I first read this poem by Yusef K. before high school and again on either the ACT or SAT. Since it was on a standardized test it must then be considered graspable enough for 17-year-olds.
And it is definitely approachable. It begins almost prose-like. It's clear who is talking (a Vietnam veteran) and where he is (the Vietnam War Memorial) and how he is feeling (lost in a rush of memories and fighting against those feelings).
When I first read this poem I remember thinking that the last line fell flat. And I still think it sticks out. I now also think it's the man's purposeful re-entry into present time. No, not everything is in or about the Vietnam Memorial. Sometimes, it really is just a woman brushing a boy's hair.
I also think that by having that as the last line of the poem it makes the whole poem, full of death and memories of carnage, a hopeful one. It's realistic, but also ends on a hopeful note by having it end in reality. The current reality.
Although, how much has Yusef left his Vietnam past behind if after visiting the Memorial, almost drowning in memories, and managing to pull himself back into the present reality, he spends the hours and days to write this quality poem?
Favorite line: "My black face fades,/hiding inside the black granite./...I'm stone. I'm flesh."
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The Man He Killed (Thomas Hardy)
Didn't Thomas Hardy write novels? Perhaps, he did, but he also wrote this poem. It rhymes. ABAB. It has a fairly obvious point. But despite these junior high poetic necessities, it is so well crafted that it just hits the spot and I don't think it has any weak spots.
I think it escapes Jr. High because the soldier who is the speaker is clearly defined without ever explicitly being talked about. It's not so direct because it wants and needs for the subject to be universal. It never gives the man a name or a side or a time period. However, it does gives him a human heart. It shows him attempting to rationalize the chaotic and nonsensical nature of war. "I shot him dead because--/Because he was my foe,/Just so: my foe of course he was;/That's clear enough; although"
That humanness of questioning, rationalizing, and empathizing is what raises this poem above the baseness it hints at.
Favorite line: "I shot him dead because--/Because he was my foe,/Just so"
I think it escapes Jr. High because the soldier who is the speaker is clearly defined without ever explicitly being talked about. It's not so direct because it wants and needs for the subject to be universal. It never gives the man a name or a side or a time period. However, it does gives him a human heart. It shows him attempting to rationalize the chaotic and nonsensical nature of war. "I shot him dead because--/Because he was my foe,/Just so: my foe of course he was;/That's clear enough; although"
That humanness of questioning, rationalizing, and empathizing is what raises this poem above the baseness it hints at.
Favorite line: "I shot him dead because--/Because he was my foe,/Just so"
Monday, September 28, 2009
The Something (Charles Simic)
I like Charles Simic. I do. I like the simplicity with which he writes. I like the 'woah, that's a big point' you get at the end of one of his poems which, of course, is written with such simple diction.
I like that he titled this poem The Something. It's emblematic of what I meant earlier. It's so simple. Perhaps, knowingly too simple. It seems false. It must be hiding something. You know to look for a deeper point. It's in there, you only have to find it.
Or is it? Haha, Mr. Simic. I see your game now. You, like that poem before, are challenging me by chiding me for seeing patterns and meaning where none are meant. Well, bosh. Humans hate chaos. We hate disarray. Looking at the universe and finding it "immense and incomprehensible" is it any wonder that we turn to poetry, "this fine old prop", and try to pull the edges together in order to form, well, "something"?
Favorite line: "What they thought about/Stayed the same,/Stayed immense and incomprehensible."
I like that he titled this poem The Something. It's emblematic of what I meant earlier. It's so simple. Perhaps, knowingly too simple. It seems false. It must be hiding something. You know to look for a deeper point. It's in there, you only have to find it.
Or is it? Haha, Mr. Simic. I see your game now. You, like that poem before, are challenging me by chiding me for seeing patterns and meaning where none are meant. Well, bosh. Humans hate chaos. We hate disarray. Looking at the universe and finding it "immense and incomprehensible" is it any wonder that we turn to poetry, "this fine old prop", and try to pull the edges together in order to form, well, "something"?
Favorite line: "What they thought about/Stayed the same,/Stayed immense and incomprehensible."
Sunday, September 27, 2009
The Flea (John Donne)
It's late for me, having had the busiest weekend in a while, so this will be short. Today's poem will be The Flea by John Donne.
This is a poem that is a come-on by one sexual partner (at least he wants it be so) to another. It's very funny and it's very persuasive. It's also very smooth. Which again, is kind of funny. You would just not expect someone to make this kind of argument in a poem.
And not just any poem, but one that is this stylistically of quality. One that was written centuries ago. One that is this full of religious references. ("three lives in one flea spare" definitely refers to the Holy Trinity.)
It's one smooth, slick package.
Favorite line: "Me it suck'd first, and now sucks thee,/And in this flea our two bloods mingled bee"
This is a poem that is a come-on by one sexual partner (at least he wants it be so) to another. It's very funny and it's very persuasive. It's also very smooth. Which again, is kind of funny. You would just not expect someone to make this kind of argument in a poem.
And not just any poem, but one that is this stylistically of quality. One that was written centuries ago. One that is this full of religious references. ("three lives in one flea spare" definitely refers to the Holy Trinity.)
It's one smooth, slick package.
Favorite line: "Me it suck'd first, and now sucks thee,/And in this flea our two bloods mingled bee"
Saturday, September 26, 2009
O Captain, My Captain (Walt Whitman)
Okay, it's true. I have little time to write a post tonight since I am minutes from leaving and when I return I am seconds from sleeping. So, another truth, I don't really like this poem by Walt Whitman.
I remember reading once that the Captain was Abraham Lincoln and that this poem was written in response to his assassination. The metaphor just doesn't do much for me. Lincoln is not my Captain, after all.
And again, there is that pesky rhyme. Well, only in the last stanza. But the rhymes run so close together that they clang when they should be underlines for the sentiments. I think that rhyme scheme is much better suited to comedy.
Okay, so that's enough dissing of the poem. What I do like is how clear the feelings of loss are in this poem. And I always like Whitman poems for breaking with the standard nicety of clean cut lines and stanzas.
Favorite line: "My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,/My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will"
I remember reading once that the Captain was Abraham Lincoln and that this poem was written in response to his assassination. The metaphor just doesn't do much for me. Lincoln is not my Captain, after all.
And again, there is that pesky rhyme. Well, only in the last stanza. But the rhymes run so close together that they clang when they should be underlines for the sentiments. I think that rhyme scheme is much better suited to comedy.
Okay, so that's enough dissing of the poem. What I do like is how clear the feelings of loss are in this poem. And I always like Whitman poems for breaking with the standard nicety of clean cut lines and stanzas.
Favorite line: "My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,/My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will"
Friday, September 25, 2009
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night (Dylan Thomas)
This poem by Dylan Thomas is very famous. I also remember it being one of (the?) first poem I ever thought about beyond the words being used. This may have been the first poem I ever really talked about.
I remember my mom at the stove and I standing, leaning, in the door frame between the kitchen and the living room. I forget why I was reading this poem. It might have been assigned for homework (this takes place in middle school, maybe 7th grade). But anyway, I read the poem aloud, exclaiming over how it all sounded and the fact that lines are repeated and wasn't that cool?
After I had gone on for a while about the coolness of the poem, my mom asked me what I thought it meant, what it referred to. I paused. I hadn't considered that, the most basic of questions. "Death," I ventured.
So, now I'd say it's about death, sure. But more importantly, it's about how people want and need to live life grandly and that their life can hardly be said to have lived at all unless one has "raged against the dying of the light."
Favorite line: "Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,/And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way"
I remember my mom at the stove and I standing, leaning, in the door frame between the kitchen and the living room. I forget why I was reading this poem. It might have been assigned for homework (this takes place in middle school, maybe 7th grade). But anyway, I read the poem aloud, exclaiming over how it all sounded and the fact that lines are repeated and wasn't that cool?
After I had gone on for a while about the coolness of the poem, my mom asked me what I thought it meant, what it referred to. I paused. I hadn't considered that, the most basic of questions. "Death," I ventured.
So, now I'd say it's about death, sure. But more importantly, it's about how people want and need to live life grandly and that their life can hardly be said to have lived at all unless one has "raged against the dying of the light."
Favorite line: "Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,/And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way"
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Departmental (Robert Frost)
This poem is great in comparison to other Frost poems. So, I should have, perhaps, talked about other, more famous Frost poems first, but I just adore this poem. It's such a story and then it ends in the delightful quip "It couldn't be called ungentle/But how thoroughly departmental."
This poem is gleeful. I bet Frost wrote it quickly when he was in a happy, light mood. This is an example of what I consider to be appropriate use of rhyme. It's not a skill of mine and it's so painfully awful when it's done poorly, which is pretty common. But here, the rhymes are AABBCC. They are so close together, which is so appropriate for humor.
This poem almost mislead me. I saw "Robert Frost" and thought it would be serious and snow-filled. But then, right away, the rhyme and the meter become apparent and set the stage for the delight that quickly comes. Without meaning it in a trite way, this poem is so cute!
Favorite line: "Go bring him home to his people./Lay him in state on a sepal./Wrap him for shroud in a petal./Embalm him with ichor of nettle./This is the word of your Queen."
This poem is gleeful. I bet Frost wrote it quickly when he was in a happy, light mood. This is an example of what I consider to be appropriate use of rhyme. It's not a skill of mine and it's so painfully awful when it's done poorly, which is pretty common. But here, the rhymes are AABBCC. They are so close together, which is so appropriate for humor.
This poem almost mislead me. I saw "Robert Frost" and thought it would be serious and snow-filled. But then, right away, the rhyme and the meter become apparent and set the stage for the delight that quickly comes. Without meaning it in a trite way, this poem is so cute!
Favorite line: "Go bring him home to his people./Lay him in state on a sepal./Wrap him for shroud in a petal./Embalm him with ichor of nettle./This is the word of your Queen."
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
The Moon Sails Out (Federico Garcia Lorca)
I've never read this poem by Federico Garcia Lorca in its original Spanish. I cannot find the original, but I love this translation. Looking for the poem online I ran across a number of different translations and it's so interesting to see how the same source material can end up sounding so different. It takes not only a fluidity with both languages, I think, but also an ear and a talent for poetry to be able to create quality translations.
I love this poem for creating truths that I would not have considered otherwise. It's true, no one does eat oranges at night. They are definitely daytime fruits. They're little suns.
Also, I think this line is extremely apt: "When the moon sails out/...the heart feels it is/a little island in the infinite." Nighttime is solitary. The world is so enormous with its unknown and unseen dimensions. It is fitting that one turns inward when confronted with that infinity. One might even...write this poem, say.
Favorite line: "No one eats oranges/under the full moon."
I love this poem for creating truths that I would not have considered otherwise. It's true, no one does eat oranges at night. They are definitely daytime fruits. They're little suns.
Also, I think this line is extremely apt: "When the moon sails out/...the heart feels it is/a little island in the infinite." Nighttime is solitary. The world is so enormous with its unknown and unseen dimensions. It is fitting that one turns inward when confronted with that infinity. One might even...write this poem, say.
Favorite line: "No one eats oranges/under the full moon."
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Fame is a bee (Emily Dickinson)
As much as I have read and loved poetry I have never really gotten into Emily Dickinson. I need a class full of people exclaiming over her. I mean, I think she's fine, but I don't get her genius. This poem, however, is fine, true, but it's also short and to the point and thus biting and acidic.
I like poems that fill a void in English and clearly give definition to a word, a feeling, or an experience. This poem manages to do all three, I think. This poem also mimics fame (the fame it gave to Dickinson?) in that it also has "song" and it's barbed and sharp and therefore has "sting," and since it is so tiny it, too, has "wing."
Favorite line: "Ah, too, it has wing."
I like poems that fill a void in English and clearly give definition to a word, a feeling, or an experience. This poem manages to do all three, I think. This poem also mimics fame (the fame it gave to Dickinson?) in that it also has "song" and it's barbed and sharp and therefore has "sting," and since it is so tiny it, too, has "wing."
Favorite line: "Ah, too, it has wing."
Monday, September 21, 2009
A Poison Tree (William Blake)
Yeah, yeah, this poem, too, rhymes. Okay, so maybe I don't dislike rhyme. Or I do, rather, when it is poorly done, which so easily happens. William Blake is a talented guy. He write in rhyme. AABB. He writes pretty even lines too. Neat-o.
And not only that, he writes a poem that seems to summarize human relations. You can be angry with a friend, but it doesn't matter. You're friends. You talk it out. You're angry with your enemy, and because they are your enemy you keep hold of your anger until it grows into hatred and at that point you're both destroyed.
In the poem, all it says is that the friend is "outstretched", but N also has destroyed himself. He has spent all his hours growing this poison tree, and at the end all he has done is lay low the enemy and that brings a smile to his face since he is "glad", but what is next step, I wonder. He has spent days and nights, days and nights perfecting this poison tree. And to what purpose? But, that I suppose, is the point. There is no purpose.
And not only that, he writes a poem that seems to summarize human relations. You can be angry with a friend, but it doesn't matter. You're friends. You talk it out. You're angry with your enemy, and because they are your enemy you keep hold of your anger until it grows into hatred and at that point you're both destroyed.
In the poem, all it says is that the friend is "outstretched", but N also has destroyed himself. He has spent all his hours growing this poison tree, and at the end all he has done is lay low the enemy and that brings a smile to his face since he is "glad", but what is next step, I wonder. He has spent days and nights, days and nights perfecting this poison tree. And to what purpose? But, that I suppose, is the point. There is no purpose.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Jabberwocky (Lewis Carroll)
This is a much loved poem. Lewis Carroll displays so much creativity in this poem as he does is all his work. He must have been a terribly interesting person.
I adore (as I imagine everyone does) the first and last stanza of the poem where the majority of words are total nonsense. I also adore how despite the uniformity of the words the stanzas read differently. The first is all set-up. It's full of anticipation. Whereas the last is quiet, a stealthy exit from the scene.
I also love the story, the plot contained between the nonsensical lines. I love how this poem is almost an ethnography of a foreign culture. They have a different language. They have different flora. They hunt with blades. They have strange creatures. And yet, I am not confused by this poem. Even with 30% of the poem written in not-English I am not confused. True, a reader is just dropped into the poem and its world, but Carroll is so sure with how he presents this new place that you're okay and you even enjoy it.
Favorite line: "'Come to my arms, my beamish boy!/O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'/He chortled in his joy."
I adore (as I imagine everyone does) the first and last stanza of the poem where the majority of words are total nonsense. I also adore how despite the uniformity of the words the stanzas read differently. The first is all set-up. It's full of anticipation. Whereas the last is quiet, a stealthy exit from the scene.
I also love the story, the plot contained between the nonsensical lines. I love how this poem is almost an ethnography of a foreign culture. They have a different language. They have different flora. They hunt with blades. They have strange creatures. And yet, I am not confused by this poem. Even with 30% of the poem written in not-English I am not confused. True, a reader is just dropped into the poem and its world, but Carroll is so sure with how he presents this new place that you're okay and you even enjoy it.
Favorite line: "'Come to my arms, my beamish boy!/O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'/He chortled in his joy."
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Richard Cory (Edwin Arlington Robinson)
Okay, so this is another cannon poem of Edwin Arlington Robinson (before I had talked about his Miniver Cheevy).
What I love about this poem is how I am reminded of the age I was when I first read it. I was in middle school and I was skimming along and was really stopped short by the last line which I had not foreseen. This poem is almost cliche by now it's so entrenched in common thought. It was even the source material for the same-named Simon and Garfunkel song. When I read this poem I am reminded of how dramatic reversals would always shock me, before I had read countless examples of this kind of twist.
So yeah, this poem is about how every single person on earth has troubles, but for me it's very reminiscent of the innocence of childhood.
Favorite line: "And he was always quietly arrayed,/And he was always human when he talked"
What I love about this poem is how I am reminded of the age I was when I first read it. I was in middle school and I was skimming along and was really stopped short by the last line which I had not foreseen. This poem is almost cliche by now it's so entrenched in common thought. It was even the source material for the same-named Simon and Garfunkel song. When I read this poem I am reminded of how dramatic reversals would always shock me, before I had read countless examples of this kind of twist.
So yeah, this poem is about how every single person on earth has troubles, but for me it's very reminiscent of the innocence of childhood.
Favorite line: "And he was always quietly arrayed,/And he was always human when he talked"
Monday, September 14, 2009
Acquainted with the Night (Robert Frost)
I love this poem by Robert Frost because of how it feels. It moves slowly with most lines being full, complete sentences. That slow gentleness is descriptive of how night itself feels. The wind drops. The day is done. Sleep is eminent.
Also, looking at the Wikipedia page where the poem is posted in its entirety, I learned that this poem is written in a particular form. From just reading I could tell that it was in iambs and that there was a rhyme pattern. But not only that, he wrote "Acquainted with the Night" in terza rima. Terza rima requires iambic pentameter and the rhyme scheme aba bcb cdc dad aa. It's very difficult and so I am in awe now that I have learned he wrote a poem I love for its content and feel in one of the most difficult forms there is. Wow.
Favorite line: "I have passed by the watchman on his beat/and dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain."
Aside: I will be attending an orientation for my job for the rest of this week, so I don't believe I will be able to post again until Saturday. See you later!
Also, looking at the Wikipedia page where the poem is posted in its entirety, I learned that this poem is written in a particular form. From just reading I could tell that it was in iambs and that there was a rhyme pattern. But not only that, he wrote "Acquainted with the Night" in terza rima. Terza rima requires iambic pentameter and the rhyme scheme aba bcb cdc dad aa. It's very difficult and so I am in awe now that I have learned he wrote a poem I love for its content and feel in one of the most difficult forms there is. Wow.
Favorite line: "I have passed by the watchman on his beat/and dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain."
Aside: I will be attending an orientation for my job for the rest of this week, so I don't believe I will be able to post again until Saturday. See you later!
Sunday, September 13, 2009
My Son, My Executioner (Donald Hall)
I didn't know before I saw his profile that Donald Hall is a modern writer. While the themes in this poem are modern-sounding, they seem so timeless and universal that it could have been written in any age.
I have never had a child, so I can't appreciate this poem directly, but I can still infer the truth that it expresses. To have a child is to start your line in perpetuity. True. But it also must conjure thoughts of mortality. A child, so defenseless, probably kick-started Donald Hall's thoughts that led to this poem--this realization that 1.) the parents' lives are biologically non-important once they have created life and 2.) that they are now more like their own parents than they were a few hours before and must therefore be that much closer to their own old age.
I think it's kind of wonderful that this poem about a just-born baby can have this dark quality to it. And while I get why the son is called an executioner (it automatically puts the reader in the proper frame of mind), I don't really see the son as being active in ending his father's life. I don't have a better term in mind, but it's my one eh? moment.
Favorite line: "We/...observe enduring life in you/and start to die together."
Technical note: The three radio buttons below are Blogspot's newest add-on called Reactions. It's a new feature they are offering and it seems they haven't fully thought it out. Apparently, for your vote to be counted you have to actually be logged into Blogger. I hope they will change that aspect soon, but until then if you have read and clicked a response button then Thank You!
I have never had a child, so I can't appreciate this poem directly, but I can still infer the truth that it expresses. To have a child is to start your line in perpetuity. True. But it also must conjure thoughts of mortality. A child, so defenseless, probably kick-started Donald Hall's thoughts that led to this poem--this realization that 1.) the parents' lives are biologically non-important once they have created life and 2.) that they are now more like their own parents than they were a few hours before and must therefore be that much closer to their own old age.
I think it's kind of wonderful that this poem about a just-born baby can have this dark quality to it. And while I get why the son is called an executioner (it automatically puts the reader in the proper frame of mind), I don't really see the son as being active in ending his father's life. I don't have a better term in mind, but it's my one eh? moment.
Favorite line: "We/...observe enduring life in you/and start to die together."
Technical note: The three radio buttons below are Blogspot's newest add-on called Reactions. It's a new feature they are offering and it seems they haven't fully thought it out. Apparently, for your vote to be counted you have to actually be logged into Blogger. I hope they will change that aspect soon, but until then if you have read and clicked a response button then Thank You!
Saturday, September 12, 2009
The Negro Speaks of Rivers (Langston Hughes)
What I love about this poem by Langston Hughes is how slowly it reads. I mean the second line is an eighteen word sentence that wouldn't be out of place in a (lovely and rather poetic) school essay. And later on there is a twenty-eight word sentence. How can one not read the poem majestically and slowly?
What I also love in this poem is how it paints in broad brush strokes the history of African-Americans. And for such a complicated past it is a marvel that Hughes is able to do so in only ten lines with such slow, deep, and still beauty.
Favorite line: "My soul has grown deep like the rivers."
What I also love in this poem is how it paints in broad brush strokes the history of African-Americans. And for such a complicated past it is a marvel that Hughes is able to do so in only ten lines with such slow, deep, and still beauty.
Favorite line: "My soul has grown deep like the rivers."
Friday, September 11, 2009
The Dance (William Carlos Williams)
On a bit of a WCW kick. Today's poem is The Dance.
It's a technically neat poem. I don't see a meter (but I tend to be bad at that kind of thing), but it does have a dance-like rhythm. It also has, of course, the same line for the opening and the close of this twelve liner. Neat-o.
And maybe since I have never seen the painting, The Kermess, in real life, I have no real connection to this poem. I can like it for its technical merit, but I stop soon after that. I get no deep meaning, nothing applicable to all. Ah well. It's better to admire something for what it sets out to do than to look for what it doesn't strive to contain.
Favorite line: "the squeal and the blare and the/tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and fiddles/tipping their bellies"
It's a technically neat poem. I don't see a meter (but I tend to be bad at that kind of thing), but it does have a dance-like rhythm. It also has, of course, the same line for the opening and the close of this twelve liner. Neat-o.
And maybe since I have never seen the painting, The Kermess, in real life, I have no real connection to this poem. I can like it for its technical merit, but I stop soon after that. I get no deep meaning, nothing applicable to all. Ah well. It's better to admire something for what it sets out to do than to look for what it doesn't strive to contain.
Favorite line: "the squeal and the blare and the/tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and fiddles/tipping their bellies"
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The Red Wheelbarrow (William Carlos Williams)
Can you tell that I like short poems? That I am often so tired that talking through the density of a many-stanza-ed verse is daunting. Given time I may feel more rested and willing to take on a lengthy poem, but today is not that day. Today is for a poem that I remember talking about in high school. Today's poem is by William Carlos Williams.
What I remember saying in that English class is that this poem is pretty nifty since each line is not a complete thought. You need the whole stanza (or even a couple stanzas) for any of the words to make any sense or to paint any kind of picture. Sure, whatever, it all depends on the red wheelbarrow, but the poem always depends on the following line. Everything is dependent on that that is coming up next, the unforeseen. It all matters.
Favorite line: "so much depends/upon/a red wheel/barrow"
What I remember saying in that English class is that this poem is pretty nifty since each line is not a complete thought. You need the whole stanza (or even a couple stanzas) for any of the words to make any sense or to paint any kind of picture. Sure, whatever, it all depends on the red wheelbarrow, but the poem always depends on the following line. Everything is dependent on that that is coming up next, the unforeseen. It all matters.
Favorite line: "so much depends/upon/a red wheel/barrow"
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
A Birthday (Christina Rossetti)
Today was my first day at my new job (sort of, just training), so I was looking for a poem about jobs or first days. Wasn't able to locate one and though Adam's Task would have been perfect, I have already talked about it. I kept browsing though and I found this short poem by Cristina Rossetti.
Normally, I like more modern sounding poetry and themes, but I really admire Rossetti's poetry and her talent. For instance, this poem creates a new definition for birthday in two short stanzas. And not only that, but she manages to have rhythmic lines that are uniform in meter. Pretty nifty.
And pretty nifty for me that I was able to see that it was uniform. I always seem to have trouble seeing meter. I just don't hear soft and strong syllables well. Maybe I like her poetry because it is so regular and I can learn from it and gain greater skills at scansion.
Favorite line: "My heart is like an apple-tree/Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit"
Normally, I like more modern sounding poetry and themes, but I really admire Rossetti's poetry and her talent. For instance, this poem creates a new definition for birthday in two short stanzas. And not only that, but she manages to have rhythmic lines that are uniform in meter. Pretty nifty.
And pretty nifty for me that I was able to see that it was uniform. I always seem to have trouble seeing meter. I just don't hear soft and strong syllables well. Maybe I like her poetry because it is so regular and I can learn from it and gain greater skills at scansion.
Favorite line: "My heart is like an apple-tree/Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit"
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
The Lesson of the Moth (archy--->Don Marquis)
I brought this poet to workshop tonight. I made certain that we read this one poem and then let people pick at random. Since all of his stuff is great it was a very enjoyable evening.
What I (and I imagine every single person who reads an archy poem) love(s) is that Marquis' lines and phrasing are so well constructed that you don't need capitals or punctuation to lead you through a proper reading. For instance, at poetry tonight the poems were all new to most people and yet no one ever stumbled. That's true great poetry. Words are all you need. Funny that you need a cockroach (which is what archy is) to bring that truth out into the open and really drive it home.
As for the poem, it's wonderful too. That intense desire for beauty, even though it means destruction, is reminiscent of almost all addictions--be it through art or heroin. archy is so conservative with his "i would rather have/half the happiness and twice/the longevity" and yet, even he, like perhaps the majority of mankind, wishes for understanding and knowledge of what that desire must be like (but only for a moment and never to its destructive end). Yay! to archy and to Marquis for bringing that truism to light.
Favorite line: "so we wad all our life up/into one little roll/and then we shoot the roll"
What I (and I imagine every single person who reads an archy poem) love(s) is that Marquis' lines and phrasing are so well constructed that you don't need capitals or punctuation to lead you through a proper reading. For instance, at poetry tonight the poems were all new to most people and yet no one ever stumbled. That's true great poetry. Words are all you need. Funny that you need a cockroach (which is what archy is) to bring that truth out into the open and really drive it home.
As for the poem, it's wonderful too. That intense desire for beauty, even though it means destruction, is reminiscent of almost all addictions--be it through art or heroin. archy is so conservative with his "i would rather have/half the happiness and twice/the longevity" and yet, even he, like perhaps the majority of mankind, wishes for understanding and knowledge of what that desire must be like (but only for a moment and never to its destructive end). Yay! to archy and to Marquis for bringing that truism to light.
Favorite line: "so we wad all our life up/into one little roll/and then we shoot the roll"
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Pelican (Anonymous)
I made up the title of this poem for the title of the post. I don't know what it is really. I don't know the author. I know what sort of poem it is though. (Clap on the back) It's a limerick. And since I know nothing about it I cannot find it online to share. So, I will copy it here. Hopefully, Mr. (Ms?) Anonymous will never find out and sue me. Here we go:
"A wonderful bird is the pelican.
His mouth can hold more than his belican.
He can take in his beak
Enough food for a week.
I'm darned if I know how the helican."
Okay, disclosure: I picked this ditty because I have had a long, long day and am extremely tired and close to crashing. So, to talk. Um, it's funny. I love how the poet made up two words and they totally don't sound false or cheap in the poem. They are simply funny.
Yep, that about does it. I'm off to bed now. Tomorrow, I am going on vacation for two days. I don't know what my internet situation will be like, but let's assume the worst and say I will write again on Tuesday. Ciao.
Favorite line: "His mouth can hold more than his belican."
"A wonderful bird is the pelican.
His mouth can hold more than his belican.
He can take in his beak
Enough food for a week.
I'm darned if I know how the helican."
Okay, disclosure: I picked this ditty because I have had a long, long day and am extremely tired and close to crashing. So, to talk. Um, it's funny. I love how the poet made up two words and they totally don't sound false or cheap in the poem. They are simply funny.
Yep, that about does it. I'm off to bed now. Tomorrow, I am going on vacation for two days. I don't know what my internet situation will be like, but let's assume the worst and say I will write again on Tuesday. Ciao.
Favorite line: "His mouth can hold more than his belican."
Friday, September 4, 2009
Miniver Cheevey (Edwin Arlington Robinson)
Oh, I do not like rhyme. I find it's fine for humor, but little else. And yet I like this poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson. Looking at his profile and a selection of his poetry I have to say that I am mildly in awe since he wrote three poems I consider part of cannon and all of them rhyme.
I think the type of person described in the poem exists. It is (perhaps unfairly) who I imagine to be typing rants in internet forums. Lusting after a past age where they are sure they could have been wonderful, brave, a stand-out, everything they are not currently.
Of course, with that kind of pressure on the perfection of days long past and allowance for not accomplishing anything in the present times it's no wonder that Miniver drinks and does nothing (in the same way that those internet posters merely rant online and yet enact no change in the real world).
Favorite line: "Miniver loved the Medici,/Albeit he had never seen one;/He would have sinned incessantly/Could he have been one."
An aside: "Miniver Cheevey" is a hilarious name and a near perfect one for a sniveling, wimpy, dreamy drunk.
I think the type of person described in the poem exists. It is (perhaps unfairly) who I imagine to be typing rants in internet forums. Lusting after a past age where they are sure they could have been wonderful, brave, a stand-out, everything they are not currently.
Of course, with that kind of pressure on the perfection of days long past and allowance for not accomplishing anything in the present times it's no wonder that Miniver drinks and does nothing (in the same way that those internet posters merely rant online and yet enact no change in the real world).
Favorite line: "Miniver loved the Medici,/Albeit he had never seen one;/He would have sinned incessantly/Could he have been one."
An aside: "Miniver Cheevey" is a hilarious name and a near perfect one for a sniveling, wimpy, dreamy drunk.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Ode to My Socks (Pablo Neruda)
This poem by Pablo Neruda may be the longest poem I have talked about. Perhaps, not in total number of words since each line is only a few words long, but definitely in total length. I first knew it with a different translation and while this one is fine, it lacks an added layer of finish that the other had.
I think the skinniness of these lines is both reminiscent of hand-made socks and the simplicity of the woolen gift.
Can you imagine being Maru Mori and getting this reaction and this praise to your gift? Maru Mori probably just thought, "It's winter. I bet his feet are chilled." This poem expresses N's utter joy at the simple happiness of wool socks in winter, but the gift was (most probably) also given with that same simple observation-->action. In her case, the resultant action was to knit a pair of socks for a neighbor in winter. In his, to write a poem that would stir people generations and continents away. Should I then write a response poem to him, "Ode to Neruda", as a thank you for this beautifully simple and perfect and warming poem?
Favorite line: "resistí/el impulso furioso/de ponerlos/en una jaula/de oro/y darles cada día/alpiste/y pulpa de melón rosado."
Favorite line (in English, better translation): "I resisted/the mad impulse/to put them/in a golden/cage/and each day give them/birdseed/and pieces of pink melon."
I think the skinniness of these lines is both reminiscent of hand-made socks and the simplicity of the woolen gift.
Can you imagine being Maru Mori and getting this reaction and this praise to your gift? Maru Mori probably just thought, "It's winter. I bet his feet are chilled." This poem expresses N's utter joy at the simple happiness of wool socks in winter, but the gift was (most probably) also given with that same simple observation-->action. In her case, the resultant action was to knit a pair of socks for a neighbor in winter. In his, to write a poem that would stir people generations and continents away. Should I then write a response poem to him, "Ode to Neruda", as a thank you for this beautifully simple and perfect and warming poem?
Favorite line: "resistí/el impulso furioso/de ponerlos/en una jaula/de oro/y darles cada día/alpiste/y pulpa de melón rosado."
Favorite line (in English, better translation): "I resisted/the mad impulse/to put them/in a golden/cage/and each day give them/birdseed/and pieces of pink melon."
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Will, lost in a sea of trouble (Archilochus)
Reaching way back..... Today's poem has no title, but the first line is "Will, lost in a sea of trouble" and it's by the ancient Greek poet Archilochus.
I first read this poem in that anthology I mentioned before. What I like in this one is that it's a terse summation of how to live life. In eight lines it tells how to be good and remain good in all situations and for always. It has taken countless people countless pages to do the same with less clarity and honesty than this poem possesses.
The only piece of advice that gives me pause is the line "Bend before evil." That sounds like good advice for self-preservation, but what good is that if evil has run rampant over everything else? Perhaps, this poem still has much to teach me.
Favorite line: "Will, lost in a sea of trouble,/Rise, save yourself"
I first read this poem in that anthology I mentioned before. What I like in this one is that it's a terse summation of how to live life. In eight lines it tells how to be good and remain good in all situations and for always. It has taken countless people countless pages to do the same with less clarity and honesty than this poem possesses.
The only piece of advice that gives me pause is the line "Bend before evil." That sounds like good advice for self-preservation, but what good is that if evil has run rampant over everything else? Perhaps, this poem still has much to teach me.
Favorite line: "Will, lost in a sea of trouble,/Rise, save yourself"
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Ave Maria (Frank O'Hara)
This poem by Frank O'Hara is hilarious. It also has a deeper, scarier edge.
What I like is how this poem is such a poem of the 20th century. Sure, whatever, it's about movies, of course, it's about the 1900s. But no, what I mean, is that this poem reads like the slick movies that it talks about. It is that easy to understand, that well put together, that glib, but wait are we really talking about erm, that???
You're reading along, skimming, when you come to the line "they may even be grateful to you/for their first sexual experience/which only cost you a quarter/and didn't upset the peaceful home" and you're stopped short with a puzzled expression on your face. After all, what is a statement of that gravity doing in a glib poem about the joy of going to the movies? But, that's what is wonderful about this poem. It's totally about both sides of the modern age. It's not all glitzy. It's almost a cliche by now--the dark side of Hollywood, but this poem is definitely not cliche. It's brilliantly funny and scary--all the more scary for how amusing and fun it is.
Favorite line: "Mothers of America/let your kids go to the movies!"
Question: Can anyone fill me in as to what the title is doing for this poem?
What I like is how this poem is such a poem of the 20th century. Sure, whatever, it's about movies, of course, it's about the 1900s. But no, what I mean, is that this poem reads like the slick movies that it talks about. It is that easy to understand, that well put together, that glib, but wait are we really talking about erm, that???
You're reading along, skimming, when you come to the line "they may even be grateful to you/for their first sexual experience/which only cost you a quarter/and didn't upset the peaceful home" and you're stopped short with a puzzled expression on your face. After all, what is a statement of that gravity doing in a glib poem about the joy of going to the movies? But, that's what is wonderful about this poem. It's totally about both sides of the modern age. It's not all glitzy. It's almost a cliche by now--the dark side of Hollywood, but this poem is definitely not cliche. It's brilliantly funny and scary--all the more scary for how amusing and fun it is.
Favorite line: "Mothers of America/let your kids go to the movies!"
Question: Can anyone fill me in as to what the title is doing for this poem?
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