, timely face of God. And we were so totally there, looking up -- pointing with mother and daughter where "the gloom was thinnest"-- and I must say, for me, totally convinced that what is extraordinary, even if out of sight, is absolutely there.
It reminded Maura of the saying on her dishtowel: "Good friends are like stars: you don't always see them, but you know they're always there."
If only Blue: It would have been helpful to see the painting that inspired this poem, but although many of us tried to find it, we were not successful. Many did however look up the word "Haints", part of the title of the collection of poems in which this one appeared. It can refer to ghosts and haunting, but also and lot of rhyming what aint, taint even with paint... etc. One suggestion for meaning was thinking of blue as a state of depression, and the speaker of the poem crosses the threshold of an open door, escapes it. Blue, as mystery, as what we want "anchored and sturdied" unlike cresting waves, pillows of sleep, as confirmation of dream-- that "all is well," -- line and stanza break-- "at least for the moment.
String Quartet: absolutely delightful extended metaphor about conversation-- indeed, I hope Graeme will provide us with a sequel poem, "Conversation Manual"!
We all concurred that asking questions, listening as if it matters, so requisite for a string quartet, should also apply to conversation. Judith brought up the skill of playwrights, who manages the "conversation" so there is only one possible direction to go. We liked the layered meaning of "manage" in the last two lines, although at first to some, disconcerting. to manage: as in "to be able to", as well as direct, allow.
A good conversation recalled, is "an enviable place to hang your memory". We admired the "quartet" of the ending, the wonderful "p's" in the third stanza, and glad that those like "sales technicians, office-holders, preachers" include "good people" -- able to "resist plots time hatches to make a quartet unequal, set them at odds, to pull them asunder. " Ah... if only we could see this happen in our Congress and our country... The poem demonstrated the good weaving involved in both musical and social conversations.
Counting: beautiful zen demonstration. Marna admired how the important word seemed to come at the end. Kathleen corroborated Hirschfield's experience as indeed, what happens when you meditate. As Hirschfield puts it, "The feet of the new sufferings followed the feet of the old,/and still they surprised."
We were heartened by her use of "bespangle" and "bewilder" to describe words-- and that, rather like the Kindness mentioned in Abby's poem, Joy remains Joy, even if war cannot become peace.
What a powerful ending. It's not about finding the "right" question and hoping for answer... but that the world indeed, "gives us the asking."
Maura provided this quote: "Poetry's work is clarification and magnification of being -- a word-woven musical innovation." -- Jane Hirschfield.
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