Poems for December 16

1. A Poem by Naomi Long Madgett

2. The Dipper   by Kathleen Jamie

3. Mercy Beach  by Kamilah Aisha Moon 

4. Red Brocade by Naomi Shihab Nye 

5. Translation  by Susanna Brougham

6. For Tom Shaw S.S.J.E. (1945-2014) by Mary Oliver

7. Their Lonely Betters by W.H. Auden 

8. To be of use by Marge Piercy

9.  Flowers  by Mary Hood

Nutshell:

It was fun to see how the poems connected to each other... The first, with the idea that we need to learn to let things speak and be for themselves, uses the verb "coax", first line, repeated in the second poem in the final stanza.  How is it that we think we need to be involved, applying our "eager tenderness"?  The echo in the first poem's last line has a bit of the last line of Robert Frost, Hyla Brook ("We love the things we love for what they are.") But it's more.  As in the second poem, watching this amazing bird, hearing its song, "It isn't mine to give."  Indeed, we have to learn to leave alone the things we love.  This need to assume we are in charge repeats in the creative process perhaps referred to in the Auden poem, that as humans, given language, we "assume responsibility for time".   Is it because we are compelled to "be of use", as Marge Piercy explains?

Or perhaps, it is that we need to feel our prayers and supplications will help those "babes in hewn rock cradles"?  The 3rd poem states as a matter of fact that they "learn to bear the hardness coming".  And yet, it is hard to refrain from prayers that start with "may this serve & bless them well.

Two poems deal with grief, and the final poem an affirmation of understanding how flowers are designed for themselves, not us.  They do not need to know they draw us in as they do their pollinators!

Notes on individual poems:

A Poem:  I love the title!  Those of us with children could immediately relate the over-prodding of plants to our over-concern seen as "over-fathering" and "over-mothering".  Give them a chance to seek what they need, by and for themselves.  It could also be what happens in the artistic process-- when is 

a painting, poem, choreography, finished?  Why keep rehearsing the play, the symphony, even after performance.  June gave the example of her husband's painting.  How it looked "finished" to her, but not to him.  Dave brought up Joseph Campbell and the perennial story in myths about children growing into heroes.  David brought up William Faulkner and an alternate self available through his novels, very different from his actual one. https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2020/11/30/william-faulkners-demons.  (As an aside, interesting that Campbell, idealized for his writing, was an anti-semite; and Faulkner who wrote quotable and convincing lines such as  “every man is the arbiter of his own virtues but let no man prescribe for another mans well-being." (Quentin, in the Saddest of Words).

was blatantly racist. 

The Dipper: Do admire this bird and its song here: https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/American_Dipper/overview#

Jim shared this exact experience of the bird materializing out of nowhere. That verb "issue" for the sudden exit (like a birth) out of a waterfall is uncannily perfect for the tone.  We discussed "stupidly"... and the "yet" without any conclusion.  Undammable song makes a contrast to "swept stupidly"--

the one, mindless water, the other a bird programmed to fish and sing as it does-- caught in a moment.

The yet feels out of place, as does the assumption that the song sings of the depths of the river the bird plumbs.  We remarked a psychic feel to the idea of depth...   but that too could be human transposition.

I brought up the German word, "unerfüllte Sehnsucht" -- unfulfilled longing... The poet understands the experience of this bird "is not hers to give".

Mercy Beach:  We marveled that a 13 year old would pick such a poem, which then was shared with Emily's 10 year old grandson for their home-schooling of poetry.  Emily mentioned it could be just a lucky pick--  the first one he stumbled on in Poem a Day.   The "about this poem" says: “This poem was inspired by the shoreline in Madison, Connecticut. In Annie Finch’s workshop with other poets at the Poetry By The Sea conference, we explored meter's relationships to nature. As I entered this meditation, I couldn’t help but relate the physical landscape to the ongoing struggles of human nature embroiling our country and world. The poem is a call to transform adversity into greatness; a wish for relief, also known as mercy.

Our discussion  included an association with "Old Man River" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eh9WayN7R-s

and Kintsugi (金継ぎ, "golden joinery"), also known as kintsukuroi (金繕い, "golden repair"),[1] is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, a method similar to the maki-e technique.[2][3][4] As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.  The beauty of broken

adds to the sense that whatever happens, as in the first poem, "the leaf's inclined to find its own direction...) We tried out ideas of the ocean being a mother, the beach a line of gold... the water being the unconscious, the land conscious... we all appreciated the images and sounds.**

Red Brocade:  an old favorite.  Elaine noticed the past tense in the opening line... and there is also past tense in the 3rd stanza.  All proverbs come out of a simpler time,  may explain in part.  The poem certainly evokes a time when such cultural traditions in Palestine were intact.  It also asks us, no matter what nationality, religion, culture, to examine in the here and now, how we are behaving towards each other -- if we can be true to honorable legacy, and not be claimed by pretending we have a purpose in the world, especially if alien to who we are and represent. 

I want to be sure to have fresh mint for you, to snip in your tea-- it confirms that I will make no excuses, but offer the sacred rules of hospitality.

Translation: As Ted Kooser says, this is a fine poem about "the staff of life" -- and yes, perhaps there is a pun in the Finnish in the last line.  David shared his son's love of baking bread, and how bread is indeed translation -- transforming one medium to another.  The tradition of making and sharing food as symbolic sharing love is also here, but here, in a eulogy.  The mono-line and rounded vowels of "slow" and "hours" suspended between the discovery of a last word (one loaf of dark rye) and the idea that it was left to be consumed.  The thaw of bread and heart... the healing of the firm, fragrant, forgiving bread... all those f's which work the teeth against the lips, the knife, and that Finnish and final silence.

For Tom Shaw: He was a Bishop and indeed, Mary Oliver must have had many conversations with him.  Whether she actually had this conversation with him, or imagined or dreamed asking him, and his reply is in quotes doesn't matter.  It is the perfect poem to honor a friend and console the one who has lost one.  It is Rumi-esque -- the idea of joy and sorrow in the same cave, and the more sorrow carves it out, the more room is made for joy.  This poem confirms Mary's humble reverence, reverent humility towards life.

The Lonely Betters:  We do have a better understanding of Nature now than when this poem was written... we understand that animals and plants have a language of their own... and perhaps we also are able to redefine ourselves, not as superior at all.  As Maura said, we could be called "lowly betters" with emphasis on the lowly.  And lonely we are.  Auden pays tribute to Frost, a poet of ordinary language in the last line -- and winds a complex skein of thought about language and how humans use it.  He is not without irony addressing the struggle we have, burdened as we are by being able to lie,

our complexity in facing death, our audacity to think we are in charge of time, and cursed by being aware we are caught in it. 

Indeed, when humans laugh and weep unrestrainedly, we resemble animals.

Yes, words... to remind us of promises... I love the loaded ironic undertone in "words for those with promises to keep" --  no guarantee they will be kept.  And of those incapable of making them... 

shall we call what is said "noises"?

To be of Use:  Good discussion about how hard it is to feel of use... and what is meant by being "productive".  It is hard to be an ancient Greek Amphora, once active pouring oil, shut in a case in a museum, or worse, in storage.   Dave shared a great observation: "I've been productive all my life.  It's not all it's cracked up to be."  Bernie mentioned this is a favorite poem to share, as it is a bracing thought to feel of use.  The sentence, "the work of the world is common as mud" redeems the poem from the Protestant work ethic.

Carolyn suggested this film:  

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Secret_of_Santa_Vittoria

We discussed common rhythms,.. how we submerge ourselves in larger packs... how society pays attention to those we judge as important... how to honor the "invisible" essential workers... farmers producing food we eat, and those who get it to us, meat-packers... 

Bernie reminded us of the LeGuin poem (discussed July 19, 2019) The Small Indian Pestle at the Applegate House - UKLG

 

Dense, heavy, fine-grained, dark basalt

worn river-smooth all round, a cylinder

with blunt round ends, a tool: you know it when

you feel the subtle central turn or curve 

that shapes it to the hand, was shaped by hands,

year after year after year, by women’s hands

that held it here, just where it must be held 

to fall of its own weight into the shallow bowl

and crush the seeds and rise and fall again

setting the rhythm of the soft, dull song 

that worked itself at length into the stone,

so when I picked it up it told me how

to hold and heft it, put my fingers where

those fingers were that softly wore it down

to this fine shape that fits and fills my hand,

this weight that wants to fall and, falling, sing.

Flowers:  We ended on this lovely poem by Mary Hood.  A delicate sketch that takes a look at how we use flowers... (do we coax them too?  Are they ours to give? May they brandish wounds of gold! Perhaps put them on the red brocade pillow as you slice the rye bread as last word.

Where has this cold come from?  The flowers know, words are for those with promises to keep, and that the work of the world is common as mud.)

**

** More links: Thank you Bernie

 https://mymodernmet.com/kintsugi-kintsukuroi/

AND KINSTUGI IN THE STREETS:  https://www.thisiscolossal.com/2017/02/street-kintsugi-rachel-sussman/

 Also associated is the Japanese aestheic called wabi-sabi:  "In traditional Japanese aesthetics, wabi-sabi (侘寂) is a world view centered on the acceptance of transience and imperfection.^[2] The aesthetic is sometimes described as one of appreciating beauty that is "imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete" in nature.^[3] It is a concept derived from the Buddhist teaching of the three marks of existence (三印, sanbōin), specifically impermanence (常, mujō), suffering (苦, ku) and emptiness or absence of self-nature (空, kū)."

                           https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wabi-sabi

Poems for December 9

Winter Morning by James Crews

Gwendolyn Brooks: America in the Wintertime by Haki R. Madhubuti 

Dawn  by Ella Wheeler Wilcox – 

When I Am Among The Trees by Mary Oliver

Grendel by Roger Reeves

Runaway by Jorie Graham

Thank you to all who braved the zoom challenge this morning... I was thinking of Wallace Stevens' poem The Snow Man.  Indeed... I started penning a pastiche...

One must have a mind of winter

to regard zoom refusals as long and crusty

snow, shagged with ice... imagining no connection

for our weekly poetry infusion, indeed, as far off

as the idea of a distant glitter of January sun...

Thank you Elaine for keeping us connected.

Nutshell summary:

Crews:  Sometimes it's just refreshing to read a poem where you don't have to work hard to have the truth stare at you in plain, simple, ordinary terms (embellished with images, sounds, scents!) And yet, perhaps not as plain and simple as all that.   Emily connected the orange of the space heater's glow with the scent of the tangerine after it's gone... Elaine brought up how what could have been negative about steaming coffee kissing chapped lips, the icy air, turns into a positive.  

 Furthermore, what saves us from feeling Crews is mounting a preacher's pedestal was the early (7th line) admission that he is selfish, unruly (and so tactfully referring to himself in the 3rd person as one of possibly many others inside him who believe they deserve "only safety and comfort").  This allows us to receive his advice to be grateful for whatever it is.

Madhubuti: Chosen by Tracy K. Smith, we concur with her the importance of the work of justice, healing, staying awake and telling the truth... and want very much the voices that do so.  Who is offering up compassion?  The title mentions Wintertime, and Elaine mentioned that Gwendolyn Brooks died in December... so there could be resonance about endings, silence, and need for a warrior like her... Jan brought up the word "kind" which appears both to describe language, a green nourishment, as opposed to enemies of kindness. Please note the spacing: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/141965/gwendolyn-brooks-america-in-the-wintertime

Both those sentences are on a line by themselves separated with stanza breaks on either side.

 June shared an anecdote about driving with Gwendolyn and discussing funerals-- how at first Gwendolyn said Italians couldn't match the drama of an Afro-American funeral... and they got into an argument...  until they each realized the drama in different forms-- yes, an Italian aunt grabbing a corpse out of the coffin in the middle of last rites can be dramatic too.  

I had asked if anyone felt implicated in the "you" -- compelled to be like the "you" honoring Gwendolyn... if the lack of caps was necessary, overdone... 

I found it interesting that several times people quoted "bloodlust enemies" as bloodiest enemies... perhaps it was my ears -- but all to lead to the importance of the poem: America -- if you see me as your enemy, you have no

friends.

Lori was reminded of 1,000 Beautiful Things, by Annie Lennox. https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/annielennox/a1000beautifulthings.html

Wheeler Wilcox: Stunning love poem!  (Jan).  Dave was reminded of the classic "rosy fingers of dawn" of Homer... and how welcome to see beautiful crafting and those repeated l's.  Susan shared her mother's favorite saying when the chips are down:  "Laugh and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone", the opening lines of Solitude: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45937/solitude-56d225aad9924

Oliver:  We all agreed, a lovely, uplifting poem, but would have wanted more from the honest and authentic line "I am so distant from the hope of myself.".  Not quite developed enough  to carry the facile reassurance of the trees saying, "it's simple..." As opposed to the Crews, where he includes shades of ambiguity, here, the message feels reduced to trees as source if you want hints of gladness...  and yet... many of us concur, "Her poems are prayerful and plenty of them reveal her humility so I take great comfort in her reflections and perspective.”

Reeves: David gave a fine background of  Grendel from Beowulf, and a Christianized anglo-saxon culture which turned the monster into an  offspring of  Cain... Listening to Reeves read the poem, there is a piercing and wrenching sadness...  Jan suggested that everyone listen to the gospel song, Precious Lord. 

Indeed, the story of the song, written by Thomas Dorsey in 1932, comes out in a letter he wrote to a friend 45 years later about going to sing in a revival meeting, and she gave birth to his son... and died... and on his return to Chicago, his baby son also died.  He buried them in the same casket.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d3so01g_0-E

Words of the song are in the Reeves.  So are Notes of a Native Son by James Baldwin... David brought up the debate in 1955 between William Buckley and James Baldwin -- how Baldwin won hands down!

This is an amazing poem, worthy of listening to as well as reading.  The grief of being excluded, ignored like Grendel, results in a ferocity ... we all want to be someone's child... but when treating others as the monster, the enemy... the irony is that when the beast is brought... with the desire for mercy.. that bringing humans to the best vision of themselves... and that enigmatic last line... "which of course must be slaughtered"... 

Graham:  Jan had the feeling she was reading about the despair of a migrant refugee... where the "they" might be the ICE people... Marna had a visceral, bodily response... the visual set up in tercets, with unusual and unexpected line breaks makes a big impact.  We wondered how Jorie would read it... 

The truncated "your", where the "ou" of you is sliced out (yr)  comes up five times;  then, even "you" becomes "u"  several times, as does "they".  We discussed the repeated "it's" -- what is the "it"?  The "licking flare"-- pretend it's laughter, a refrain... pay-up... or specifically, the recent past, "it's got too much history/a mind can set th match to..."we feed it... keep it... unpayable.  Any answer feels very layered, but not clear.  How to you rebuild, imitate, believe, wait, b/c IT will come again, -- not over the rainbow... but over the ridge. 

I ended with reading the text I penned for our card this year.

December 2020

 

We wish you well as the days slip into yet another year—

and yes, this fairy-tale like card carries metaphor as history repeats…

there have been pandemics, potentates, but also times of peace.

 

We are fortunate in so many ways, and wish such cheer

were available to all— that possibility

transform to positive reality

 

as we deal with impacts of inequity, injustice, and sheer

disregard for our climate.  Once, an oriental palace pressed 

against mountains, sky, its traces still inspire, declare blessed

 

be those who create the beautiful, and blessed, the true seer

not pretending real smoke curls out of his painted pipe,

or fragments made of broken mirrors left to wipe—

 

but asking us to make this the year to reflect, look ahead beyond mere

empty talk to apply heart in multiple meanings— bring solace

like the guilloches[1] and calligraphy hidden in this Moorish palace—

---

[1] architectural ornamentation resembling braided or interlaced ribbons.

 

 

December 2

 

The line up for the coming week includes poems by Richard   and Dorianne Laux read at the Dodge Festival opening session on October 22… https://vimeo.com/469337858/09f9eb057e at minute 53:32 Richard Blanco reads his poem below at minute 6: 28 at the same session. at another session I heard Naomi Shihab Nye read her poem…  Enjoy!

America, I Sing You Back by Allison Adelle Hedge Coke**

Streets  by Naomi Shihab Nye

Snowdrops  by Louise Glück

Revolutionary Letter #1 by Diane di Prima

Carlos  by Alberto Rios****

Refugio's Hair  by Alberto Rios

Joy  by Dorianne Laux

My Father, In English  by Richard Blanco 

**** 

Nutshell:  I started the session mentioning what Ed Hirsch said in his session in the Dodge Festival about "How to read a poem"... that a poem's purpose is really to inspire the reader... and that the meaning is about the relationship of poem and reader... that when you read the poem aloud, the poem goes through you... He quoted Borges, something on the lines of "it is only by accident that I wrote this, and you are reading it, as it could be the other way around." https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/68427/it-is-something-of-an-accident-that-you-are-the-reader-and-i-the-writer

The topic came up of how much one needs to know about the poet to truly understand the poem... Can the poem stand alone, by itself?  In the case of the first poem, it enhances our understanding to know it is

written by a poet of mixed indigenous and European roots.  She is known for addressing issues of culture, prejudice, Indigenous rights, the environment, peace, violence, abuse, and labor in her poetry and other creative works. The dedication to her father, to Whitman and to Hughes pays tribute to voices of America that are not considered mainstream, such as Native American, gay, black.  She paints in rhythmic lines with beautiful images the insinuated heartbreak of the abuse of the natural beauty of America.  A powerful singing of a Motherland-child relationship... We spoke about the "yes... and" vs. the disillusionment of "yes...but"... An example her power: "as I cried this country, my song grew roses in each tear's fall"; and "I remain high on each and every peak, carefully rumbling her great underbelly, prepared to pour forth singing"... 

The implication of "they" as greedy politicians, violators of the earth for personal profit runs deep.

The more you read the poem, the more the placement and repeated words make an incantatory and memorable impact.

**She calls on Whitman, I hear America Singing, and Hughes, I too…

https://www.pbs.org/newshour/arts/poetry/america-sing-back?mc_cid=3cb4e03adc&mc_eid=248758c95e

https://poets.org/poem/i-hear-america-singing

https://poets.org/poem/i-too

It brings up associations with Elizabeth Alexander’s Praise Song: https://poets.org/poem/praise-song-day    

 

In a 2019 interview, U.S. Poet Laureate Joy Harjo says, “I always tell my students about poetry ancestors. Every poem has so many poetry ancestors. How can we construct a poetry ancestor map of America that would include and start off with poetry of indigenous nations?” Read more.

**

Streets: We discussed at length the idea of streets as metaphor for life, for what leads us to come together. We were taken by the image of the fig tree continuing even after the death of the man who will no longer harvest and enjoy them, but the birds will.  We are all interconnected... and short as our "street" may be... it is peopled by memories of all we have experienced.  We discussed as well how grief will find its right place, as Naomi says, "Each thing in its time, in its place."

Bernie offered the idea of a triptych in the third stanza... the crowd... the grackles, the sky, 

and we all appreciated the personification of the sky, which sews, sews, tirelessly sewing... a sense of endless continuation even with the daily drop of a purple hem.

Snowdrops: The opening admonishment, the choice of snowdrop as speaker, make the words "yes risk joy" even stronger.  Indeed, a message of "hope springs eternal" but we could feel it is a hard-won statement.  

Revolutionary Letter #1. Without any background on poet or poem, we sensed a sadness, a sense of isolation perhaps borderline desperation.  The "(we hope)" in parentheses perhaps will be realized in a future letter... Why revolutionary?  Perhaps her authenticity in speaking her voice... this is no rehearsal for life but a game played in earnest.

Carlos:  I had found this tucked into an article where Rios speaks about Refugio's hair.  It is referenced

in Whispering to Fool the Wind — published in 1982.

 https://poets.org/national-poetry-month/dear-alberto-rios-carlos

Yes, perhaps a real man, the same uncle "whose soul had the edge of a knife"... but also the embodiment of what touches us all: loneliness, pain inside...  boat... the fisherman, anchor...by any other name... and our desire... really, just to grow old, be happy...  We didn't quite understand all the pieces, however, felt how Rios could invert what should be familiar to something far more complex.

Refugio's Hair: Story telling at its vivid best with a hint of magical realism.  What shouldn't be a bad thing... learning how to ride a horse... turns into a horror story... and the "unspeakable deed" is indeed exposed.  Powerful.

Joy:  A wonderful reminder...the "Joy" in the title  "even when... even...//when... when... as you would... (fragment)... as you accepted... (and the quiet unfolding repeated as the final sentence threads through the last two stanzas... to that final word, "amazed".

Why is it we feel guilty if we can feel joy when bad things happen... Thank goodness for it!

My Father, in English:  Beautifully read... in fact, the question came up, why the poem appears as a long block... Blanco does not read it that way, but puts meaningful pauses in.  It is the kind of poem that immediately grabs the heart.

 

Nov. 25

 

Signs of the Times by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Thanksgiving Time  by Langston Hughes

Dignity  by Too-qua-stee

Dreams by Mark Strand

WHEREAS ["WHEREAS when offered..."] by Layli Long Soldier

Neighbors  by James Crews

In these times, what signs of Thanksgiving?  Dignity?  What dreams?  What "whereas" marks us and all our neighbors?

It is curious to me that the titles of the poems this week make a sort of poem in and of itself. 

My letter to all sending out the poems: 

This is a season labeled Thanksgiving—  where perhaps you are thinking of the contradictions of this “National Holiday”.  However we behave as human beings in the culture in which we land, the idea of gratitude for being alive remains at the root of providing nourishment for our minds, hearts, spirits. We will meet at noon on Wednesday to celebrate words that celebrate a spirit of such thanksgiving.

The best gift to me over these months of shutdown, is the knowledge of all of you who not only treasure poems as gateways to understanding,

but treasure the art of listening to others and sharing observations as we explore the myriad possibilities  of what it is to be alive.

I am grateful to each.  May you be safe, healthy, find joy in the simple and unexpected.

**

Below links to Barb's monologue; the TED talk about the Danger of a Single Story.

Nutshell: 

Signs of the Times:  This dialect poem comes from Dunbar’s collection published in 1895  called “Majors and Minors” which shows his dexterity to write in both standard English and and dialect. Hurray for Jan, David H., John, Ginny, Barb for giving dialect a whirl!  

The dialect reminded some of us of Uncle Remus, and how Joel Chandler Harris captured these tales told by Slaves. http://www.uncleremusmuseum.org    “Although Harris disavowed regionalism in art ("My idea is that truth is more important than sectionalism, and that         literature that can be labeled Northern, Southern, Western, or Eastern, is not worth labeling at all"),      his writings are unsurpassed in reflecting the southern environment. His short stories are born of the           Georgia soil, his novels echo the strains of the Civil War South, his editorials for the Constitution deal with       southern social and political issues, and, of course, his famed Uncle Remus tales capture the diction and           dialect of the plantation blacks while presenting genuine folk legends. Enlivened with gentle humor and     irony, Harris's portraits of the Georgia Negro and his faithful handling of the folk tales constitute his major      contributions to southern and American literature. His was a southern voice with a national range.”

            https://docsouth.unc.edu/southlit/harrisj/bio.html

            Thanksgiving Time: We appreciated the form and sounds which evokes the kind of weather we associate   with end of                                     November here in the North.  The  repeated “ow”sound of the opening and closing stanzas contrasts with the sparkling frost, sharp, cheery air, and all that those “ingenious cooks” will bake.

            

Dignity: Much as rhyming and form can be calming, it also depends on the skill of the poet to make it work well.  Too-qua-stee, also known as DeWitt Clinton Duncan, (1829-1909) born in the Cherokee Nation in Georgia was indeed, such a skillful wordsmith.  He worked as an attorney for the Cherokee Nation, as well as a teacher of Latin, English, and Greek. He unwraps all that dignity ensures for great character: tolerance, humility, encouragement of others, fair— the key to “the soul’s repose.”  Definitely a good poem to memorize!  We all enjoyed the mountain comparison.  Much more to admire, such as the play on “base” as noun,(fundamental to the framing of character) and “base” applied as adjective to emotion.

Perfect Thanksgiving reminder that man without dignity , is indeed like an apple pie, with the fruit left out.

 

Dreams:  a real tour de force which not only captures the complexity of dreams, the subconconscious at work, but as Jan remarked, had a “Shakespearean” overtone and beautiful sounds.  The lines are short,

each one complete in itself.  What is the truth?  In this time, perhaps the pandemic makes everyday living also seem like dream… nothing certain… nothing clear, as if life we live perhaps doesn’t belong to us.

Another poem to memorize!

 

Whereas: this is an excerpt from a book-long poem written in response to the U.S. government’s official apology to Native peoples in 2009, which was done so quietly, with no ceremony, that it was practically a secret. Layli Long Soldier offers entry points for us all — to events that are not merely about the past, and to the freedom real apologies might bring.  The passage we read pays attention to many aspects of how it feels to receive such an apology… 

Marne brought up the way nominalization can label and curtail any interest in pursuing understanding. It conveys an objective, impersonal tone. The reader is invited to imagine the feel of “crouched in footnote”…feel apology as a failing “noun-thing”… We use the verb “dash” for crushed expectations—

but here, it is more personal and physical:  Expection is “a terse arm-fold”. Metaphor is turned into verb.

 

Pages are indeed “cavernous places”.  Powerful and gripping.

 

https://swarthmorephoenix.com/2020/10/24/layli-long-soldier-reflects-on-americas-unapologetic-apology-to-native-americans/

 

Neighbors: delightful reminder of small kindnesses… connections.  We discussed rural life, Vermont,

how during the pandemic when out, we wave more.  Jim told of his experiment counting waves he received on his bicycle following the canal — 100% of the boaters waved first; about 70% of others… 

https://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_ngozi_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story?language=en

 

The fictionalized monologue that Barb shared is a part of an entire show called "Voices in Isolation: Pandemic and Protest." The director is Beth Johnson. Here is the link to the whole production:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7sVr87Gykus&list=PLyRPgXovFmrb5ijva7vkFPQkk6cZoAMBR&index=2

Her contribution is called "Ballerina in the Bird Bath," and it is definitely about appreciating small things.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYxoiwkM3-g&list=PLyRPgXovFmrb5ijva7vkFPQkk6cZoAMBR&index=16

For those who may want to hear the 16 poets selected by the American Academy, in last night’s reading, a list of poems, some of the quotes and a link to the recording here: 

https://poets.org/anthology/gather-poems?mc_cid=31319dd5d2&mc_eid=248758c95e 

 

 

             

 

 

 

November 19, 2020

 On Joy and Sorrow by Kahlil Gibran (excerpt)

How will it feel months from now by Mary Jo Bang

excerpt: to believe in things by Joseph Pintauro

Long Live Everything  by Joseph Pintauro 

Singularity  by Marie Howe

The Moment  by Marie Howe

Part of Eve's Discussion by Marie Howe 

Twilight by Louise Glück 

The two Joseph Pintauro poems were inspired by https://www.brainpickings.org/2020/11/10/to-believe-in-things-joseph-pintauro-corita-kent/

Without really paying attention to it, it appears the selection of poems allow the reader to imagine and wonder about what the "it" is all about..."  After the session, I was reading Glück's essay "Ersatz" which delves into "incomplete sentences" as the aborted whole and the sentence with gaps... a finger pointed to the nonexistent... and the unspoken becomes the focus... A sort of strategy of incompleteness... 

Many thanked me for this selection... especially for the links to the Pintauro which included the poem about his mother's star blanket... 

Nutshell:   

Mary Jo Bang:  We enjoyed the beautiful images and feelings in her poem which left a sense of hope--

with confirmation in the 3rd stanza:  It's so beautiful/when it sinks in.  Hold me, closeness/says.

Discussion included the notice of the "cart overturned" and "I fold myself away"... the juxtaposition of

short sentences and longer fragments and use of sight and sound. The sound of the word "sink"...  For me, a sense of ink penetrating slowly, making whatever "it" is real... whether it be the sky, and whatever color of sky... or perhaps the line before of the piano key.   What a great idea to start off with her title... How do you imagine it will feel months from now?   

Pintauro:  

In the beginning... some say, it was the void...  but Pintauro invites us to imagine nothing as

perfect, restful, about to vanish... and the sudden arrival of something. All alone.  Discussion included views about religious stories of creation, big bang theory, and the admission that they we will never be able to answer the question of how life began.  What is consciousness? 

In Long Live Everything... the pivot word, "somewhen" startles, but is also welcome... everything is not attainable... and never has been.  It reminds me of how with an overdose of  information... we often face uncertainty... polarization.. and seek to focus on things in our "control", and soon, that failing, settle for meditation and empathetic understanding.  Pintauro gives us such empathy as he presents big questions.

Marie Howe:  The first poem, "after Stephen Hawking".  We touched briefly on Stephen Hawking, his scientific contributions, his amazing coping with ALS, as well as some autobiographical detail about Marie Howe.  We appreciated the pondering, peppered with her precisions, how she balanced the personal with the vastness... The is,is,is,is,is has such an impact of sound, the opposite of the  six No's it follows -- and then the final line allowed to resonate.  3 words:  All.  everything.  Home.  Although there are no periods.  The middle line that hit us all in the gut:  "nothing... before we came to believe humans were so important/before this awful loneliness."  Enigmatically pleasing.

Her poem The Moment picks up the same theme... 

Part of Eve's Discussion:  Before the apple... but "It" starts the poem.  an unspecified moment... perhaps intensifying the moment before it all falls apart.art.  art.    Eternity... The end line words work well... still... and drop... about to say... The repetition of "it" at the end... "like that, and after that, still like that... only all the time."  

Louise Glück: This poem appeared in an October 2020 issue of the  New Yorker https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/louise-gluck-whisperer-of-the-seasons.  She received the Nobel Prize in Literature, "for her unmistakable poetic voice that with austere beauty makes individual existence universal."But what does that mean?  Here is a February 2005 recording https://lannan.org/events/louise-gluck-with-james-longenbach

which starts with a wonderful  introduction by Jim Longenbach.   Although her voice really turns me off… it’s good to hear what she has to say.  

Yes, you can read plenty more about her, her poetry.  We enjoyed  discussingTwilight without it.  Do not confuse this poem with her poem "September Twilight" and 9/11.  I felt an ominous quality to the poem and was glad others did too, although not all.  A sense of anxiety...

with a non-identified "he"  about whom one only knows he works at his cousin's mill... The one window, the squared-off landscape... the slow diminishment, the arrival of sleep which removes sight, sound, smell... and then "I" we presume to be the poet.  Passage of time, life... what diminishes... rather like a modernist "tone poem" in music which is more about mood than melody, an invitation to a transition time, with the last line sounding like a prayer.  

**

Bernie had mentioned this article from The Sun  in response to the general lean in discussion toward everything being screwed up.

Pat Schneider, "If I were God", originally published 1997: https://www.thesunmagazine.org/issues/539/if-i-were-god-pat-schneider-issue-539

 

November 11

 Armistice Day... In the United States, Veterans Day honours American veterans, both living and dead. The official national remembranceof those killed in action is Memorial Day, which predates World War I. Some, including American novelist Kurt Vonnegut and American Veteran For Peace Rory Fanning, have urged Americans to resume observation of 11 November as Armistice Day, a day to reflect on how we can achieve peace as it was originally observed.

The following poems by Marvin Bell were chosen for discussion because they were read in a tribute to the Poet Marvin Bell on November 1, 2020.  The name of the poet reading each poem is listed.

There are two ways to go with poetry we learned in our workshops with Marvin. “My God!  It’s poetry.  Hey… it’s only poetry.”

A Man May Change -- read by Tree Swenson

Around Us -- read by Eric Pankey

The Alphabet  (not read, but a fine poem!)

Poem After Carlos Drummond de Andrade-- read by Michael Wieggers (Copper Canyon Press)

The Mystery of Emily Dickinson-- read by David Hamilton

The Dead Man and Government-- read by John Irving

"Why Do You Stay Up So Late? read by Tyler Erlendson

Things We Dreamt We Died For -- read by Tess Gallagher

The Last Thing I Say -- read by Naomi Shihab Nye

**

Nutshell:

A Man May Change: The subjunctive tone of the conditional  "may" reflects the "it sometimes happens" -- which is a subtle reference to the fact that how we perceive and live life is not a clear-cut black and white affair.   Comments included appreciation of the mysterious yet purposeful  meditation.  The use of "regular weather in ordinary days " is a wry underside to the fact that a life can go unobserved in the poignant ending that one can slip away before anyone "can find out" (that a man has changed...) And what kind of change?  The more time one spends with this poem, the more complex it becomes.  Who are we in the mirror, in the office? how slippery are we in terms defining ourselves as our life goes on.  

Around us: In just two sentences (and 17 lines), Bell creates a comforting, quiet tone in the description of what is helpful for the "rumbles that fill the mind"-- some might refer to as Monkey Mind.   The surprise at the end of the poem of a little sound of thanks -- with the humorous choice of zipper or snap-- to " close around the moment and the thought of whatever good we did" is so welcome.  Unlike some sermonizing statement, it is a humble meditation or a prayer.

Both poems give a sense that how our lives go may not have much impact... but poems make a difference and by extension, for those of us who worry... to help us confront the fears.  (an attempt to summarize David's observation.)

The Alphabet:  People! 5 times -- Three things people are saying... a bit E.E. Cummings-esque- https://poets.org/poem/9**

What is the authentic voice-- so simple... and what better than to feel encouraged... Specific (proper) names, could be a pun, just like the last line == 26, which might be the ideas the line before, using the 26  letters in the alphabet-- the endless possibilities.  Delightful!

Poem after Carlos Drummond de Andrade:  hearing Marvin read it is almost as good as the poem itself, often called "The Life Poem".  Comments included expressing appreciation of the juicy feel of being consumed by life... reference to the idea you cannot know joy without suffering... but at the end of the poem, one feels positive...  For reference, Khalil Gibran's passage https://poets.org/poem/joy-and-sorrow

Dead Man and Government:  I explained a bit about the Dead Man poems... The  name comes from the Zen admonition to live as if you were already dead. In other words, be present but have a long view too.   Each poem has two parts... organized by sentences-- no rule as to length.  This article gives the whole story and much more.  https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/a-lifetime-in-poetry-marvin-bell-on-iowa-and-the-dead-man-poems/

A timely reflection on absurdity... on oppression...  and perhaps part 2 is about futility... until the 3rd line from the end:  There is hope, there is still hope, there is always hope.

We followed with The Dead Man's Recent Dreams... it reminded Emily of the artwork of Robert Marx.

Another very interesting person!   https://www.rochestercitynewspaper.com/rochester/the-late-robert-marx-and-the-faces-in-the-mirror/Content?oid=12311658

The poet, person of imagination, "cannot stop seeing what is not there" -- the not yet... often called the fool, the "joker" ... and yet speaks the truth.  

We ended with "Why do you stay up so late?"

My favorite line:  The person I was, does not know me... again... as among the living we are constantly changing... and have the "last unanswered question."  Jan offered the idea that that question is "why are we here?".... The sounds of w's, the repetitions that never say the same thing... Unlike the poem, "The last thing I say" which is one sentence, this poem is peppered with short sentences.

A wonderful sharing... all these poems feel like companions with which to converse -- and you know the conversation will never be boring. 

** the idea of "mostpeople" developed in the introduction by  E.E. Cummings of his 1938 collected poems.

https://www.questia.com/library/97902356/collected-poems

The link is only an excerpt -- the rest of the passage...

They don't mean living. They mean the latest and closest plural approximation to singular prenatal passivity which science,in its finite but unbounded wisdom, has succeeded in selling their wives.  If science could fail, a mountain’s a mammal.  Mostpeople’s wives can spot a genuine delusion of embryonic omnipotence immediately and will accept no substitutes— luckily for us, a mountain is a mammal.  The plusorminus movie to end moving, the strictly scientific parlour-game of real unreality, the tyranny conceived in misconception and dedicated to the proposition that every man is a woman and any woman a king, hasn’t a wheel to stand on.  What their most synthetic not to mention transparent majesty, mrsand mr collective foetus, would improbably call a ghost is walking.  He isn’t an undream of anaesthetized impersons, or a cosmic comfortstation, or a transcendentally sterilized lookiesoundiefeelietastiesmellie.  He is little more than everything, he is democracy; he is alive: he is ourselves.”

November 4

 The first two we didn't have time to discuss last week (10/29).  The day after elections, perhaps it is good to be challenged by poems which present more puzzles than comfort.  

A Noun Sentence by Mahmoud Darwish  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vs9qBXq5_hI

This is the recording in Arabic.  To understand the title, “It’s a nominal sentence” you need to take Arabic 1. https://blogs.transparent.com/arabic/arabic-sentence-structure-nominal-and-verbal-sentences/

The translation below is by Fady Joudah and comes from the 2007 book, The Butterfly’s Burden.

This article will give you more background: https://aashiqepakistan.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/28.pdf

Night Migrations by Louise Glück

The Long Boat by Stanley Kunitz

Daffodils  by Henri Cole (https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2020/10/12/daffodils)

What There Was by Janice N Harrington 

Wind Talker  by Frank X. Walker  (not discussed) 

First Snow, Kerhonkson by Diane di Prima 

To Dorothy  by Marvin Bell 

Sent out Nov. 11 poems with a link to hear "To Dorothy"  read by Marvin Bell (last poem of today’s discussion)  go to minute 12:17. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-__g7iXlEk

It is followed by a poem for next week, Poem After Carlos Drummond de Andrade.

Nov. 11 poems sent with  this poem from Judith.  Nutshell discussion of 11/4 follows.

 

This is a poem that I turn to often in times of uncertainty. Maybe for me it's not even a poem now, but a prayer or hymn. It's titled "Great Things Have Happened" and it's by Alden Nowlan

 

We were talking about the great things

that have happened in our lifetimes;

and I said, “Oh, I suppose the moon landing

was the greatest thing that has happened

in my time.” But, of course, we were all lying.

The truth is the moon landing didn’t mean

one-tenth as much to me as one night in 1963

when we lived in a three-room flat in what once had been

the mansion of some Victorian merchant prince

(our kitchen had been a clothes closet, I’m sure),

on a street where by now nobody lived

who could afford to live anywhere else.

That night, the three of us, Claudine, Johnnie and me,

woke up at half-past four in the morning

and ate cinnamon toast together

 

“Is that all?” I hear somebody ask.

 

Oh, but we were silly with sleepiness

and, under our windows, the street-cleaners

were working their machines and conversing in Italian, and

everything was strange without being threatening,

even the tea-kettle whistled differently

than in the daytime: it was like the feeling

you get sometimes in a country you’ve never visited

before, when the bread doesn’t taste quite the same,

the butter is a small adventure, and they put

paprika on the table instead of pepper,

except that there was nobody in this country

except the three of us, half-tipsy with the wonder

of being alive, and wholly enveloped in love.

 Nutshell discussion  11/4

Helpful to read about Darwish, and the difficulty of being exiled from one's homeland.  The structure of the Arabic language has either nominal or verbal sentences.  In the case of the nominal sentence, there is no verb, and the verb "to be" is not considered to be a verb... hence, each image is static, cannot be displaced... cannot be moved in time/tense.  Displacement, with a foothold only in the painful present.  Almost haiku-like... 

 

Night Migration: The poem came from her 2006 book, Averno, the place Romans ascribed as entrance to Hades.  The title leads one to think of movement at night, not just of birds, but perhaps the soul, navigating from waking reality to dream, what belongs to life, this world, a “next” world.  Susan mentioned a “verbal thumbnail image” of the first stanza.  Whether this is 

related to the story of Persephone or not, the poem provides a meditative space about what seems 

to bring solace for the soul— both living and dead.  It would seem to be a nightly recurrence.  What do the dead see?  Perhaps like the Zen admonition, this poem asks the reader to imagine   

living as if you are dead.

 

The Long Boat:  Metaphor of letting go… a comfort to balance the two “Peace!” with the two “as if”.  June mentioned the story of the nurse telling her father as he was dying to “imagine you’re in a boat and floating out.”  I love that the poem includes the idea of mottoes we stamp on our name tags.  

 

Daffodils: It is the daffodil speaking in this surprising poem which takes a turn from yellow dust to talcum and tranquilizers… from erasure to trust in one sentence.  Is the woman dying? in a mental institution?  The similes are both intriguing and elusive.

 

What There Was: Another intriguing poem with 10 denials of specifics belonging to general categories: 4 couplets concrete:  tree, bird, flower, stench.  Silence, distance, music, continue with a quatrain and two tercets.  The longest stanza hints at stories.  A tercet hints at secrets… but here it is true, “the fire burned all evidence but not death”.  Finally, a poem, the hair of the dead, the connection with the dead,  clothes passed down but not memory.  Comments included appreciation of the spoken rhythm of the poem, the "noun sentence" feel, the internal rhythms, what feels to be autobiographical detail, perhaps an undercoat of anger, that whatever was, had an element of negation.

First Snow: enigmatic poem... nostalgic, but is the end line good or not?  She is free to go... 

To Dorothy: the power of love, makes me want to cry each time.