February 9

Canary  by Rita Dove — https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43359/canary

American History by Michael S. Harper

testify  by Eve L. Ewing

https://poets.org/poem/testify

Death eats our lands by Fadairo Tesleem

Everybody Made Soups by Lisa Coffman

dandelion  by Ron Bailey

It is Black History month... and after reading the first three poems, we felt a weight of sadness... 

The question of how any person survives persistent racism 

politics came up... the idea that in Florida books would be banned because it makes people feel uncomfortable... Later, the topic of anti-intellectualism came up,  (Hofstader's 1963 book https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anti-intellectualism_in_American_Life) "My ignorance is equal to your

(or anyone else's) knowledge..." Asimov and the cult of ignorance... "passionate pride in mediocrity" (Sartre).  Ken shared  briefly this article from the Guardian  on "Red poets’ society: the secret history of the Stasi’s book club for spies".  Controlling poets, and literati is nothing new, but if you have time, a fine report.

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2022/feb/05/red-poets-society-the-secret-history-of-the-stasis-book-club-for-spies?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other

Nutshell:

Canary:  Yes, name used in jazz for a female soprano... also the practice of carrying a canary in the coal mines-- if a gas leak, the canary dies... The burned voice... magic spoon, needle, sharpened love... tell one

story, and we puzzled over the couplet, "Fact is, the invention of women under siege/has been to sharpen love in the service of myth".  Judith offered the idea of the loving black Mamie... and it came up how Billie made up lies about herself, her story.  Indeed, not free from drugs, but a deeper sense of being chained as black woman, born in 1915, wronged by the world.   The poems feels like jazz, especially the second stanza. The idea of caged bird, is not new.  I like that it is dedicated to Michael Harper, also a

jazz fan and someone interested in history.  I don't know more... Please comment if you do.

American History:  9 short lines, two about a contemporary event,  (1963) five about an event over 200 years ago.  The sarcasm and anger in the final question reminded us of James Baldwin's statement about being "a negro:  means you are in a rage all the time."  This site shares a bit of information.  The 500 slaves may not have referred to an actual event, but rather the regular occurrence of "Americans" trying to hide slave-trading as it was outlawed by the Brits.  https://prezi.com/mgg2xblw0gi0/american-history/

By using such extreme examples to show how blacks have been "thrown under the bus", and continue to be thrown, Harper accentuates the inequality of treatment.   The hiding of slavery is another example of keeping outrageously inhumane treatment from the public eye, with no consequence.  The man responsible for the bombing which killed the 4 girls was charged for possession of dynamite but not for murder of the girls.  

It's curious, today, Revisionary by Robert Pinsky showed up in Poem-a-Day. The note says: "Revisionary tries to understand the truth about how truth evolves or devolves."

Revisionary by Robert Pinsky 

The globe on a tilted axis means The News.

As the icon spins the angle seems to shift.

 

Science has found ancestral Neanderthals.

We have a bit of their blood. They painted caves

Better than sapiens, as we named ourselves.

 

History has found the Jews who fought for Hitler.

Thousands of Part and what were called Full Jews.

A few were generals.

 

                                      As the globe revolves

 

Different mixes keep passing into the light

Or into the dark, and then back out again:

The unexpected, over and over again.

 

Jefferson’s July 2 draft blamed George III

For violating the liberty of “a People

Who never offended him” shipped off to be

“Slaves in another hemisphere.” For many

“Miserable death in transportation thither.”

On the Fourth of July, that passage was left out. Thither.

 

In draft after draft of Puddn’head Wilson Twain

Linked and tore apart stories: The conjoined twins

From Italy come to town. In that same town, two

Blue-eyed babies. The nursemaid fair-skinned Roxy

Secretly swops the babies cradle to cradle,

Different nightie to nightie and fate to fate.

The one is her son. He sells her down the river.

(2022)

Testify: 

It is powerful to hear sociologist Eve L. Ewing read this, especially at the end with the repeated rush of "we are not dead" and the line break before the final  not/dead/yet.  (Ewing wrote 1919, "a flaming sword of a poetry collection about Red Summer and the aftermath of (a report on) the killing of 17-year-old Eugene Williams, a young Black man who swam into a "whites only" section of Lake Michigan and was stoned to death and drowned by White beach-goers.: -- Abby Murray)

Elaine wondering how the White minister at her church would read it as opposed to a Black minister-- the power, the passion she feels would be missing.  As Frederick Douglass said, " Slaves sing when they are most unhappy.  The songs of the slave represent the sorrows of his heart and he is relieved by them, only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears." Valerie suggested that the repeated "we are not dead" is like a mantra... what you say to get yourself through a difficult situation.

The detail of the chain link fence... the shoes climbing over it... the resilience of those who insist on testifying to the "good" in a day-- like sun, coming through a fence... 

as Abby Murray states it, this is happiness at grief's expense. It puts impossible right next to reasonable-- gratitude flying in the face of violence and uncertainty.  Because she mentions her friend Hanif Abdurraqib, we listened to him read his poem: "How can Black People Write About Flowers at a Time like this." https://poets.org/poem/how-can-black-people-write-about-flowers-time.   

 Emily offered this title: https://www.amazon.com/Taste-Ginger-Novel-Mansi-Shah-ebook/dp/B08YYYVVTC

A Taste of Ginger -- When we are faced with tragedy we must face the good.

All three poems made us sad... and we spoke of what has changed, and what not... how race seems to be an issue with no solution... wondering if it will ever come to an end... what we have failed to do, but perhaps can do now?  

 Death eats our lands:  Fadairo Tesleem is Nigerian.  Indeed, one of the oldest complaints around... God--

how could you allow such injustice???  (David cited the  Old Testament in the Bible, Ahab in Moby Dick)... We noted the small i in the first line -- I did send a message to the poet to ask him about it... to my eye, it was like the speaker was a tiny pawn... as opposed to the I who wonders, has seen, has read--

Most of us found it a very moving and powerful poem.  I repeat the end line... And with all this horror,

God is still watching???

How could he watch and allow this?

Everybody made Soups:  a little relief... and many associations with soup were shared!  

Bernie mentioned how his neighborhood put together a cookbook... we thought of "stone soup"...

and how sad that now-a-days, people toss food out instead of making a good soup... Maura shared her

"trip around the world" imagining each country where things came from in her fridge...

Martin offered the metaphorical idea of kissing the new year...and that magical making of one thing out of all that hadn't filled us... instead of tossing out and rejecting, to come up with a soup, "the soothing shapes our mouths made as we tasted."

The images of the onion's story, the weeping meat, cathedral carcass...

the idea of a new year... yet to make demands on us... each day in the dark like a folded letter...

Deliciously wonderful poem!

Likewise Dandelion.  It merits the 3 line space between each line indeed!  

In the in-person group, we watched the flower sequence for a bit.  Do consider muting the sound and replacing it with Arno Pärt's Spiegel im spiegel.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJ6Mzvh3XCc

 

Revisionary Robert Pinsky  The globe on a tilted axis means The News. As the icon spins the angle seems to shift. Science has found ancestral Neanderthals. We have a bit of their blood. They painted caves Better than sapiens, as we named ourselves. History has found the Jews who fought for Hitler. Thousands of Part and what were called Full Jews. A few were generals.                                       As the globe revolves Different mixes keep passing into the light Or into the dark, and then back out again: The unexpected, over and over again. Jefferson’s July 2 draft blamed George III For violating the liberty of “a People Who never offended him” shipped off to be “Slaves in another hemisphere.” For many “Miserable death in transportation thither.” On the Fourth of July, that passage was left out. Thither. In draft after draft of Puddn’head Wilson Twain Linked and tore apart stories: The conjoined twins From Italy come to town. In that same town, two Blue-eyed babies. The nursemaid fair-skinned Roxy Secretly swops the babies cradle to cradle, Different nightie to nightie and fate to fate. The one is her son. He sells her down the river.

 

Red poets’ society: the secret history of the Stasi’s book club for spies
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2022/feb/05/red-poets-society-the-secret-history-of-the-stasis-book-club-for-spies?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other

connecting the last poem, “Dandelion” with the poem “testify”. It was that dandelions are looked upon as weeds without knowing the incredible source of food and healing and strength and joy they possesses…a bit of a metaphor for the way in which so many people view blacks and other people of color.  

February 2

  

“You can be good for the mere sake of goodness; 

you cannot be bad for the mere sake of badness.”— CS Lewis

We agreed In this time of so much frightening news, it is a relief to turn to the sanity of poems.  In discussing the Wendell Berry, Carolyn brought a beautiful commissioned calligraphy of the poem 

Carolyn pointed out that the person who wanted it calligraphed for her nephew wanted the indentations, and not to be lined up flush with the LH margin, but to give the italic flourishes room to flow.  Note how the the two longest lines stand out -- balancing "in fear of what my life and children's lives may be"

and "rests in his beauty on the water, and (where) the great heron feeds.

Today's poems address the despair that can grow in us and hold "life boats" we can enter so as to carry on.  Wendell Berry puts "Peace" and "Wild" together in the title (thank you Valerie!); juxtaposes his fear with natural beauty in the length of the lines cited above.  Kathy mentioned how he could have ended the poem with its sacred overtones on "I rest in the grace of the world."  The "I am free" is like a perfect frosting on the cake!  David carried on with the idea that it is not only freedom from despair, but his own self from which he is freed.  When we are too self-conscious, this leads to fears.

Adrienne Rich's Love Poem, written sometime between 1974-1978 captures her struggle as Lesbian, to counter the rejections and prejudices of society.  Although we found the tape-recorder irksome, it indeed brings back the period when we relied on them... and how incomplete is it to give a history with only what is partially recorded.   The excerpt that follows evokes images of all the great civilizations that have fallen... and more currently, our planet... the innocents who are killed, slaughtered, ignored... and those with no extraordinary power, perversely (in the eyes of the societies who wittingly or no allow such destruction) reconstitute the world.  Yes... help us put humpty dumpty together again, unlike all the king's horses and men. 

There was rich discussion about the Arthur Sze poem:  the balance of a rabbit imbibing silence with the speaker of the poem staring at spruce needles... the buck scraped his rack... a carpenter scribed -- and you can hear the scr-scr-scr of antlers and the tool.  The complexity of what is seen, what is hidden, our illusions... the amazing image of "aqueduct of dreams"... and as humans, we are reminded any desire to own is off track.  Like Berry's day-blind stars, the largeness of the cosmos behind daylight.  

David kindly read and gave background to the Frost who has many "joking" poems-- but none of which are ever trivial.    Rosemarie wondered if "A" question is not "The" question... This comprehensive power, some call God, recognizes the scars-- and as Bernie noted, there is something of the joyful in this sculptor who made us.

David reminded us that this poem which appears in The Witness Tree, was written after he had lost his wife and  3 of his children (his daughter died in childbirth; his son Carol committed suicide). Wiki offers these interpretations.

Many think that this poem stands for one's reflection on their past life. The poem questions whether you valued your life over deathor, worse, never having been born. Did you in fact see life for all of its beauty or do you view your life as a waste? The poem asks you to analyze your life, to question whether every decision you made was for the greater good, and to learn and accept the decisions you have made in your life. One Answer to the Question would be simply to value the fact that you had the opportunity to live.

Another interpretation is that the poem gives a deep image of suffering. It portrays the fact that we live in suffering, and there is nothing we can do about it. Then the poem relays the question as to why we bear the unhappiness that is life, which makes readers think that Frost was heavily intrigued and curious about the "why."

There is also a Christian interpretation, in which God proposes the titular Question to his followers, the "men of the earth". He asks whether all the suffering and pain we go through during our lives is worth the gift of life. A similar Christian interpretation would also be that the "soul-and-body" scars represent the wounds of Christ, and thus the poem is asking whether humanity has proven itself worthy of such redemption. 

We could have spent the entire afternoon continuing the conversation! 

Peace of Wild Things  by Wendell Berry

Love poem XVII by Adrienne Rich 

excerpt (3 couplets)  from 8 page poem Natural Resources  by Adrienne Rich

First Snow by Arthur Sze 

A Question by Robert Frost 

Poetic License  by Abby Murray (and yes... she did write the poem exactly that way, contrary to what I said!)

The in-person group also discussed

Like an Auto-Tune of Authentic Love Carmen Giménez Smith

(to hear her read:

https://poets.org/poem/auto-tune-authentic-love   

anyone lived in a pretty how town by E. E. Cummings 

Judith's share of the Bishop poem.  She commented that Morris Bishop is like a good bowl of punch-- witty, but not quite Ogden Nash.  

He has several books, she does not recommend Spilt Milk, but rather A Bowl of Bishop

She brought up the humorist's jab at grammar rules: “Never use a preposition to end up a sentence with.”

To which reputedly Winston Churchill replied: This is the kind of arrant pedantry up with which I will not put.  To see the whole story: https://quoteinvestigator.com/2012/07/04/churchill-preposition/

 It reminded David of the E.E. Cummings poem

Me up at does 

out of the floor
quietly Stare 

a poisoned mouse 

still who alive 

is asking What
have i done that 

You wouldn’t have

After we discussed Poetic License (such a clever pun) Judith was reminded of E.E. Cummings

"next to of course god america i"

                                                              

      

next to of course god america i

love you land of the pilgrims' and so forth oh

say can you see by the dawn's early my

country 'tis of centuries come and go

and are no more what of it we should worry

in every language even deafanddumb

thy sons acclaim your glorious name by gorry

by jingo by gee by gosh by gum

why talk of beauty what could be more beaut-

iful than these heroic happy dead

who rushed like lions to the roaring slaughter

they did not stop to think they died instead

then shall the voice of liberty be mute?

He spoke. And drank rapidly a glass of water 

January 26

This is what was bequeathed us  by Gregory Orr

Counting, This New Year's Morning, What Powers Yet Remain to Me – Jane Hirschberg

Imaginary Conversation by Linda Pastan

Poem that Leaves Behind the Ocean by Jim Moore

"The function of art is to do more than tell it like it is - it's to imagine what is possible.” bell hooks

Thank you Paul for sharing these links to a daily wealth of poetry from Ireland —
https://onbeing.org/series/poetry-unbound/?mc_cid=949f1e9d67&mc_eid=39a0251408

https://onbeing.org/poetry-home/

Thank you Bernie for suggesting this poem: https://onbeing.org/programs/craig-santos-perez-rings-of-fire/  ( the actual read of the poem starts at 0:52

Nutshell summary:

Gregory Orr: First off, apologies: The poem starts with repeating the title, "This is what was bequeathed us" not "Listen"... that was to hear him recite the poem in his quiet, very slow, almost mournful and unaccented voice. to hear:   https://onbeing.org/poetry-home/

We discussed the small b of Beloved-- where, "the beloved" is all who live and lived on this earth, not a singular being. The multi-layered "left" has both the sense of "bequeath", a beautiful almost antique word, and the act of departing.  David shared the feeling when one's parents die and you feel the weight of being the new  oldest generation. That feeling his wife shared with him on the death of her remaining parent -- "It's just us now."  Judith remarked the use of the  colons, how skillfully they accent the precious gift of our earth in the first two, and reinforce the importance of the instructions after the third.  We must turn all "this" of our earth, what is left, and what has left, both the beauty and destructive traces humans have left (those k's in black smokestacks accentuate it.) There is no emphasis on the words "No meaning but what we find here".  No accent on "find" or "here".  A simple matter-of-factness of being in the present.  Although the poem ends with an almost celebratory note of possibility that indeed, we can still  "sing awake", this song of the earth, there is also an elegiac tone in the clear message that we have a responsibility in determining what is left... 

  Kathy reminded us of Martin Buber, and the sacred nature of every day in the here and now.  There is no hereafter, only "this world". ( In  Buber's "I and Thou" he emphasizes the connection between humans, life, ultimately God and the primacy of the spoken word.)

David was reminded of Wallace Stevens, "Sunday Morning". https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/13261/sunday-morning

Merwin: How wonderful to address the New Year... a sense of companion, who is there again and again... no matter what changes in us as the birthdays collect and mark years.  Carolyn brought up the sounds of the poem which corroborate the sense of silence in "the sound of you", inviting the reader also to still, be present.  Kathy reminded us that the poem comes from Merwin's book of odes, Present Company.   There is an uplifting sense of innocence, as if the reader is invited to witness the birth of a day, so pure, indeed, the last word "possible" seems absolutely true.  Hope when addressed like a mantra, with Merwin's concentrated, mindful manner, indeed fills with an invisible but real potential.  The lovely "such as it is" and "such as they are" flavor the "is-ness" of the new year and our hope-- whether or not anyone is aware.  Merwin does not use punctuation, but as David pointed out, the phrasing of the words, the parsing reinforced by the line breaks, is a sign of good writing, where the voice knows exactly how to posture.  Singers now this as well.  What  beautiful layering  in the spacing between "the voice of a  dove calls"-- then next line  "from far away in itself" // another line: "to the hush of morning." 

 A good poem refuses paraphrasing, but it is tempting to try: The dove calls to the hush,... and the dove (spirit) both far away (from us) /(inside us) in itself calls... The lushness of meaning is fabulous!

Hirschfield: Another colon ends the opening line!  And what can you make?  can you do? -- the partial answer of "can admire, can make, climb" does not start with I.  What counts and how do we count perhaps lies in the title as well as coupled with this idea of "what remains".  We wondered why the repeated "4 years".  One possible explanation might be to the length of political, office, and since a recent poem, referring to  four years with Trump in charge. The waking up for four years to the mountain then the question" perhaps might be the use of words as propaganda,  the postcards and stamps letters to representatives.

That aside, we noted the reverberation of words like "recalcitrant" and "bespangle" in otherwise simple language. Mountain ... problem, "recalcitrant, shuffling its pebbles, sheltering foxes and beetles"  is quite a loaded phrase!  Indeed, the words feel "bespangled and bewilder".  And yet language is what is there to help us untangle bewilderment, write down thoughts we might unpocket, share with a friend.  The day, with the world repeatedly asking, is ironically part of the healing.  

Judith was reminded of the zen training-- the eagerness of the young monk, and the elder's wisdom of discipline in routine.  "Have you had breakfast?  Then, next, wash your bowl".  Carry water, chop wood.  We had an interesting angle looking at the word, "falling" which Kathy wanted to read as "failing".  Falling, perhaps as in stumbling, but not a Humpty Dumpty who cannot be put back together again.  Falling as in Adam and Eve, falling from grace, the Archangel cast from heaven... and the opposite-- raising a question.  We noted the food references, the Southern connections of black-eyed peas, collards, sweet tea.  The sacramental elements of salt and oil, as in the sacrament of  extreme unction (annointing of the sick).  Stone did not turn to apple. War did not become peace.  And yet, Joy remains Joy.  She doesn't mention that sorrow remains sorrow -- but that too would be true.  And indeed, suffering continues -- and always surprises.

There is so much wisdom in this poem-- and hope!

Oliver: The repeated end word of each couplet makes one think of a ghazal -- but as Paul pointed out, there are far more complicated rules for that form.  Elaine pointed out that one of the ideas is to balance positive and negative, which seems to happen in many of the couplets.  The opening has a sense of myth, and a hopeful implied "flame" (blameless borne by the too young archers)-- a waiting for what will happen with a question mark of what the distant future will bring. The poem was broken at the bottom of page 2 ending with the line:  "Grant me this, that until my end I may read and understand."

Many would have been glad to end the poem there.  The poem in Judith's terms, was "an over-egged pudding" -- and perhaps somewhat immature and pretentious.  I had put footnotes about the various stones, hoping that it might help understanding, but not really.  Zaftig, as stuffed, swollen, really didn't fit in the mood of a ruined world.  Perhaps the intent of the poem was to juxtapose a sense of disconnection in the chosen images  and the repeated hopeful "distance".

Pastan: How do you understand "live each day as if your last"?  Does this push you to make the most of it, or underline impending and imminent death?  This witty poem, Imaginary Conversation, struck us as funny.  Well-told using the "old saws" we think we know and think are true, and leaving us to wonder if perhaps they aren't!  We all loved the unusual description of the manner with which "you" grinds the coffee-- "with a small roar of a mind/trying to clear itself".  The verb choice of "baptized" is perfect for the attitude of "I" who proposes to live each day as if the first. 

Moore: We felt this 3 part poem was not only "over-egged pudding", but used too many recipes!  The first section doesn't really "gell"  and it is hard to know  what the title means.  Ada Limon's comment on it, as "quietly resilient" also didn't seem apparent. Martin was kind enough to remind us that we meet, talk about the poems, responding with what comes to mind.  It is only fair to respect Ada's comment, look in the poem to see human suffering.  We had a sense of a description of the pandemic, what is forbidden, the loneliness, the way we hide from the truth of things.  The poems does seem to end on surrender, breathing deeply.  

Although we didn't understand the connection between the Manatee the  special pendant of the speaker's mother, one senses a message about not trying to be in charge of the earth -- nothing is ours to keep.

Rundel Readings! -- for January

 Each Thursday in January, Rundel has posted a poem I read aloud followed by a short explanation.

 https://www.facebook.com/RocCentralLibrary

I can't isolate the readings, so to hear these, you would need to scroll down to the approximate date on the facebook link among the multiple announcements. Below are the poems and my comments. 

Jan. 6: Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

Jan 13:  Love Calls Us to the Things of This World by Richard Wilbur

Jan. 20: When Giving Is All We Have by Alberto Ríos 

Jan. 27: 2 poems: Wake Up  by Adam Zagajewski  AND Gift  by Czesław Miłosz

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

 

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

 

This is one of my favorite poems on days I forget that being imperfect, and failure are very much part of being human.  So is despair.  What interferes with our basic human desire to love?  She doesn’t give a sermon about this... only reminds us of our softer and  thus perhaps more vulnerable sides.  She reminds us, that not only are we not alone in feeling desperation, or feeling alone.   We all belong in the web of things — and have the power of imagination to respond.

Three times, she repeats meanwhile... a wonderful word that reminds us that a mood, like a cloud in the wind, is not isolated, but simultaneous with all that could provide connection to our place “in the family of things” should we pay mindful attention.

  

Richard Wilbur:
Love Calls Us to the Things of This World

 

The eyes open to a cry of pulleys,

And spirited from sleep, the astounded soul
Hangs for a moment bodiless and simple   

As false dawn.  

            Outside the open window   

The morning air is all awash with angels.

 

  Some are in bed-sheets, some are in blouses,   

Some are in smocks: but truly there they are.   

Now they are rising together in calm swells   

Of halcyon feeling, filling whatever they wear  

With the deep joy of their impersonal breathing;

 

  Now they are flying in place, conveying

The terrible speed of their omnipresence, moving 

And staying like white water; and now of a sudden   

They swoon down into so rapt a quiet

That nobody seems to be there.

                                             The soul shrinks

 

   From all that it is about to remember,

From the punctual rape of every blessèd day

And cries,

               “Oh, let there be nothing on earth but laundry,  

Nothing but rosy hands in the rising steam

And clear dances done in the sight of heaven.”

 

   Yet, as the sun acknowledges

With a warm look the world’s hunks and colors, 

The soul descends once more in bitter love

To accept the waking body, saying now

In a changed voice as the man yawns and rises,

   “Bring them down from their ruddy gallows;

Let there be clean linen for the backs of thieves; 

Let lovers go fresh and sweet to be undone, 

And the heaviest nuns walk in a pure floating 

Of dark habits,

                        keeping their difficult balance.”

 

 

I love this poem with the image of the air filling with spirited laundry, with the play on “wash” and the air “awash with angels”.  Perhaps many don’t know about the system of pulleys for laundry, that allows you to hang clothes without needing to move the heavy basket of wet clothes— a rather miraculous image!  

 

If you see a copy as you listen to the sounds emphasized by effortless alliterations...  you will notice  many l’s !  the o  of o pen, window,  soul, gallows, floating...and so much more.  

 

In this skillful rendering of sounds, the soul implores all the cleansing that laundry represents... and makes a prayer for all who wear it...  Paradox seems to float without effort... like the heaviest of nuns... and the play of their dark habits... in a pure floating!  There is a levity in this poem that allows us to face whatever is involved with bitter love,  whatever might knock us off balance.

 

 

 

When Giving Is All We Have by Alberto Ríos 

One river gives

            Its journey to the next.

 

We give because someone gave to us.

We give because nobody gave to us.

 

We give because giving has changed us.

We give because giving could have changed us.

 

We have been better for it,

We have been wounded by it—

 

Giving has many faces: It is loud and quiet,

Big, though small, diamond in wood-nails.

 

Its story is old, the plot worn and the pages too,

But we read this book, anyway, over and again:

 

Giving is, first and every time, hand to hand,

Mine to yours, yours to mine.

 

You gave me blue and I gave you yellow.

Together we are simple green. You gave me

 

What you did not have, and I gave you

What I had to give—together, we made

 

Something greater from the difference.

 

**

Too often, some associate giving as an obligation, sometimes a way to assuage guilt.  Others see giving in the narrow context of charity.  The title provokes a deeper look — if giving is all we have... wait— is that not a contradiction?  Rios generously walks us through the many faces of giving.  It is the “diamond in wood-nails” — another puzzling image  combining the idea of a precious stone, which reminds me of the “diamond-head nail”, but nails made of wood.

There is something surprising about paradox, rather like the Japanese Koan, where a certitude of an answer is not the point, but rather the unexpected enlightenment to see things differently.

Giving as ALL... as all we have... as perhaps a way of life that connects us to a greater meaning.

 

 

**

Wake Up  by Adam Zagajewski 

 

Wake up, my soul.

I don’t know where you are, 

where you’re hiding,

but wake up, please,

we’re still together,

the road is still before us, 

a bright strip of dawn 

will be our star.

 

Adam Zagajewski, a great Polish writer and translator born in 1945, passed away last year in Spring.  I do not know the circumstances, but perhaps the sense an urgency in this poem  as if the day Adam wrote this would be one of the few remaining to him. The image of a bright strip of dawn is indeed a powerful daily occurrence, whether clouds cloak it, or however the weather, and wherever you see day break.

What guides us?  Perhaps you attach your own ideas to the traditional use of stars guiding sailors and night travelers, the three Kings en route to Bethlehem,  slaves fleeing North to freedom.

Zagajewski was a beloved teacher as well as renowned contemporary poet.  One of his courses taught the work of countryman, Czeslaw Milosz.  Here is a short one by him, equally inspiring.

 

Gift  by Czesław Miłosz

A day so happy.

Fog lifted early, I worked in the garden.

Hummingbirds were stopping over honeysuckle flowers.

There was no thing on earth I wanted to possess.

I knew no one worth my envying him.

Whatever evil I had suffered, I forgot.

To think that once I was the same man did not embarrass me.

In my body I felt no pain.

When straightening up, I saw the blue sea and sails.

January 19

 

 Sleeping in the Forest by Mary Oliver

Just Another Paradigm Shift by Paul Grant

In the Event of by Shane McCrae 

https://dcs.megaphone.fm/POETS9147027630.mp3?key=dc5d54ac6b2723ce4abb827e57a66a70

The Snowy Egret by Nancy Keating

**

discussed by in-person group:

What is not by Arthur Solway

Holy Ghost, by June Robertson Bausch

Slated for discussion:  Call Us by Amanda Gorman:  you can hear her say the poem here: 

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2021/12/13/from-call-us-what-we-carry-poetry-by-amanda-gorman

What do do about climate grief?  How to understand patterns?  What has happened in our culture that a humane neighborhood policeman described by Martin in his boyhood 8+ decades ago has been replaced by a military figure?  Finally, how do we deal with shame,  regret?

The zoom group was treated to a reading by Valerie of her poem, inspired by Jen Case, Beloved Father. I have posted her poem separately as entry. 

For the 8 people in person, and the 14 on zoom, discussing poems continues to be a healing process, sharing observations, questions, associations and stories.  Below a nutshell version of a rich and wonderful conversation!

The poem shared on 1/20 at Rundel  in the Thursday series for January is Alberto Rios, "When Giving is All We have".  https://www.facebook.com/RocCentralLibrary

When giving is all we have... is one of my favorites! His viewpoint allows a view of giving not as obligation, charity, but a concept of giving as a  way of completing ourselves in the wholeness of one.  

 

Dalai Lama reminds us that doing something for others has a positive effect on our bodies, minds, hearts... Amen to kindness...! Amen to goodness-- it makes us feel good. Desmond Tutu says, "we are wired to be compassionate". This poem is yet another reminder... giving holds hands with the happiness that rests inside us--

The discussion yesterday was this kind of giving indeed!

Nutshell:

I posted the center justified layout of Sleeping in the Forest which Kathy kindly brought to our attention as a separate blog entry. 

You might enjoy comparing the version we saw and this one in the 1/19 post FORMATTING OF THE MARY OLIVER.  The different formatting brings more hesitation.  Carolyn felt the need for it as she read it for the group.

I loved Jim's sense of humor about the "perfect trees" -- saying, how this discriminates against all

those imperfect trees. Indeed, why does she use "perfect" ?  The personification of  "small kingdoms" adds to a sense of an ideal world where nature rules.  Paul noted the five uses of the first person pronoun, I, four of which are grounded in the verbs thinking, sleeping, hearing, rising, falling, but the 5th of which vanishes (after 12 times)-- and that marvelously unexpected ending, "into something better".

The Earth can be quite cruel, and in fact some scientists point out, she could protest in a much more destructive fashion about our mistreatment of her ... although recent events might say she's escalated her retaliation.  How comforting then, to see in the beginning, an Earth who welcomes back the speaker tenderly and by extension, the reader perhaps.  There is an "exquisite pain" in the paradoxical "luminous doom".  As someone pointed out, she didn't drown as she grappled with it...  I love that the "Artistic Antidote for a Pandemic" posted this poem. 

It is reminder to accept whatever life brings... especially now in this time of pandemic.  What can we learn in this time of shutting down?  How can we be closer to nature, accept whatever it brings?

If you love trees, you might like to read Richard Powers Bewilderment, a sequel to his book The Overstory.

Just Another...  Just is one of those words in English with multiple and often contradictory meanings.  Many different interpretations of "meaning" came up, and Bernie was reminded of the Billy Collins poem, tied up  a chair, the reader trying to hose it down, whip some sense into it. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46712/introduction-to-poetry

Some saw a story about a dog,  stars and pictures of animals as constellations... some thought the eye mentioned as  being a window, a dog door, etc.  Because the poem gives a typical ending, Happy ever after,  at the beginning, and ends with the typical beginning, once upon a time, there is a sense of the poem repeating, chasing its tail.  The contrasts of  noise/shadow... dark/light... are recognizable but yet.. they don't quite match... Death is perhaps the most major paradigm shift... 

Oh yes... we agreed it was puzzling -- yet that it was saying important things... 

I asked:  did you enjoy reading it?   The answer was unanimous!  Yes! and yes... let's read it again!

In the event of...  The quiet tone in which  Shane delivers this one-sided dialogue of an innocent black man to a police officer gives it amazing weight. We are living in a time of virtual reality and overdone checks on actual reality.  The poem is as if written by a dead man.. or as if imagined or in a dream.  The "ow" sounds, how, down, bow-- howl...  at first the Officer disassociated with "how", but 3rd tercet,  Shane read it as Officer How, -- although without the enjambment you'd read "Officer, how you know I'm dead

is... No one but a dead person would appear to bow to such an officer.  Mary saw a symbolic crucifixion.

The implied militaristic stance of a policeman prompted Martin to remember the way he experienced policemen when he was growing up-- humanistic problem solvers.  He cited the story of his father who after the early death of Martin's mother, would speed.  Finally, a policeman came to him and said, 

"we've been watching you speeding and you need to know the potential dangers to you and others. Stop it."  And wouldn't you know he did. 

Let us not forget that there are kind police still and as Archbishop Desmond Tutu reminds,  that all human beings are wired to be compassionate. 

The Snowy Egret :  allowed  the conversation to continue.  Jim and Paul shared experiences of hunting, or having a gun... and the shock of accidents-- killing a blue jay or yellow finch... they never picked up a gun again.  Some thought it should be a different title.  Another thought was that the opening line should be "give me a different word for forget... something more like regret"... but clearly the poem moved us to think about the role of forgetting... whether dismissal, denial, pretense, or the tragedy of losing memory.  The memory of "unremembered shame" is strange enough to give pause to the importance of what that ache in the stomach has told us all along when we feel guilty.   Marna researched the author and provided us the link to White Chick https://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet-books/reviews/156944/white-chick. Perhaps there is an overtone of white femininity... both the privilege but also the limitation.  Ken brought up the "righteousness" of the fox hunt... and Judith  reminded us of the fact that humans can be described as a cruel species.  

**

The zoom group ended here, with Valerie's beautiful reading of her poem about her father I have posted her poem separately as entry on 1/19.

The in-person group discussed the next two poems.

What is not: 

a little too clever with not/knot/naught... without any sense of real mystery.

Holy Ghost: the poet apparently was/is struggling with cancer. We had a sense of a poem describing a surreal setting and critique of church  with a turn with the last three stanzas.  We do grasp at anything.

The Merwin is slated for next week!