poems for September 29

 Judith shared this (continuation of comments from last week) from Dance Anecdotes p. 102 by Mindy Aloff: The duende, then, is a power, not a work.  It is a struggle, not a thought.  I have heard an old maestro of the guitar say, “the duende is not in the throat; the duende climbs up inside you, from the soles of the feet.” Meaning this:  It is not a question of ability but of true, living style, of blood, of the most ancient culture, of spontaneous creation…

Years ago an 80-year old woman won first prize at a dance contest in Jerez de la Frontera.  She was competing against beautiful women and young girls with waists as supple as water, but all she did was raise her arms, throw back her head, and stamp her foot on the floor.  In that gathering of muses and angels—beautiful forms and beautiful smiles—who could have won but her moribund duende, sweeping the ground with its wings of rusty knives.

 

                                             Federico Garcia Lorca  In Search of Duende

 

Poems:

Stone by Charles Simic

Inklings by Kitty Jospé

The Lazy Susan by Adrienne Sue

The Crossroads by Joshua Mehigan

Fire Safety by Joshua Mehigan

Monday  by Alex Dimitrove

In person: Maura, Marna, Judith, Carmin, Jan, Elaine, Joyce, Ken, Martin 

Zoom:  Ginny, Barb, Emily, Bernie, David, Susan, Rose Marie

Nutshell:  

Simic:  do listen to his reading.  He prefaces the poem commenting on vileness and stupidity...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XODm-0K9TK4

It is easy to see only a surface... especially for a stone...or a person  and both are riddle... Stone as metaphor of self-hood, a model of stoic values... unaffected by circumstances... I was reminded of the artist Isamu Noguchi who said about his sculpture Mono Tari (Japanese folk tale of the boy born out of a peach pit... and his sculpture of stone, indeed, invites one to roll in the space carved for it)  "the universe is made of rocks!" https://stormking.org/artist/isamu-noguchi/.  

Martin brought up a history of planets... how they too follow an evolution, and the complexity of distributions, spin.   This inspired the idea that we, like our planet are more than rock... we too are lava, and fire and evolving.  David was reminded of Wallace Stevens' meditation about clouds of different densities, interconnected... material is energy filling a solid... 

Several people commented on the poem as advice on stoic behavior, how to face encounters with another.  Marna who suggested the poem, called on the Native American belief of every thing imbued with spirit -- that a stone too, is living.  The idea of living inside a stone cave, writing on the walls...  We enjoyed Simic's mock humility in the first stanza... the sounds of the slow sinking of a stone where fishes will come to knock on it... whether it is the stone or fish -- or those who observe... the idea is not to seek answer, but simply, to listen... Our presumptions are opened to allow possibility in the last stanza... 

Inklings:  I appreciated everyone's comments on this poem from my book Twilight Venus.

Physical ink... intuition, music, dance and art all combine to weave a satisfying sense they provide--

anything can happen... as they loosen all that holds us from imagining possibilities.  There is a 4th dimension of a poem that is released in vibrations of throat and mouth. https://cpb-us-e1.wpmucdn.com/blogs.uoregon.edu/dist/2/11757/files/2015/10/Abrams-The-Fourth-Dimension-of-a-Poem-vy76gc.pdf

The Lazy Susan:  a perfect metaphor for the spin of time... now this way... now the other.

The history is interesting: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/lazy-susan-classic-centerpiece-chinese-restaurants-neither-classic-nor-chinese-180949844/

The 1st generation Chinese-American's child's view in the first 11 lines, echoes in the reversal of the lines reflecting the older Chinese immigrant parents.  Subtle changes by the placement of phrases without changing the words keeps a sense of familiar... and yet, not quite the same.  What fuels the hours to light a center is not the "tea dispenser's orange light" which reminds to fuel the hours,  light a center."

Susan shared a delightful anecdote of her elders telling a joke in English, but the punch line was delivered in Yiddish.  How does one "laugh in Chinese"?  Certainly we were sensitive to the deeper turn on how one works into a culture, and work it out working out of a culture... "the how we live, because of them; they live this way because of us." adds yet another dimension. 

The Crossroads:  In spite of no details about the "it", repeated 5 times, this little poem is filled with scene and drama for the reader to create.  Crossroads... where one can meet the devil, vampires, turn for better or worse... Each reader can create feelings, memories, associations and tone... One senses a car accident, perhaps caused by a leaping white-tailed deer; or the sparkling dust of an enlightenment... (like a baptism perhaps)  the stickier grease of the oily smear... (final mark of priest after death); the marker could be sign of a lynching... Whatever "it" is, there is sadness-- perhaps that it is no longer... perhaps a person's life or an entire way of life is at risk of being forgotten.

How do we know what we know?

Fire Safety:  we enjoyed the clever transformation of the ordinary,  the deft insertion of "screaming machines", "land mines", "warlike", the rather comic details of the fire escape... and the surprising ending after this mysterious wait, with an incontrovertible prediction that we will "cry out".  Extinguishers, alarms,  hydrants, sprinklers, escape routes -- all supposedly to keep us safe, and which we take for granted... perhaps, will not work when needed... We wonder how the poet came to think of this poem.

Life indeed can turn on a dime.  It's a hard life for these objects to wait... unnoticed.

Monday:  How do we come to assign such importance to a day of the week... how does the pandemic experience change it? It's good to laugh at our defenses against recognizable frustrations.   Dimitrov juxtaposes the trivial (cross the street) with the important (marry),

the what ifs and why nots and like the lazy susan, spins disaster to enjoyment... and then... oh!  "the rest of it, we have to get to".  Art saves us.  We discussed blue -- celestial, sacred, calming, but also melancholy...

and that final unexpected word, pain... 

It's the kind of poem that draws in a reader, makes one want to strike up a conversation with the poet,

compare notes on expectations, what we anticipate, discouragements and disappointments.  And Art 

forgives us... allows us to escape our self-absorption.

To add to the list of A.A. Milne:

King of Peru

https://voetica.com/voetica.php?collection=3&poet=685&poem=3358

 

King John’s Christmas

https://www.thereader.org.uk/featured-poem-king-johns-christmas-by-a-a-milne/ 

Poems for September 22

**As Long as We Are Not Alone by Israel Emiot translated by Leah Zazulyer

Gray Stone by Richard Hugo  

French Leave by Claude McKay

Brigadista in Retirement by Kwame Dawes

Mendacity  by Kwame Dawes

**Rain by Don Paterson

Poem for the Tin-tun-teros  by Brenda Cárdenas

https://poets.org/poem/poem-tin-tun-teros

 ** these are from September 8 which the "zoom" group missed.  "Rain" and the Israel Emiot are well worth the re-read!

In the first group (Paul, Martin, Mary, Joyce, Marna, Maura, Ken, Judith, Carmen, Jim)

Mary shared The Pencil  by Mary Hood and Martin shared my poem Witness.   I appreciated that he saw a parallel between the rising whirlpool of vapor to people... and that people enjoyed the "vapor-y" sounds of w's and s's.  Judith liked the "danceability" and went on an A.A. Milne kick to show what fun poetry could be.  I have included them in the email for next week's poems.

In the second group (Bernie, until 1 pm, David, Valerie, Jan, Emily, Valerie, Susan, Elaine + Barb, Marna, Paul in person).

Nutshell:

As ever, there were so many veins in the rich and thoughtful discussions.  Bernie had to leave early, and mentioned he had many comments to make on each poem.  I am sure this is the case of each person!  Thank you Valerie for commenting on the connecting rods in these poems addressing loneliness, our need for connection. We started with Ken's share of these three lines from Rabindranath Tagore:

Alone I can 'Say' but together we can 'Talk'.

Alone I can 'Enjoy' but together we can 'Celebrate'

Alone I can 'Smile' but together we can 'Laugh'

And this is what we do each week together.   Thank you all.  Connectedness keeps us alive...

Someone brought up the saying of Mother Theresa,  "loneliness and feeling unwanted is the worst poverty...."

Emiot:  Perhaps one can read "we shall rejoice" with a bit of skepticism -- but it is repeated not just twice

but four times, sealing the poem with a capital W for We, with no comma between the final repetition and a sober period after this 3 word sentence.  And why rejoice?  And how do we understand stone, associated with a sense of primal, foundational and eternal?  David shared the idea of a system of responses, a sort of exchanging--the stone dissolves, enters water which then nourishes the plants... The idea of our one planet with its thin atmosphere and beyond-- this vast emptiness nothingness... and if the plants hear, why not imagine the stone can too... and this great connection is indeed a call to rejoice.

Gray Stone:  Mary had associated the above poem with this one we had discussed many years ago. Many threads were shared:  the gray stone as itself, no volition to change, no "magic power" to change anything-- and this stone perhaps can hear, but in the poem, has the power to speak.  It is our turn to listen.

Mary was reminded of the song in the Sounds of Music, "Nothing out of nothing" :             https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UetJAFogqE4

Elaine wondered about the adjective "horrifying" (attention) -- as in powerful, as in terrifying which captures an awareness  of the vast emptiness beyond our planet.  David remembered the Wallace Stevens poem "The Snowman" -which shows a person's mind is responsible for investing in a scene... but if clear from illusions, nature will portray the reality as it is.  Emily felt in it the sense of passage of time, projection into the future.

We didn't speak of the craft of the poem... the echoing of wet or dry/bright green sky... the repetition

of gray stone.  Clearly... human beings are not in charge... Many felt this poem is a slap in the face about thinking we are in control... that our belief in luck ... and our ventures and undertakings lends only a myth of real.

French Leave:  we listened to the rather flat voice picked by the Poem-a-day-people of this poem written almost 100 years ago.  It is not the poet's voice and I wonder how Claude McKay might have delivered it.

Judith pointed out the universal human desire to not have to go to work... but the point is even stronger for a slave... 

Rosemary pointed about yet another layer to French leave-- to leave discretely as a matter of politesse, not to disturb anyone.  This brought up the idea of the need for accommodation if a slave ...although certainly,  some sensed an undertone of anger in the determination of the speaker to protect a small moment, free to imagine "life softening to a song of tuneful tunes."  David brought up the Jewish tradition of being able to relax on the seder cushion... that freedom meant also, the right to relax.  Judith reminded us of McKay's importance in the Harlem Renaissance movement and the careful rhyming (and eye-rhyme of love/move, was/grass).

Kwame Dawes:  Elaine brought up his background of moving from Ghana to Jamaica.  For the two pieces, the question about our expectations for a poem (I wrote down "language distilled in a burnt oak barrel") came up as we felt a prose feel with logical listing of ideas dependent on a dramatic oratory delivered. Brigadista:

 Oh the myths that feed a nation... especially the "harnessed fantasy to feed the impulse to die for patria"...  The second group made the connection of the baby as metaphor for problem... and how even in retirement, the thrill of being warrior remains a burning desire.  I forget who brought up Patton, rubbing his hands and saying about fighting, "God I just love it so." and the powerful result of bonding, sense of

purpose (even if a fantasy).  This, from the standpoint of a woman, feels even stronger-- the war is not over, and the desire to fight for the cause extremely powerful.

Mendacity: The title frames a meditation on our hunger to be loved... and how mendacious myths as "necessary presence" inform our sense of belonging.   How to understand "the pathology of storytelling is the intoxication of lies"?  David and Elaine both brought up the importance of story telling  as a way to understand, transform ourselves and others by sharing the mixed bag of emotions coupled with great fiction.   Rosemarie noted two threads: the cultural references in the Bible to creation and Christ's sacrifice which assuage and a more personal hunger.  How to understand the "envelope" sent out each day, filled with sweet (necessary) lies of his alarming truth?  We wished Bernie could have stayed to share a Buddhist slant about the role of stories!

Rain: see Sept. 8 for comparison: Perhaps a poem changes according to the company of poems in which it is surrounded.  Following Kwame Dawes, Paterson's poem felt like a cinematic tribute to great beginnings, and indeed... whatever follows, whether braided with rain or not, like Hugo's gray stone, is

what it is. Perhaps there is a an element of wabi-sari... that balance that does not depend on permanence, and yet feels as though it always has been.  

Cardenas:  We listened to the Spanish, followed by the English of this powerful poem she delivers.

Judith immediately thought of "duende", that supernatural being that spirit of evocation that infuses a piece with passion, inspiration.  Susan remarked how one doesn't need to know Spanish to feel the powerful rhythms, sensual sounds.  Valerie was reminded of  the power of the bells in Poe's poem.

A perfect end for a fine discussion.

 

Poems for September 15 -- two sets!

Ken Offered this -- a wonderful way to open each discussion! Wisdom from Rabindranath Tagore (major literary and political force in the early 20th Century) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rabindranath_Tagore (“proper teaching stokes curiosity”) 

Alone I can 'Say' but together we can 'Talk'.

Alone I can 'Enjoy' but together we can 'Celebrate'

Alone I can 'Smile' but together we can 'Laugh'

11:15

Paul: Under Ben Bulben by W.B. Yeats

Judith: Bavarian Gentians by D.H. Lawrence

Marna: The Singers by Eavan Boland 

Maura: Abou Ben Adhem by Leigh Hunt

Mary (poem about pencil for a different time) 

Russell Simpson (new person)

 Martin  but had planned on sharing a poem but was not there.  

Judith reports that Paul shared a funny story about Bavarian flowers.  " He had evidently been in a train puffing so slowly up a mountain there, flowers blooming in all directions, when the train was so slow climbing the steep grade that it was possible to jump off, pick flowers and get back on.  Which the law abiding Teutons did, despite signs saying sternly Nicht (pick, which I cannot remember but word very close to English!) blumen.  He left out the article, but for all I know that is correct.  Paul is a treat.

 

Paul reports:  Marna, Maura, Mary, Joyce. Judith, Paul...........The 5 horsemen of the Apocalypse plus one to sweep up after......They were all great........near the end came a new prospect, Russell Simpson a nice appearing man.   I would say the meeting went all right and that the merry throng presented nice material. I was too talkative and too full of information on Ben Bulben and think I likely bored the faithful to tears enough to fill the Mareotic lake. Martin didn't show...hope he's ok......Ken wrote me that he had dental work that couldn't wait...Mary Diener could not find a printed rendition of "The Pencil", which she was going to present. It was the usual good time with bolstering by the ladies ( God ! Judith is a marvel...and I imagine the group were happy to dwell on her stories and insights).  Frankly, I was disappointed in my own presentation, but had a fine time researching and getting a look into the brain of WBY. The thundering herd dispersed rapidly upon conclusion, but for the two Js ,who carried on a good long conversation afterwards. 

12:30: attendees: David Sanders, Jan B, Elaine Richane, Susan T, Barb Murphy, Arlene W. and Bernie Shore

The group read aloud per usual style the Tagore, the Bishop and the Adams, since Ken, Emily, Joyce not there.

 Emily: The Fish by Elizabeth Bishop 

Joyce: Grapes Making  by Leonie Adams

Barb:  Minor Miracle  by Marilyn Nelson  -- which Barb read incredibly well.

Bernie:  Bugs in a Bowl by David Budbill https://www.thesunmagazine.org/issues/200/bugs-in-a-bowl

Jan: Kindness by Naomi Shihab Nye -- didn't get to it b/c ran out of time... 

Although Joyce was not there Arlene W jumped right in with both reading and comments and was an unexpected gift for helping us work through the Adams poem about grapes. As we began discussing it she interjected that her job is with the cooperative extension and she has worked with and knows a lot about grapevines, how do you support them, how they grow etc. etc. it was like having our own resident expert,

David Sanders, Jan B, Elaine Richane, Susan T, Barb Murphy, me and someone I've never met before who was just great, Arlene Wilson. Three of those who suggested poems, Ken with the Tagore, Emily with Bishop's The Fish and Joyce with Adams' Grapes Making, weren't there, so we all shared reading except for the Minor Miracle poem which Barb read entirely, incredibly well.  

September 8

 XIII (Dedications)  by Adrienne Rich[1]

Which Side Are You On?  by Janine Pommy Vega[2]

Nostalgia by Joyce Carol Oates

Rain by Don Paterson

For What Binds Us  by Jane Hirshfield

As Long as We Are Not Alone by Israel Emiot translated by Leah Zazulyer

Crazy!  Someone drove into a power line connection.  At 11:20, the lights went off... we were able to read in the rather gray light of a rainy day... but no internet connection, so the 12:30 zoom-hybrid was cancelled.   Apologies!  Since Barb and Elaine came in person, Paul, Marna and I continued the discussion but without our zoom compatriots for the "hybrid session."

Nutshell discussion:

XIII:  Hopefully everyone read Jane Hirshfield's commentary about this poem... https://www.loc.gov/programs/poetry-and-literature/audio-recordings/poetry-of-america/item/poetry-00000855/jane-hirshfield-adrienne-rich/

It clarifies about the number 13... the idea of dedications as the final 13th poem in “An Atlas of the Difficult World.”  We could imagine that Adrienne had been in these 13 places, knew the 13 people mentioned... and imagined what motivated them to read whatever "this poem" is/was, which curiously feels that it must be the entire collection of poems in "An Atlas".  What a novel way to dedicate a poem... 

For  us today, it was an invitation to see if we could identify with any of the people.

Who would you pick?  Martin identified with the one by the tv screen watching the news, as he does...(Western Europe, Japan and other world news stations!)

Barb and Maura identified with the one pacing beside the stove, book in hand; Paul identified with the one in the room where too much has happened... and the open valise speaks of flight... 

Marna identified with listening for hope... and that task she could never refuse of teaching her beloved students... Mary found it an uplifting picture of humanity... 

The struggles... rush-hour, snow, intifada, the thirst, stripped as you are... are offset by the running up the stairs toward a new kind of love, the knowledge that each letter of an alphabet is precious, the persistence of reading inspire of thick lenses or a foreign tongue... 

It brought us to discuss the news, our delight when an uplifting piece is included... 

We tried different "tones" to the repeated "I know you are reading this poem"... agreed it was not said with arrogance, but rather with the sense of the thread that binds us.

We went out of order because of that idea.  (see next to last poem)

For What Binds Us:   see comments May 19/24... although we did not mention the word "keloid", Paul wanted a different word for "Proud Flesh".   In May, we thought perhaps paradox was the intention of the poem.  Today, we did not talk about the black cord... or what makes connections between people... I love the possibilities that allow a poem to  have an entirely different  discussion — Later at 12:30 when Barb and Elaine showed up in person, we read the poem again. It felt like an ode -- in the sense of a poem dedicated to examining  what “binding” means.   “Being bound” is not usually a desirable thing… I suppose like carrying a wound…  (related, but unconnected:  Paul mentioned the importance of German fraternities displaying an intentional scar...)

The examples in stanza one are strange… a spontaneous skin that forms (without mentioning milk) in a cup… the long process of joinery…   Her leaps to "proud flesh" then to memory of love are  large… maybe as Martin said, she is showing the creative process… If the subject is about wounds,  the ending is the exact opposite.  We were struck by a "binding" that nothing can tear -- or mend... truly bound no matter what... 

Rain: and that leads to the final line of this poem (only discussed in the second group).  What matters and why?  Marna shared the idea of tragic opera -- it opens and ends with gorgeous music... opens with "all is well" -- like the opening stanzas-- stressing the importance of beginnings... observations... and finally 3 1/2 stanzas later the sentence arrives at a period.  The "fatal watercourse" might be part of the tragedy (girl walks off overpass) or that only unrhymed line in the first stanza: (rain) streaming down her upturned face.  Does nothing matter because it is a film?  This poem analysis sheds a little more light from another point of view -- rain as equalizing force capable of washing away concern of the past. https://poemanalysis.com/don-paterson/rain-analysis/

THREE poems from Poets Walk:

Which Side are you On:  With a title like that... repeated in the final line, I think of Pete Seeger and miner strikes... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XEnTxlBuGo

It helps to know that Janine wrote this point while working with women at the Eastern Correctional  Facility... 

The question "are you in or outside" comes to mind as well as other types of sides.   Are you going to be the flower that opens... inspire others?   If you throw down coins in dirt... is that with disdain?  How can she say they spell integrity?  It reminded Marna of tossing the I-Ching...  

Starting with questions,  the poem delves beyond the surface, the excavating, digging deep  in your own soul and crux of the matter.  "Every time you visit yourself without respect, you lose.  Without love, Also.  ".  Adding a touch of Kabir and miracle  that  is in all of us gives hope... and whatever those obstacles, their reduction to wind... disappearance... begs the repeat of the question.

Nostalgia: We agreed... sometimes you need to say things... as in the last two lines... What happens with automatic obedience training? How does nostalgia work on us?  I loved the line, "The flagless pole, what a relief!" and promptly was disturbed by

the idea of placing a hand over a heart, "as if I had one."  Powerful poem... not bitter, but reflective... 

As Long As We are Not Alone :  see notes... His writing is like a prayer... Maura mentioned she made a sculpture inspired by this poem.  Look at the four times "we shall rejoice" is said.  Not with an exclamation point, but  after "Perhaps a stone also hears;" first, followed by a comma, repeated followed by a semi-colon. We understand and feel the poem, but can't explain the magic of silence in space... silence of God...  and then the final lines as answer to the question, "perhaps the stone also hears?"

Simply stated.  Does the stone hear it first?  "We shall rejoice"?  And the second time, how do you hear it?

 “We" is capitalized.  “rejoice” as last word receives a confirmatory period, round and hard as a stone... present and real.

Mary remembered the Richard Hugo poem we discussed a long time ago: I cite the first stanza and link: 

Green Stone

All stones have luck built in. Some
a lucky line that curves a weak green back
into some age prehuman. If stones
could talk they’d tell us how they’ve survived.
They’ve been used in beautiful fences,
been weapons hurled.

http://carolpeters.blogspot.com/2006/02/richard-hugo.html

[1] At the Dodge Festival in April 2021, Edward Hirsch read this poem as part of the program of poets paying hommage to other poets. This led me to Jane Hirschfield’s reading and commentary: https://www.loc.gov/programs/poetry-and-literature/audio-recordings/poetry-of-america/item/poetry-00000855/jane-hirshfield-adrienne-rich/

[2] The Vega and Oates and Emiot  are three  of the poems on Poets Walk, located on University Avenue in front of  the Memorial Art Gallery. For a listing of the 114 poems, the poets and prompts. https://mag.rochester.edu/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/PoetsWalk-Alpha.pdf

For an alphabetical  list of the poem tiles:  https://mag.oncell.com/en/poets-walk-78374.html

 

 

---

[1] At the Dodge Festival in April 2021, Edward Hirsch read this poem as part of the program of poets paying hommage to other poets. This led me to Jane Hirschfield’s reading and commentary: https://www.loc.gov/programs/poetry-and-literature/audio-recordings/poetry-of-america/item/poetry-00000855/jane-hirshfield-adrienne-rich/

[2] The Vega and Oates and Emiot  are three  of the poems on Poets Walk, located on University Avenue in front of  the Memorial Art Gallery. For a listing of the 114 poems, the poets and prompts. https://mag.rochester.edu/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/PoetsWalk-Alpha.pdf

For an alphabetical  list of the poem tiles:  https://mag.oncell.com/en/poets-walk-78374.html

 

poems for September 1

The Children of Beslan by Irakli Kakabadze

American Syntax by Chin-In Chen 

Before I was a Gazan by Naomi Shihab Nye 

From Another Approach by Mary Jo Bang

Soonisms by Barton Smock

Growing Up by Eavan Boland

I had included this quotation from Anais Nin, which summarizes the spirit of these special gatherings: 

 

Each friend represents a world in us,

a world possibly not born until they arrive,

and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.        

Indeed, the in person session (11) and connecting with 7 on zoom,  another in person for a hybrid session

of 13 with 5 staying on felt like a gathering of friends... mirroring thoughts together that would not have occurred without each other.

Summary:

The Children: based on the 2004 terrorist attack on a school in Beslan.  https://www.britannica.com/event/Beslan-school-attack

It starts with the capitalized "First of September" and ends with "hiding behind September first."

We noted religious overtones of the bells, the crossing of the Grandmothers, the light backpacks hanging like crosses... the sacrificial lambs.   

There is an innocence in the voices of the children telling blended with an irony absent of rage -- The flowers in the 4th line reappear towards the end of the poem, 

  Here our flowers for you, who/were supposed to open the door of life's wisdom for us... /but the flowers have chosen a better fate.

 What is in the heavy bags the fathers are carrying in their heads?  Dead bodies, bombs?  

The sober listing of "empty, silent notebooks, unopened books, flat, inanimate illustrations...

desks without purpose

boards painted black

and that word "first" again, the blackboard on which is written "our first short history".

It is impossible to speak of this poem without reciting it.  The contrast of what should have contained hope ending in tragedy is told in such a tragically neutral way.

American Syntax:  Ching-in is transgender, brought up by immigrant parents obsessed with proper use of English.  She speaks of her obsessional  writing and rewriting here after reading the poem: 

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

We all enjoyed the poem, the clever set-up of contrasts especially the teeth at the end where chipped and perfect apply to much more than the teacher.  The beginning starts out with obedient syntax... a slip in of the adjectives "dead" and "greedy" applied to "clean" and "sponge and then comes the crazy "The corner lifted,/peeking a window furtive."   We noted the predominance of strident ee vowels, lots of "r" which is difficult for a Chinese person to pronounce.  Some had reminders of parochial school; 

What is about to bite?  We can't see the menace implied in this ending fragment... 

Before I was a Gazan: Before being labeled by nationality, religion or otherwise defined, we can imagine this boy, filled with pride going to school.  What is his "piece of paper" -- his ID card?  his homework?

both?  11 lines into the 19 line sentence... and before appears again -- no blood, no description of an explosion,  just the verb "got subtracted"-- for everything mentioned before, the uncle, the teacher,

the best math student and his baby sister... 

The irony of "this plus that", multiplied -- the reality of subtracted... and the painful desire for a solvable problem.  Understated and powerful. 

From Another Approach:  interesting to hear Mary Jo read the poem and note how she treats the enjambments, stresses would and could in the 4th stanza.  How the question in stanza 3 doesn't sound like one... unlike the long 2 and a half stanza long question that starts in the 6th stanza and ends on the first line of the 9th...We discussed the monsters "who look enough like us to be us" and "my similar" --how there, there can be a calming and tender expression vs. pointing to someone, there... there...

At first blush, it seems to be about climate change... but what is the "personified day"?  And who is this couple?  

 https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2021/08/23/from-another-approach

Marna brought up the  movie Wall-E : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WALL-E

Judith brought up Black Boy (and Native Son) by Richard Wright.

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

Soonisms: Well.  We listened to Barton Smock read it.  We had no glimmer to help with "long and short lives of his children" or his "necessary and fake finalities" as father.  We agreed we could not find an atom of meaning.    

I'm not sure if it was here that Judith started to recite (Gilbert & Sullivan, The Gondoliers- 6th song)

Of that there is no manner of doubt — No probable, possible shadow of doubt — No possible doubt whatever.

Growing up:   For sure, you need to see the sketch/drawing by Renoir of the two young girls.  We were taken by the language... the craft... the ka-pow of the final line-- perhaps memory is all any of us have... and perhaps we are all pencil sketches-- indefinite and infinite with hope.  The "blooding with womanhood" of the young girls has multiple interpretations. Maura was reminded of another Boland poem, "The Singers".

August 25

Flying Crooked by  Robert Graves

excerpt from Black Liturgies

Clouds by Carolyn Forché

It’s Hard to Keep a Clean Shirt Clean  by June Jordan

The Proof that Plato Was Wrong  by Eaven Boland

This, Then, Is How the World Oscillates—Jen Ashburn

Satire on Paying Calls in August  by Ch’ēng Hsiao (220 AD —would place him in Han Dynasty,  prior to Tang poets Li Po, Tu Fu, Wang 

I thank everyone present yesterday for the extreme patience required to surmount the awkward set up of  5 of us in person... 5 by zoom... Hopefully, whatever gleanings shared, partially heard, mostly intimated, were worth the time and strain!  I am sorry 

that I have little control over technology... 

Flying Crooked: In two sentences, the first, a rather digressive, interruptedly-written 8 lines. Unlike the traditional decastitch, divided into two sets of 5 lines, usually posing and answering a question, Graves maintains an even 8-syllable line with aa—bb—cc—dd—ee rhyme scheme, with the final t’s of the first four lines matching those of the last two lines, the slant rhyme of the long I  in the first two lines, matching those of  lines 5-6.  The scrambled syntax imitates the flight of the butterfly, where the word “now” stumbles into the 3^rd line (most readers  often mistakenly pronounce it “know”!).  8 lines of observation:  sorted out, simply:   The butterfly will never master the art of flying straight. Apparently for the speaker of the poem, identifying with this “just sense of how not to fly” the method seems haphazard (by guess, by God) and paradoxical (the lurching involves both hope and hopelessness.). The delightful irony pokes at the “politically correct” swift, giving the butterfly the “last word”  confirming his  “flying crooked” as "gift”. 

Perhaps a sense of “the road less travelled” — a common reference to Frost’s “The road not taken”, also an ironic poem, apparently penned with a jest in mind. 

Judith brought up Graves’ life and his haunting experience in WW1.

If these small ruminations interest you, you might enjoy reading Graves The Caterpillar https://poets.org/poem/caterpillar  and this article by David Orr on Frost The road not taken... https://lithub.com/youre-probably-misreading-robert-frosts-most-famous-poem/

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/315303/the-road-not-taken-by-david-orr/

  

excerpt from Black Liturgies:  my apologies for not providing more information about Black Liturgist, Cole Arthur Riley who curates this site at Cornell. https://blackliturgist.com

I shared that she is influenced not only by poets Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, but also theologians and thinkers like Juliana of Norwich (1343 — living in the time of the Black Death), Thomas Merton and Dietrich Bonhoeffer, anti-Nazi pastor executed in 1945 and the idea of redemptive suffering. 

A similar, but darker message  than Graves about being true to oneself.  Judith noted that “exhale”on the penultimate line makes her think of exile. 

 

Clouds: My words fail to convey the power of this 16 line poem. Judith made a beautiful poem of her description, which I can only paraphrase:  a capture of time, provoked in memory of the past, widening to end in blossom.  Indeed, these Russian Antinovka apple seeds, symbol of the immigrant experience, arrive in the first mention, line 3, of 50 years prior to a present moment, ending in a repeating of 50 years as “apple blossoms/in wind at once.”

From bird (now) over orchard, its history, and the title “clouds” reappearing on line 10...“islanding a window very past” a sense of return after death... and this resurrection of blossom.

It’s Hard to Keep a Clean Shirt Clean:  My apologies for missing the last line which repeats the title!  We concurred— a delightful poem!  We noted the clever crafting of  3-syllable words which Jordan uses sparingly in this poem of short lines— “delicate”, “accidents”  “restoration”, “eleventh”, “unfortunate”, “transparent”, “beautiful”.   The short vowel sound i, also weaves a delicate sound, which plays with  the sibilance  (sunlit, jasmine, easily, fist, this, sting, prints, shirt, spins, rinse, India, wish, everything,)but also the occlusive “pricking”  and the quietly plosive “limp” and “hit”.   We spoke briefly of the dedication to Sriram Shamasunder, her student who carried on Jordan’s focus on poetry for the people, and what is involved in suffering.  We imagined the youthful idealist, waiting while his shirt is scrubbed 11 times... his soft fist repeated as the metaphor for his shirt... working “its way with everything” — such a hopeful poem,  yet addressing the hit and hurt wrapped up in this shirt.

 

The Proof that Plato was Wrong:  One needs to start with a quick review of Plato, to appreciate this poem. He did not respect imitation and reflection in poetry... mistrusted poets for the potential of perpetrating false ideas.  Valerie pointed out the visual  form of the poem with the reflecting of lines facing each other starting in two places.   Paul mentioned the canal in Dublin which goes East-West, thus reflecting the sun’s path.  Boland sketches for us reflections of trees, birds, and we sense the season shifting... and the power of the imagination to bring bird song alive within these reflections.  The enjambments... the juxtapositions that imply time (I was young here.  I am older here.); the triple use of “here” to imply place both as physical moment experienced and as memory, and potential future add to a pleasing  brilliance. 

This, Then, Is How the World Oscillates:  The response to this poem was to question its disappointing lack of point, especially after the Boland.

Judith recalled TS Eliot’s “This is the way the world ends— not with a bang... but a whimper...” (The Hollow Men... sequel to The Waste Land). Granted, the idea of the pendulum swing, announced in the title seems promising, but seems unable to move from “malingering trajectory”, “desperate collective entropy and if the Japanese kanji for Jisho (release; let go, set free) is to help this “arc of heart-threads unraveling” ... how depressing to end on the final word, “implode”. 

 

Satire on Paying Calls in August:  All the more refreshing to end on a very funny satire of how visiting almost 2,000 years ago, still holds true today.  This would be a terrific performance piece... Elaine remembered Bernie’s poem on how to be a good host. (not sure if it was that last stanza of The Current State of Affairs, Egg-wise?

 

“I think of us all as eggs

Bumping and rolling along

A conveyor belt of life

Now clumsily caroming off and denting our neighbors

Or linking invisible arms for the long haul

Clasping each other or shoving away

As we roll on down together

With all that glorious light

Leaking in and leaking out.”

August 18

The River Village  by Tu Fu

Build, Now, a Monument  by Matthew Olzmann

Squander by W.J. Herbert

The Lover Tells of the Rose in His Heart  by W. B. Yeats

Their Lonely Betters  by W. H. Auden

Postscript  by Seamus Heaney

Such a joy to first, discuss in person (10 of us) followed by a second discussion  with 5 on zoom and 5 in person.  Next week, we will try for ONE hybrid session, try the "muting of the room" for the reverb problem.  Of course, for in person attendees, there will be time before and after the actual "session" to continue discussion!  The room will be available from 11-2, but the actual session will start at noon.

Summary 

The River Village:  Tu Fu, 712-770 AD, was contemporary with the older Li Po.  And yet, someone offered the idea of "flashfloods of now"-- the current of the river... the flow of current events far away from the peaceful scene in the first 4 lines. The "old wife" and "little sons" brought up the possibility 

of several wives... A contrasting translation of the penultimate line "I'm provided with the herbs I need" lent a different tone, however, both versions intimate a man at the end of his life.  By choosing "necessities" the Lowell translation intimates the question of "what is truly necessary for happiness".

For those interested in knowing more about the "golden age" of Chinese poetry https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/pdf/10.1080/25723618.2001.12015296

Judith summarized what Arthur Waley describes about Chinese poetry-- see his introduction here: 

170 Chinese poems replete with introduction here:   

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/42290/42290-h/42290-h.htm

The translation by Ayscough and Lowell reflects their 1900's aesthetic.  We all appreciated the wisdom of acceptance... a lovely "non-courtly", unpretentious observation -- 

Build, Now, a Monument:  What is a monument, and why do we build them?  What do we seek to preserve?  The poem starts with the human preoccupation with time and change.  It almost seems absurd to trade an hourglass for a staircase "to lament every transient second".  The "now" in the title, is repeated twice in the 4th stanza, "for now..." which is quite different than "building Now"-- a slippery affair-- for how does one build a moment in time, except by living? And if one is busy commemorating the present moment, how can that be lived?  It's much like a mobius strip...

The inclusion of the rarely encountered word "misoneism" is a perfect stumbling block to pronounce and comprehend as well.  If there is "hatred, fear of the new",  does a monument protect against innovation-- with the insinuation of intolerance-- and what good is a bridge "between /Earth and what Earth cannot touch"?  

We did spend some time in the first group wondering about "anger" in the 3rd line 5th stanza... and whether auger as in the tool to drill a hole, might be better for building... or augur, as in foretelling... but the emotional anger is as much involved in the process of building as sawdust and hammer.  

Suddenly, in the 5th stanza, we are in the past... memory of a friend... an old pain... which spurs him to think of the 4,000 muscles of a caterpillar, every one of them used "to become something other than itself".  We agreed that the question, is the body is a cocoon, lends to meditation on what emerges as we live... 

We enjoyed the surprising turns, and especially how the enjambment from  penultimate stanza to the end echoed the final enjambed line.  "his view of the world (line and stanza break)

expands. Mention of three monuments (Graceland, Grant's Tomb and Parthenon) and all ends. 

We join the poet in not comprehending how "around those endings, everything else (line break)

continues.

End of poem.

Both groups found the poem intriguing, and thought of Escher stairways ascending/descending in his work "Relativity". https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Relativity_(M._C._Escher)

 

Squander:  Bart was reminded of the song, Walking in Your Footsteps  by "The Police" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KgjXzKvZQcY

 

hey mighty brontosaurus, don’t you have a lesson for us... 

full lyrics: lyrics of Walking in your footsteps

The opening allowed us to speak of hoarders... and some fun stories came up, like Jim's (about his backpack in the Grand Canyon, left for a moment, and a raven raider opened the top pocket and laid out everything in it on the ground.  No shiny objects, so nothing stolen... but some are not so lucky).  

We wondered if the poem were written by a young person, upset at what is left for the younger and future generations (as her debut collection selected by Kwame Dawes in the National Poetry Series Competition), but from her website, she does not appear to be young.

Turning the phrase, "all that glitters is not gold"-- turned to as metaphor for what we have done to our planet thinking to amass "treasure" gives an extra punch with her details of "made with-fracked-gas plastics", and imagination of what kind of species will replace us as we replaced the dinosaurs... Indeed

what blood chemistry will it breathe?  

Although a rather dismal view of human nature, with prospects of the future going from grim to trimmer... the title is not a command... but rather invites us to consider our actions.  Squander, as transitive verb, which can be both "to waste" (time, money, effort) but also to pass up or lose an opportunity. 

The Lover:  Paul filled us in with a portrait of Yeats,  as quite the womanizer, and we agreed with Judith that this was not "top drawer", lacking the bite of his later work.  Note: casket is not coffin, but rather a small chest, coffer, in which to store valuables.  (From French cassette.). Is there some sarcasm involved

with this proposed righting of the  "wronging of your image"... ?  Certainly, melodious but borderline hallmarkish.

Their Lonely Betters 

The rhymed couplets are undisguised to the ear... and yet there is something intriguing about "the noise" a garden, or humans make... The gentle sarcasm of "betters" -- are we "better" than robins and vegetables, rustling flowers?  Who says?  But for sure... loneliness, one of our human problems is something we do try to amend with words... The lovely liquids in "let them leave language to their lonely betters" -- contrasts with a sense of a joke to say "which pairs should get mated" (not so much for robins, but for poetry) -- and how are we better with our lying, our knowledge of dying,  and "rhythm and rhyme, assuming responsibility for time"? 

Did Auden copy Robert Frost in the final line?  Perhaps. Poetry does indeed owe debts to poetry as Richard Wilbur explains (https://www.jstor.org/stable/3850610).  It matters not... The poem allows us to look at how we use language... and perhaps as Bart brought up in the Mary Oliver poem, "Straight Talk from the Fox"  ... we might consider whether we want to trade places. 

 http://www.ayearofbeinghere.com/2015/02/mary-oliver-straight-talk-from-fox.html

Postscript:

from Sylvie: "Seamus Heaney's poem did "catch' my 'heart off guard' and did' 'blow it open.'   I am,in fact, a hibernophile, and so,after reading Postscript I was so filled with the imagery and place I could not sleep (not unusual for me), my entire being filled with  the language, with the 'wind and light; with that watery greenery that is Ireland, so, all of this is to say thank you, thank you.  My friend Karen said something like: It is a poem that would suffice if one never wrote another !

  

The group:  I wish whoever reads this blog had been there to hear Paul (who is from Kilkenny, Ireland) talk about the beauty of County Clare… the fjords... the beehive huts of the 4th century monks... the surprise of seeing pods of whales breaching... and how County Clare is known for its music.  Indeed, Seamus Heaney would often recite his poems with musician Lynch... 

The group concurred that indeed,  by saying this poem aloud, you realize the movement of the mouth to form the words, are in tune with the breath… 

The last lines pay a tribute to the power of poetry… how indeed, it catches the heart off-guard and blows it open!

Jan sent this: "You are neither here nor there,  A hurry through which known and strange things pass…”.  What a beautiful description of our conscious lives so often.  It reminded me of the hourglass in the Olzmann poem.

Thank you all, as ever.