O Pen!
In 2004, I wrote a poem called "O Pen" and performed it at an open mic. Mid-way through Pacific University's MFA program, I decided I needed a way to discuss poems I was studying or wanted to know more about. O Pen sounded like a perfect name for such a group, and we have been meeting each week, since February 2008. I dedicate my musings to the creative, thoughtful and intelligent people who attend and to those who enjoy delving into the magic of a poem!
I recommend (thank you Jon) How a poem appeals to our heart.. not an intellectual puzzle to solve. Major Jackson from "How to Read a Poem" https://news.vanderbilt.edu/2025/05/15/how-to-read-a-poem/ It reminds me of the wisdom of Keats describing "negative capability" and the importance of a poem to embrace "uncertainty" and avoid "irritable reaching after fact and reason". The notes reflect the spirit of the discussion of these Poems:
By the Front Door by W.S. Merwin; A Rainy Morning by Ted Kooser; Adlestrop by Edward Thomas; Ozymandias (1818) Percy Bysshe Shelley; At the Very Lengthy Meeting by Kevin McCaffrey; My Dream by Han Yong-un (1879 –1944); Anthem for America by Varsha Saraiya-Shah; Future History of Earth’s Birds by Amie Whittemore
"And this our life, exempt from public haunt/Find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,/Sermons in stones and good in everything."
commentary: we came up with the idea of "homeopathic poetry" -- a little dose has a beneficial healing effect! Judith helped us place the quote as the moment when the Duke is thrown out ( in the play, "As you Like It": https://www.playshakespeare.com/as-you-like-it/synopsis
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Nutshell of discussion.
By the front door: 3 lines, 9-7-5 syllables with a haiku-like feel reminiscent of Basho's haiku "Old Pond /Frogs jump in... sound of water"--(the last line is particularly untranslatable: in Japanese: "mizu no oto"-- ). Given Merwin's translations of Basho, it is not surprising that his poem have overtones of this famous haiku! (Kathy mentioned that Merwin's translations of Basho all seems to be "Merwinesque") The feeling most had reading this poem is one of happiness. Perhaps it is the association of a toad singing, perhaps a sign of return of spring, as well as the "happiness" as "old as water" which augments a sense of timelessness. In Merwin's poem, the rain reinforces the element of recurrence. Regardless, however you understand the poem, whatever layers and associations evoked, Merwin's poem passes the test of appealing to the heart, engaging the reader as willing "accomplice".
A Rainy Morning: Kooser lends his "home-spun" tone in this empathetic description with intricate visual detail and an unusual metaphor of the way a woman pushes herself in her wheelchair as if striking keys of a piano-- expertly, as if effortlessly,
a performance further compared to playing chords of difficult music. One forgets perhaps that it is a rainy morning until the penultimate line, her wet face beautiful in its concentration and the cooperative role of the wind in final line turning the pages of rain. We do not know the story of the woman, why she is in a wheelchair, and perhaps some might even forget she is, given the dignity and grace Kooser creates, emanating from this simple scene where every line and detail counts.
Adelstrop: Adlestrop (hyperlink tells you more about the poet). Known as one of the Dymock poets, Thomas, good friend with Robert Frost, penned this in June 1914, before the Guns of August and start of the First World War and the poem was published just after Thomas was killed in the war in 1917. The mood of the poem makes you shiver with the hiss of steam, the blackbird, this chance moment of an unexpected stop no one knew aside from the name on the station. For a sense of the place, https://www.edwardthomaspoetryplaces.com/post/adlestrop
This poem, without knowing anything about the poet, the time period, circumstance, captures a sense of being anywhere and yet at the same time a particular place and time all at once. We enjoyed the sound of "unwontedly", summarizing in one old-fashioned word the unplanned stop in a seemingly deserted station, with no one leaving or coming. What is in a name, except now the place is famous because of the poem and the connection with the poet and the war, and the mood of apprehension that makes you shiver, as a solo scree from a blackbird evokes an expanding chorus of all birds breaking the stillness. Compared to the romantic poets (and perhaps Thomas is mocking them in the 3rd stanza with the "lonely fair haycocks" and "cloudlets".
Oxymandias: I chose it as follow-up from last week with Archive and Exodus. A warm thank you to Paul who kindly filled us in all that Diodorus_Siculus had to say about Ramses IIand to Judith who brought upAbu Simbel. I think this photo sums up the power of this poem written by 26 year old Shelley in 1818. Just the legs stand... Do his words, "Look on my words ye Mighty and despair" as a "colossal wreck" ?
A thank you to Judith as well for providing this contemporary (2018) take on Ozymandias by a local poet.
THE NEW OZYMANDIAS by Kip Williams
I met a farer from a far-off strand
Who said, “Two giant feet of bronze, gone green,
In water sit, bedecked with broken chains
That show their maker well did understand
That bonds of former slavery, still seen,
Convey defeated servitude’s remains.
Near by, a broken torch lies, dead and dark
In grimy water’s tide that, fitful, passes,
And on the base, these words my eyes did mark:
‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses
Yearning to breathe free.’ Here ends the poem,
The rest is eaten by the restless water.
Along the shore, starved, feral humans roam
Whose brandished weapons offer naught but slaughter.”
At the very lengthy meeting: This poet has clear knowledge of craft demonstrated in his other books which draw energy , like this poem from a joyful spelling out of the tedious! True to life, but with a Billy Collins flair as he takes a metaphor of a moth and makes it real. We came up with another phrase: "associational short-circuits" -- how in heavens name, in a sonnet form no less, we go from a soul-sapping meeting, in the first 8 lines, (peppered with one pompous detail, describing "impetuous emptiness" thrown by said soul, now a trapped moth) only to embellish the metaphor in the next 6 in such a way everyone explodes in laughter. Who has not witnessed such a "moth-soul" at an overly lengthy meeting? "not exhausted, / but bored"... stained with all the breaths/and words and thoughts that filled the room... "the yellow-green color of old teeth".
My Dream: We noted the unusual repeat in each of the three stanzas: when XYZ, my dream will become followed by a detail in a loved one's life. From the previous comic poem, we returned to a highly romantic treatment of someone watching over a child or lover, with the tender expression of deep desire in the dream of joining him/her. Apparently this poem was written in 1926 by Han Yong-un (b. 1879), a S. Korean monk and independence activist in the Japanese colonial era. One blog refers to the poem as "a good expression of the beauty of pure Hangul ( Korean writing system: https://www.britannica.com/topic/Korean-language) written lightly in the form of a letter. Many poets have described words as birds, as does the poet below who seems to capture beautifully the feel of Han Yong-un's poem. Forgive me for not noting the name...
"words ha:ng in the air, like birds, verdicts -- some turn their back, others flutter, fragile with tricks of language... trying to hold them, they dissolve, and the stories, people become ghosts, and one day, we too become part of the air."
One person shared how the cricket's chirrup sounds like "cheer up" which indeed, is the effect of the cricket's song.
Anthem: Here, using the form of an Abecedarian, many agreed that the form interfered with the sound and sense, although the variety is somewhat engaging. Is the poet referencing Amanda Gorman in the 3rd line (The Hill we climb)? It was disconcerting to have the infinitive "to/Man up broken. We were not sure what was intended by the series of XY's YX's, etc. The ending two lines although a fine "spelling" of PEACE feel awkward, and fall in the department of "puzzle-solving" rather than poetry.
Future History of Earth's Birds: The challenge I proposed was to imagine being one of the judges of the Treehouse Climate Action Poem Prize and examining this poem as an example of an "exceptional poem". Certainly, we learn interesting facts about birds, but the spacing and breaking of lines feels disruptive and does not fall into a pattern that supports the meaning. As one person put it, if this was 3rd prize, perhaps there were only 3 entries. Another take: there is a repeat of the opening line to close the poem, but the filling needs work. I confess, it is not fair to have introduced the poem in a negative way. Click on the hyperlink of the poet, Amie Whittemoreborn in 1980, Poet Laureate of Murfreesboro, TN in 2020-21 and you will find out more including this judge's citation: “Future History of Earth’s Birds” is avian demise wrapped in thin shells, with the unhatched learning of horrible fates to come. It is kites at some pinnacle, or nadir of evolution, dropping fire onto a burning world that they didn’t ignite, while also providing humans with the field guide how-to instructions. Who’s to blame? The heart of it lies here: “Does it matter // what kind of birds did this? They’re all dead now.” These lines are solemn pronouncements of avian fate laid at the feet of humanity, which will suffer that same fate. No canaries were harmed during the writing of this poem, but our hearts heard them stop singing."
In closing, Jerry shared two hand-written copies of a poem he had written to a dear friend of his in Wisconsin. The good news, his friend is doing well.
May 12, 2025
Carla:
You are like a full moon
like the first cup of coffee
before the sun.
I don't know what I would do if
I would lose you.
You are my strength.
You are the needle on my compass that always points north.
The Globe by Michael Collier; Opposing Easels by Thomas Mixon; a dead whale can feed an entire ecosystem by Rachel Dillon; Oxymorons by William Matthews; Without by Joy Harjo; ARCHIVE AND EXODUSby Jimmy Neenan
The Globe: The first4 couplets describe a globe, inviting the reader to think of how we "represent the world", how a planet is divided into arbitrary color-coded portions of nations. The alliterative description, "cradled in its caliper", emphasizes the stamp of our human representation/organization of this planet. In the 5th couplet, "obvious and obscure" as adjectives about a globe leap into the inner light that it holds. Two more couplets paint an intimately tender memory of the speaker's children. We admired the rhythm, the clever metaphors and parallels.
Born in 1953, Collier perhaps remembers when times seemed "round" and solid. Graeme remembered "when the world was red", meaning, territories in red belonged to the English Empire and many remarked how names of countries have changed, and many had such a globe although not all had the feature of night light, controlled with a flick of a switch.
The narrative's poignancy of packing it away, signifying the inevitable passing of time, becomes the vehicle for recalling the intimacy the poet feels for his sons, intensified by comparing the light to the size of a child's thumb, the continents the size of their hands, translucent as they "palmed the planet" to make it spin—perhaps an echo of the song "He's got the whole world in his hands". Hands down an excellent poem with everyone a willing accomplice!
Oppposing Easels: Delightful villanelle written in response to Rattle's ekphrastic challenge of the painting, Siblings under the Skin, where the living people (and even some of skeletons) in the image are "holding death at arm's length", with many variations of skeletons in various active poses. Given the form, the repeat of the striking first line (Our hearts were formed before our bones) is not only emotionally but also biologically correct with the 3rd line repeat (I listen to the metronome), marking the passage of time like a heart beating. Judith brought up a personal anecdote of being in a drawing class where the teacher, like a demanding metronome demanding exactitude, forced her to re-do a drawing 4 times. (The drawing did win a prize however!) One does hope practice with a metronome will enable mastery. It doesn't skip beats, but it also puts creativity at risk, which is a second theme in the poem. The short 4-syllable sentences at the end ( I try to paint. The palette's dry. It's getting late.) add an element of urgency.
Creative process, self-judgement (the question, "what else do I really know about myself" ) go hand in hand facing an "empty canvass", with the "groan" of long O's and A's so unlike the relentless sound of the tick-tick of a metronome. Perhaps the "Opposing" in the title refers to the inner heart as metronome, as Richard punned, the inward thinking vs. thinking "outloud". Another poem that engaged us all.
A dead whale can feed an entire ecosystem-- but in this poem nothing dies.
In the spirit of a villanelle, the idea is repeated with a dolphin, trapped in a river who swam a great distance to die only to have the poet refute it by confessing, "I lied". In both cases, the first word in the stanza break after "die" is "alone.
Echoing the opening quote, ("For any poem to render meaning, it must first coax its reader into becoming an accomplice"), the poet in this poem uses the word coax -- as a desperate plea followed by a line and stanza break, for poetry to change things starting with the rescue of whales, dolphins, trapped cats, sea birds from the damage humans have created on this planet. The poet emphasizes the need for bravery, uses her "brave voice" no matter what hurricane, rip current, toxic algal bloom, or other disaster looms ahead. But the bravery comes knowing we can't control what lives or dies. Perhaps the plea, tell me, that appeal to the reader, is to join in, take her hand. Axel pointed out sea creatures don't have hands, and perhaps ours can be put to use to help them.
Normally opposing terms, Paul pointed out the poet is not truly using "oxymorons", rather words put together which if separated seem odd bedfellows indeed. We chuckled that "famous" is indeed a rare companion for "poet". But some did not care for this slant attack on firearms, divorce, monetary and political coinages . The poem's apex come in the last line of the 4th stanza: "these phrases want to have it both ways" -- line and stanza break -- "sag at the middle like decrepit beds."
Without: An enigmatic poem, both elegy and love poem, as if imagining the end of the world. This site, gives a detailed analysis: https://poemanalysis.com/joy-harjo/without/Axel shared the term "optimistic nihilist"... and another term, "paleo-anarchist" came up. Will the world keep on trudging through time without us? Some saw a literal attendance at a story contest, ruminating on the power of stories, others a more metaphorical implication of a story contest. One person saw a parallel with the Whale poem, pointing out how we rationalize, but that doesn't let us off the hook for being responsible for our actions. Although there is no punctuation, the poem has clear enjambments which reinforce emotion -- whether or not those looking at the world are seeing real or metaphorical story tellers, they watch from "the edge/of grief and heartbreak". I was intrigued by the interruptive "and... and"
seeing the "design of the two-minded creature/
[and know why half the world... and the other half...]
//through the smoke of cooking fires, lovers' trysts, and endless//
human industry.
[the "interruptive and /and :those who fight righteously, and those who nail it all back together -- both share the cooking fires, trysts and enjambed "endless/human industry".
One feels the words breathing as if in a song circle, "timeless weave of breathing". In the final line, are the hyenas laughing, or the people? Being in the desert, difficult to imagine hyenas have much opportunity to drink rain water. Is this yet another metaphor?
I highly recommend the analysis link.
Archive and Exodus: From Sunlight Press. After contacting Sunlight Press, I received the email of the poet and Kathy was reassured that the procedure of this fine review is first to select a poem, then match it with a visual image. It was sheer coincidence that the photograph of the Konark Sun Temple by Navneet Shanu (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Konark_Sun_Temple) matched the poem so perfectly!
In my letter to the poet I mentioned our discussion : how we were reminded a bit of Oxymandias (Shelley) perhaps with a twist of Keats' Ode on Melancholy. Another participant was reminded of American Ramble by Neil King which explores memory and renewal.
How to "purge" what we don't want to be reminded of? How to keep what we want for ever? We enjoyed comparing Mnemosyne (archive) and Lethe -- and you will see, to keep the poems to 4 pages, I broke the poem into two parts. I am curious why you chose to use only one stanza. We enjoyed your treatment of such polarity but were a little stuck on this powerful line : "I'll keep it as a letter/holds a sound"-- imagining an association with the Sun Temple* which the editors chose to accompany your poem as "wheel" and "circle".
His answer: The inspiration for the poem (like much of my current work) is the raising of my daughters in troubling times and how so much of what we experience on an average day must be held in as close to a state of permanence as possible (the archive). I like playing with digital allusions and mentions alongside more classical references (which is where my literary heart lies), but the exodus segment felt fitting to smash into the same stanza only because so much of what we encounter must be held on to as we often strive to push out that which we long to forget.
At the time of writing, I was reading Megan Wilson's stunning new translation of The Iliad and was caught by the breathtaking violence paired together with moments of true grandeur and heroism--how so much of what can be memorialized also stands amidst terror. I wrote the poem about six months ago.
He didn't elaborate on my mention of his credentials: in "Crack the Spine" (2012): Jimmy Neenan educates the masses of irate seventeen year olds with the likes of comic books, video clips, and a short story here and there. He holds a bachelor’s in English Literature from University of Colorado at Boulder and a secondary language arts teaching license in Colorado. His work has appeared recently in the Piker Press, Pig in a Poke Magazine, The Tomfoolery Review, and the Dog Oil Press, to name a few.
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full correspondance below
Hello!
I am a fan of Sunlight Press and was so intrigued by your poem "Archive and Exodus", I selected it for discussion in my weekly gathering of poems here in Pittsford and Rochester, New York. [ I started this 18 years ago, and each week select poems to fill 4 pages which we read aloud and then discuss.
So you can see the other poems with yours, this was the line-up:]
Congratulations on your poem! We were reminded a bit of Oxymandias (Shelley) perhaps with a twist of Keats' Ode on Melancholy. Another participant was reminded of American Ramble by Neil King which explores memory and renewal.
How to "purge" what we don't want to be reminded of? How to keep what we want for ever? We enjoyed comparing Mnemosyne (archive) and Lethe -- and you will see, to keep the poems to 4 pages, I broke the poem into two parts. I am curious why you chose to use only one stanza. We enjoyed your treatment of such polarity but were a little stuck on this powerful line : "I'll keep it as a letter/holds a sound"--
imagining an association with the Sun Temple* which the editors chose to accompany your poem as "wheel" and "circle". In fact, one person was convinced that you had proposed the photograph, so we contacted the editor to find out. They kindly provided us with your email.
We would be most pleased if you wanted to share more about the inspiration behind this poem.
When was it written? I did find this 2012 mention of you in "Crack the Spine": Jimmy Neenan educates the masses of irate seventeen year olds with the likes of comic books, video clips, and a short story here and there. He holds a bachelor’s in English Literature from University of Colorado at Boulder and a secondary language arts teaching license in Colorado. His work has appeared recently in the Piker Press, Pig in a Poke Magazine, The Tomfoolery Review, and the Dog Oil Press, to name a few.
The inspiration for the poem (like much of my current work) is the raising of my daughters in troubling times and how so much of what we experience on an average day must be held in as close to a state of permanence as possible (the archive). I like playing with digital allusions and mentions alongside more classical references (which is where my literary heart lies), but the exodus segment felt fitting to smash into the same stanza only because so much of what we encounter must be held on to as we often strive to push out that which we long to forget.
At the time of writing, I was reading Megan Wilson's stunning new translation of The Iliad and was caught by the breathtaking violence paired together with moments of true grandeur and heroism--how so much of what can be memorialized also stands amidst terror. I wrote the poem about six months ago.
Correspondence:
Hi Kitty,
Thank you so much for letting us know how much your group appreciated the poem and the image. I thought this poem was particularly difficult to illustrate. I never know how an image will land with a reader. It was a nice surprise to hear your poetry group appreciated this particular image and the fact that it generated so much discussion. So lovely that you reached out to us!
Thanks so much! I don't see why permission is needed to discuss a poem from our site. I love that the group delved into both the poem and image, and glad you have liked some of our poem/art pairings. Some poems are pretty tricky to illustrate as I'm sure you can imagine! I also am glad for you to spread the word about Sunlight within your group. As I'd shared with Kathy, Jimmy would likely appreciate your choosing his poem for discussion. (I'm not sure we heard from him after publishing now that you mention it. Hope he liked the accompanying art!).
My query
You will see, one of the participants of my weekly group contacted you! We so enjoyed the pairing of the poem and photo. I am amazed at how beautifully you do this poem after poem! I am glad you enjoy it so much-- and hope that hearing how gratifying it is to the readership makes the "time-consuming" part feel worthwhile.
You mentioned the Poet Jimmy Neenan might enjoy hearing our comments -- could you send me his email?
I want to be sure also, is it enough to have the link to Sunlight Press with the poem/photo to credit you-- or should I have asked permission first? I am very naive about how this works, and confess, for 18 years now, have blithely have been choosing good poems without paying attention to this.
If Librarians Were Honest by Joe Mills; American Abyss by Cynthia Dewi Oka; The Sonnet-Ballad by Gwendolyn Brooks; Le Temps Mort by Jenny Xie; For My Unwritten Poems Itshe Slutsky; Loom Poem Jake Skeets;
The first poem, Jonathan offered as a segue from last week, and the Gwendolyn Brooks offered by Bart. Although all the poems feel like contemporary "pulse-takers, it is only the others which were posted recently in Poem-a-day and Rattle Magazine.
Nutshell of discussion:
If Librarians were honest... The title invites us to think about honesty, as well as libraries and their provisions of books, reviews, etc which give us commentary on history, human endeavor and the nature of man. The epigram by Benjamin Franklin emphasizes debauched as verb which seems to mean the adjectival "distracted me from my work". The syntax is off if you apply a synonym as verb: "a book destroys me from my work". Perhaps Franklin was implying a book could be an agent that debases moral purity of; corrupts." Perhaps some contemporary far-right fanatics might take this poem seriously and continue to ban "dangerous" books. However, for most readers, the clever use of enjambments hooks the reader in, only to surprise us with unexpected turns, and often augmenting the humor with double meanings. Alliterations pepper the color. Although there could be three distinct stanzas, all starting with "If librarians were honest", the lack of separation between the two ironic commentaries and the truth of the third, is part of the fun. It is augmented by the alphabetized order of the Ms, with the first two ending in X, leading up to the repeat of the verb "debauched", (as if the stacks were filled with dangerous people ready to rape unsuspecting readers). The final 4 lines are delightfully subversive. The "while you still can" a contemporary reference to the banning of books, threats to libraries, Education, the Arts.
American Abyss: Perhaps the title allows a sense that the poem's mixed metaphors are intended to fall between cracks? Many found the poem a struggle, to the point of feeling "battered by it". The metaphors are perhaps fresh, but seem not to mesh with each other. Who is the "you"? Mother nature? What is the "ideal" and "idea" of an America built in the speaker's head? As for the note, interesting as it was, how did it help us understand the poem? It is quite sincere, but it is hard to see the evidence of US Supported Genocide in Indonesia in the poem, aside from "belligerent" to describe grasses. As Graeme pointed out, a poem should be able to work without a note explaining it. For many, it remained obscure with or without the note.
Sonnet-Ballad: Many had associations with ballads about the cruelty of war, including this one by Peter Paul and Mary: https://genius.com/Peter-paul-and-mary-cruel-war-lyrics. The opening and closing line, sandwich two fears: a loved one may not come back, or worse, he will return changed if he does, because of the seduction of war, that "coquettish" flirt with death, heroic grandeur. The rhyme scheme, abab / bcbc/ dfdf/ aa is subtle, unlike the fragment "would have to be untrue" repeating as echo of the 8th line on the 9th. The rhyme with happiness, at first "guess", ends with his stammered "yes". The lament that opens the poem, seems to swell to a high pitch in its repeat, confirming the fear.
Le Temps Mort: Without the note, one is left with the French words for "dead time". In a way, as Judith pointed out, it is an ekphrastic poem about the idea of film as a way of perceiving/seeing, using film vocabulary. She shared as well her experience living in New York City, where Sixth Avenue is "Avenue of the Americas", indeed a sound of vowels, and described the slow matinal "mucus" as the city fills with people going to work, and subways vibrate underneath. Some found this poem a struggle to read. Eddy wondered if the poet, who left China at age 4, was not thinking of the Chinese Cultural revolution. Be that as it may, one has the sense of an observer offering words with no discernible plot, only an "immeasurable substratum of the unperceived" as she puts it in the note. We don't take time to notice what is around us. In a way, the poem seems voyeuristic, and points to a vast potential of possibilities.
For My Unwritten Poems: Why are they not written? Or are these poems that have not yet found a way, and are waiting to be born? The title may sound even more luscious in the rich mouthiness of the Yiddish. The poem celebrates waiting, mirrors midpoint: and the seed/and the word,
The first stanza: for those, could mean, the unwritten poem, but perhaps also refers to people, and the "rigid rest of nothingness" as the dead. Double meanings continue with "rest of reason" as in the relaxation of eternal sleep or rest of, meaning the remains of reason... unemerged ideas, to help us return to the idea of unwritten poems. Poems... with hints of ghosts, arrive at the second stanza: "How good the word is that has not yet been pronounced. "
As concept, unwritten is all that is understood, but not stated. Wouldn't it be wonderful to have less constant talk in our interconnected internet-ed, siri-convenienced world that leaves us feeling disconnected? Unwritten rules of common sense, common courtesy, unwritten givens of hibernations, rebirths."Beds of silence" is a surprising expression linked to the image of kernel in the field, whether old fashioned wheat once known as "corn" or American maize. Tomorrow perhaps... repeated twice... Perhaps is definitely key underlining unpredictable possibility.
We arrive at the final stanza: How good the kernel (the similar syntax equates kernel with word). We enjoyed the sense of potential, the sense of pacing, timing, patience.
Loom poem: it looks to be woven and indeed, is a mirror poem arriving midpoint on bone. The form instructs us on how to read it. One can hear the sound of looms.. imagine the damp seeping... although "seep whisper" has no definition. The noun snakeweedturns to verb and the line breaks help us see name/collapse could be a double noun, double verb, or perhaps names collapse; memories against/ pink; light against/bone. Pink perhaps is dawn, or a pink bird alighting.
It could be a love poem, where nouns are aroused as verbs, verbs become whispers of presence. Worn tongue perhaps old or extinct language. T perhaps could be the lover's initial.
One way to read the opening/closing lines: I, window words, name a light kiss.... //a light kiss I window: words into a name.
Intriguing, without a sense of a struggle perhaps because of the design/pattern of the poem.
The Old Poets of China by Mary Oliver (1935-2019); All by Bei Dao; The Answer; Never Aloneby Francisco X. Alarcón (favorite by Ada Limon~); Incantation by Czesław Miłosz; from Mythologizing Always : Seven Sonnetsby Patricia Spears Jones. (I and IV); The Library's Roof Is a Meadow by Pamela Lucinda Moss
We had the honor of hearing Eddy read the two poems in the set by Bei Dao in Chinese. Thank you Eddy for offering this special opportunity to hear the original and point out particularities of the translation.
NUTSHELL:
The Old Poets of China: The title sets us up to want to know more... Much is happening with Oliver's management of these five lines. The first line delivers a double-meaning, where the world "comes after me" could imply the speaker comes first, then the world; or literally, the world seems to chase us with its offers of busyness. Then two short sentences, one of which broken by an enjambment. Then a long two and half lines of the next sentence that completes the poem, shooting us back in time, and high in the misty mountains. She needn't tell us how she understands these old poets, it is enough that she does, and we are invited to join in a metaphorical meditation of an old Chinese brush painting of tall mountains where a tiny figure can barely be distinguished.
We can all relate to a desire to escape busyness... and The World is too much with us (Wordsworth) comes to mind. How does she mean "it does not believe that I do not want it." ? By personifying "the world" this is not an easy statement to ignore. What is our place in the world, whether it be natural or the one of human affairs? The more you stay with this short poem, the more satisfying it seems to be, straddling whatever occidental present in our case, with an ancient oriental art and wisdom.
Bei Dao (Zhao Zhenkai) born in 1949 is an important poet both for both China and the World. Eddy gave us a brief history of modern China, after the rise of Mao, the cultural revolution in 1966-76, Tianamen Square Massacre in 1989. Bei Dao was exiled in 1989 but allowed back in the country in 2006. He belonged at one point to the Misty Poets, and he is known for subtlety, eloquence, and innovation. All: In English, the "l" curls off the tongue and the anaphor allows a sense of a flowing river. Note, the translator emphasizes "All" with a capital A, but there is no punctuation, only a double space between each line, as if the words "creep into the pale mist" in the high mountains. Each line invites long reflection. The first four lines treat "All" as an entity, with an opening that implies birth, awareness of being in immense and eternal beginnings without end, and yet "All is a search that dies at birth". What comes before? Is there need to know what comes after? All does not need to search. The final line echoes the echoes -- "All deaths have a lingering echo".
The rest of the phrases couple "All" to mostly abstract nouns : joy, sorrow, love, hope, faith. Even language reflects the anaphoric All, as it repeats. One thought about "All joy lacks smiles/all sorrow lacks tears": these two lines see the inward nature that does not need outward expression. Likewise with the "groans" carried with faith; abstract love encased in the heart; abstract hope as a metaphorical vehicle carrying annotations. To arrive at a true sense of joy, sorrow, love, the "all" cannot be pinned down, put into words. We try to make meaning, to understand the complexity of faith, hope, but it is almost reassuring to hear the chiming of "All".
The footnote gives a site and further reference of one blogger -- to add to our discussion and address the penultimate line. We discussed the line, "All contact a first encounter" -- which affirms the constant shifting nature of reality. Each time we perceive something, meet someone, it will be different.
Carolyn had the idea of a choral incantation where the group would join in saying "all", and then different individual voices would complete the line. Indeed, this poem is one you can imagine sung.
The Answer: It is helpful to know that this poem was written in response to the 1976 uprising 4 months after Chou En-Lai's death. Indeed, with a title "The Answer", a first response would be "what is the question"? It seems to be a call for truth, calling into question givens like "the sky is blue"which modern science will confirm is a matter of our perception, not fact. Coupled with the protest is a belief in dreams.
We remarked the irony of the opening two stanzas. What makes good or bad poetry? How does writing poetry make a difference? (Perhaps "All" has the answer!) Eddy was helpful explaining that "brackish water" in the penultimate stanza is a phrase in Chinese for grievances. "Let all the brackish water pour into my heart", would imply absorbing grievances to create harmony, encourage "Humanity to choose a peak for existence again" (back to the philosopher-poet-scholar's mountains!).
Never Alone: This was a choice of a poem by current National Poet Laureate, Ada Limon and one she used in "Poetry in the Parks. To hear her read it: https://www.nps.gov/places/poetryinparks3.htmThe softness of the sibilance is reassuringly convincing. The final word, corazón, heart echoes Bei Dao, "All love is in the heart".
Incantation: Like "All", this poem offers us lines deserving careful attention, meditation, however, they do contain punctuation which accentuates an "end-stopped" gravity. The first 14 lines of this 20 line poem concern Human Reason. The second character is a coupling of love + wisdom, "beautiful and young Philo-Sophia" and then Poetry who brings the news as mythic unicorn, magical but offering us ways to imagine the possible. Again, eternal, renewed, and the echoes confirm old/young go hand in hand, renaissance after renaissance. The background of the poem: written in Berkley, CA in 1968 shortly after Prague Spring, Milosz wrote it in Polish and translated it with his good friend Robert Pinsky, who later became a two-term National Poet Laureate. Pinsky would read this poem at public events, such as the memorial after 9/11.
As Seamus Heaney remarks, "it is thrilling to hear ideal possibilities of human life stated so unrepentantly and unambiguously." Vive the spirit of optimistic enlightenment, more powerful (we hope) than post-structuralists preaching indeterminism!
two stanzas of Mythologizing Always: As a series of seven sonnets, the title uses "mythologizing" as adjective to the abstract noun of "always". I am reminded of the saying that "poetry tells us what we think we need to hear, that we would not get from honest, responsible prose." The first sonnet deserves a dramatic reading, bringing alive "heart part" hand in hand with "intense improvisation" turning mythologizing (in parentheses) into a verb, where always becomes its adverb. Sonnet IV goes to town with the sounds and rhythms supporting lively images of a poem miming itself, working itself up to the fabulous last four lines where the reader is shown the choreography of "the anxiety dance". Yet another way to address the Tao theme of this week's selection of poems.
The Library's Roof: Delightful set of couplets drawing on "library" vocabulary -- from bibliographic record, sanctuary (especially in the psychology section of 158.9's), catalogues, Libby -- all the way to the roof, as a place of renewal-- imagine that final line as everyone's birthright: astonishingly undocumented, circulating love!
The poem brought up mutliple shares of memories wandering the stacks, the joy of serendipitous stumblings . Apparently the Frederick Douglass library had a garden on its roof!
