"...without at all giving expression to what I think, I consider all this in my own mind, words yet occasionally impede my progress..." Rene Descartes
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts

Sunday, October 16, 2011

And Just When You Thought....

...We had nothing in common with the little ones...


The Little Lives Of Earth And Form
by Philip Larkin 
The little lives of earth and form,
Of finding food, and keeping warm,
Are not like ours, and yet
A kinship lingers nonetheless:
We hanker for the homeliness
Of den, and hole, and set.

And this identity we feel
- Perhaps not right, perhaps not real -
Will link us constantly;
I see the rock, the clay, the chalk,
The flattened grass, the swaying stalk,
And it is you I see.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

And Just When You Thought...

 ...Purity was a state of mind...

 

 Hawk Roosting

By Ted Hughes
I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed.
Inaction, no falsifying dream
Between my hooked head and hooked feet:
Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.

The convenience of the high trees!
The air's buoyancy and the sun's ray
Are of advantage to me;
And the earth's face upward for my inspection.

My feet are locked upon the rough bark.
It took the whole of Creation
To produce my foot, my each feather:
Now I hold Creation in my foot

Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly -
I kill where I please because it is all mine.
There is no sophistry in my body:
My manners are tearing off heads -

The allotment of death.
For the one path of my flight is direct
Through the bones of the living.
No arguments assert my right:

The sun is behind me.
Nothing has changed since I began.
My eye has permitted no change.
I am going to keep things like this.

Monday, September 26, 2011

And Just When You Thought....

....

 

If I could tell you

Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.

The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

Suppose the lions all get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.
 
W. H. Auden (1907 - 1973)

Sunday, September 18, 2011

And Just When You Thought.....

 ....Pretty was objective...

This week I was impressed by the Stevie Smith poem "Pretty" that we read in class, so I went and read several of her other poems. As it turns out, many of her poems (the ones that I found anyway, and of course, in my opinion) were quite dark. However, I did find one that I would like to share, that I likewise enjoyed and found very good along with her poem "Pretty". 


Stevie Smith

Pretty
by Stevie Smith

Why is the word pretty so underrated?
In November the leaf is pretty when it falls.
The stream grows deep in the woods after rain.
And in the pretty pool the pike stalks.

He stalks his prey, and this is pretty too,
The prey escapes with an underwater flash.
But not for long, the great has him now.
The pike is a fish who always has his prey

And this is pretty. The water rat is pretty.
His paws are not webbed; he cannot shut his nostrils
As the otter can and the beaver; he is torn between
The land water. Not 'torn he does not mind.

The owl hunts in the evening, and it is pretty.
The lake water below him rustles with ice.
There is frost coming from the ground, in the air mist.
All this is pretty; it could not be prettier.

Yes, it could always be prettier, the eye abashes.
It is becoming an eye that cannot see enough,
Out of the wood the eye climbs. This is prettier.
A field in the evening, tilting up.

The field tilts to the sky. Though it is late,
The sky is lighter than the hill field.
All this looks easy, but really, it is extraordinary.
Well, it is extraordinary to be so pretty.

And it is careless, and that is always pretty.
This field, this owl, this pike, this pool are careless.
As Nature is always careless and indifferent.
Who sees, who steps, means nothing, and this is pretty.

So a person can come along like a thief-pretty!
Stealing a look, pinching the sound and feel,
Lick the icicle broken from the bank,
And still say nothing at all, only cry pretty.

Cry pretty, pretty, pretty, and you'll be able
Very soon not even to cry pretty.
And so to be delivered entirely from humanity.
This is prettiest of all, it is very pretty. 

Alone in the Woods
by Stevie Smith

Alone in the woods I felt
The bitter hostility of the sky and the trees
Nature has taught her creatures to hate
Man that fusses and fumes
Unquiet man
As the sap rises in the trees
As the sap paints the trees a violent green
So rises the wrath of Nature's creatures
At man
So paints the face of Nature a violent green.
Nature is sick at man
Sick at his fuss and fume
Sick at his agonies
Sick at his gaudy mind
That drives his body
Ever more quickly
More and more
In the wrong direction.




Saturday, September 10, 2011

And Just When you Thought...

...Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori...
(It is sweet and fitting/right to die for one's country)

The poem "Dulce et Decorum est"by Wilfred Owen is in my opinion one of the most moving anti-war poems I have ever read. With this work, Owen illustrates the start reality of war, and the contradictions in pro-war propaganda. Owen is known, along with his friend Siegfried Sassoon, as one of the leading English poets of the First World War. He wrote this poem during WWI, and was later killed in action on November 4, 1918.


The title of the poem comes from a line in the Roman lyrical work by Horace entitled "Odes" and was originally a poem that encouraged "Roman citizens to develop martial prowess such that the enemies of Rome, in particular the Parthians, will be too terrified to resist them." Given that knowledge, the poem by Wilfred Owen becomes even more compelling, as he clearly shows that there is nothing "sweet" or "fitting" in the horrors of war and significantly challenges the propaganda of his time.

Dulce Et Decorum Est
by Wilfred Owen (1893 – 1918)

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots 
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud 
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest 
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.


To read more about Wilfred Own you can visit The Wilfred Own Collection at The First World War Digital Poetry Archive, or the Wilfred Owen page at Poets.org.

Monday, April 18, 2011

...And Just When You Thought....

...You had Time to Waste...

Our readings in class this week (The Waste Land, The Love Song of J.Alfred Prufrock, When You are Old, and The Dead) seemed to revolve around the ideas of Love,Time, and the point at which the two meet. The fact that one should reflect on and be oneself and not take things for granted in life are also things that these works have in common. I am struck with thoughts of how Love is immortal and life is short. It is important to remember that some phrases are only cliche because they have been over used, luckily this has no effect on their value in truthfulness. That being said, let the onslaught of proverbial sayings begin....


Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

A single moment of understanding can flood a whole life with meaning.

Strike while the iron is hot.

Be who you are because those who matter won't mind and those who mind don't matter.

Time and tide wait for no man.

The heart that loves is always young.

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.

A ship in the harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.

Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today.

Time cuts down all, both great and small. 

That which does not kill us makes us stronger.

Half a loaf is better than no bread.

There's no time like the present.

And of course,

The Pen is Mightier than the Sword.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

...And Just When You Thought...


.....You Could Trust a Goblin....

 Filled with poignant imagery and symbolism, “The Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti is a tale of two sisters that are haunted by the calls of the goblins to buy their fruit. The goblin creatures walk up and down the street and lyrically tempt the girls “In tones as smooth as honey” by describing the various rare and unique fruits. The narrator tells us that the fruits they have to offer “Men sell not such in any town” and from the very beginning the implications of these goods is one of an almost evil nature. Although the theme of the story is somewhat ambiguous in specific meaning and has been interpreted in many ways, it is clear that Rossetti is alluding to fruits that are prohibited and detrimental to one’s well being. “The Goblin Market” describes the dangers that are associated with the hasty acquisition of self satisfaction, and the way in which humility and patience are more difficult to accomplish – yet much more nourishing and rewarding to one’s spirit.


At the beginning of the tale, the two sisters are described in such a way that their innocence is plain, and the bond that they have together is strong. One could even say that they may be two sides of the same person, or that the story is presenting the reader with a kind of duality between the two; a dark side and a light side. Lizzie is afraid of the goblins and their song and urges Laura against paying them any attention, yet Laura watches them and is increasingly tempted to taste their fruits. One wants to listen, while the other “blushes” at the song of the goblins implying that they sing of things that are not spoken of lightly. 

The unnatural and animalistic nature of the goblins points to the idea that their fruits are not of this world, and that their intentions are nefarious. However, despite her sisters warnings and the consequences that another girl had faced by eating the fruits, Laura is intrigued and eventually gives in to the temptation promoted by the goblins. 


 Agreeing to give the goblins a lock of hair as payment, Laura engorges herself on the forbidden fruits:

She sucked and sucked and sucked the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore,
She sucked until her lips were sore;
Then flung the emptied rinds away

These lines allude to the addictive and poisonous nature of the goblin fruit, as do the next few lines when we see that she has completely lost track of time and “knew not was it night or day.” When she returns, she tells Lizzie not to worry, and she seems to want the fruit even more now – she even wants to share it with her sister. The next day however, we begin to see the effects of her rash deeds on her mental state as the two are talking:

Lizzie with an open heart,
Laura in an absent dream,
One content, one sick in part;
One warbling for the mere bright day's delight,
One longing for the night.

She soon falls into a deep malcontent, and stops eating or doing any chores on their farm. All she can think of are the goblins fruits, but can no longer hear them calling out to buy and she eventually begins to waste away.


           Her sister, however, can still hear the goblins cry because she has yet to fall prey to their devices. It is not for herself that she is tempted to buy the fruit, but for her sister in the hopes that it may cure her of her malady. Finally, she can take it no longer and goes out with the intent of buying some of the goblins fruit with coin. The goblins do not want coin however, they want her to eat - and their evil nature is revealed at the notion that Lizzie will not partake.

No longer wagging, purring,
But visibly demurring,
Grunting and snarling.
One called her proud,
Cross-grained, uncivil;
Their tones waxed loud,
Their looks were evil.

Lizzie is steadfast in her declaration to not eat the fruit, and is brutally assaulted by the creatures because of this unfaltering stance. The narrator compares her to a tree being assaulted by stinging insects and the next few lines point to the significance of her personal determination and control of her actions:

Like a royal virgin town
             Topped with gilded dome and spire
             Close beleaguered by a fleet            
      Mad to tear her standard down.
    One may lead a horse to water,
   Twenty cannot make him drink 


The goblins assault is not successful, and even though they smear her with fruit attempting to force her to eat she holds strong. Ultimately the goblins give up, and kicking their precious fruits away they all disappear leaving Lizzie alone and covered in fruit juices. She happily returns home and encourages Laura to kiss her to retrieve the fruit pulp and in doing so restores Laura to her original vigor.

Setting aside the contextual symbolism of sin or lustful temptation in the fruits that Laura becomes addicted to, the more interesting aspect is how she acquired them in the first place. She was so eager and easy to sway in regards to tasting these forbidden morsels, that she put the cart before the horse so to speak. Had she been more mindful and thought about the implications of being so rash, she would have been especially mindful of the fact that it was not the act of buying that the goblins were after. Due to her willingness to sacrifice her cognitive abilities she was sorely lacking in the suspicion worthy of the goblins taking her hair as payment. It was not money that they were after, but something much dearer - her personal volition to make up her own mind. Nothing in this world can be acquired so easily as to substitute golden hair for gold, but her mesmerized and greedy state kept her from due mistrust. Her self-serving urges took over, and thus she paid a much higher price for the fruit.


Lizzie, on the other hand has a humble and more mindful perspective, and thinks of others before herself. She knows that it is wrong to expect something so fleeting to hold so much significance. Her sacrifice was far greater and thus her reward was as well, this is the lesson Rossetti is illustrating with the events in “The Goblin Market.” Lizzie is more resolute in her personal decisions as well, and is not so easily swayed – be it by the song of the goblins, or the temptation of their otherworldly fruits. The fruits are “honey to the throat/But poison in the blood.” While honey is sweet and a reward to the tongue, it is momentary and transitory. The blood is the life-force and constant. While Laura’s reward was short lived and self serving, and the consequences she faced extremely detrimental (poisonous) in light of such a shallow indulgence; Lizzie’s willing sacrifice for her sister is more admirable and treacherous in nature, and thus the reward is “life out of death.”
While Christina Rossetti has been known to incorporate different aspects of heavy symbolism in her poetry and works at its roots, this story is about not giving in to fleeting  rewards, but to have foresight into the rewards due to those who sacrifice the most.


For the full text of "The Goblin Market" you can read it here.

For different perspectives on the symbolism of this story and discussion about the many levels involved, you can visit this page or this location.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

...And Just When You Thought...

....Poetry Was All About the Words...


Reading the various poets in class this week has really got me thinking about the complexity of poetry and the many variations in the works of different poets. I love how poetry seems to transcend words, and somehow gives new weight and breathes new life into the vocabulary we have to work with. Using symbolism and metaphor along with other literary devices can open up a whole new world where words are concerned. The talent that poets display with these tools never ceases to amaze me, and the freedom implied by poetry is always refreshing to my psyche. Where vocabulary and the strict rules of grammar can be stifling, poetry breaks free and is almost intangible - un-chainable - in its efforts to urge us to expand our awareness and perspective. Even these few words that I have just written cannot begin to describe the power that is held in poetry...or the frustration of words limitations.

Insufficiency 
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

When I attain to utter forth in verse
Some inward thought, my soul throbs audibly
Along my pulses, yearning to be free
And something farther, fuller, higher, rehearse
To the individual, true, and the universe,
In consummation of right harmony:
But, like a wind-exposed distorted tree,
We are blown against for ever by the curse
Which breathes through Nature. Oh, the world is weak !
The effluence of each is false to all,
And what we best conceive we fail to speak.
Wait, soul, until thine ashen garments fall,
And then resume thy broken strains, and seek
Fit peroration without let or thrall.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

And Just When You Thought...

...I would write a long post after last week...

Once again I am slammed with things to do, so although my last post was also lacking in much wordage and writing effort I will again be posting videos this week.

This is a poet and teacher that one of my professors showed our class - his name is Taylor Mali. I thought he could entertain you while I work on a post of more substance. Those that are education majors should really appreciate his presentations.

Taylor Mali on Conviction...


Taylor Mali on what teachers make...




Taylor Mali "Miracle Workers"


Taylor Mali's website