"The Golf Links"

1. Golf Links: a "links" is the oldest type of golf course; typically found near coastlines or "links" between land and sea.

2. Sarah N. Cleghorn: A female poet of some note, born in Virginia in 1876, and, most notably, recognized publicly by Robert Frost as a poet of import

This poem is a clever juxtaposition that, at first, seems to be merely a comment on child labor. However, when one examines the switched roles of the men and the children as 'switched' rather than depressing, he or she is able to see a second comment on the role of children and of men in society and how that role is changing. Being a rather short poem, this is subject to a rather short analysis. However, the impact is truly one of thought-provoking brilliance. The use of the archaic term "golf links" is undoubtedly due to the era in which the writing occurred. This poem, most impressively, ended very simply and without call to action. The world is as it is, and Cleghorn seemed to want to leave it that way--up to interpretation. And so I will leave this.

"I Remember the Room was Filled with Light" by Judith Hemschemeyer

I am taken aback by the sheer honesty present in this poem. Judith Hemschemeyer writes in the voice of one truly remembering a scene with great symbolisms. "They were still young, younger than I am now." Not exact, nor excessively vague, this reading, when read aloud, sounds like the memory of any reader. What's most incredible is the dramatic impact that this very neutral scene had on my emotions as a reader: upon finishing the final line, I was filled with a feeling of contentedness and nostalgia--even despite the fact that I, when I was younger, hated being the messenger between fighting parents, even on the beginning of the end of an argument. Maybe these feelings are a wish about the children that I have--maybe I hope for them to look after their parents, like children should. Maybe I hope just to be involved in the lives of others--to be needed. Isn't that what we all want? I mean, there are instances of thought in which solitude is preferred in the heat of a frustrating moment, but I think this poem really conveys the feeling of being needed and acknowledged by a higher power--in this case, the girl's parents--and that is a very meaningful set of emotions. One that must not be forgotten as we become that higher power.

"Writing" with Jan Dean

This poem, a free-written spout of inspiration coupled with a biting mentor's retort, shows the true path that language takes when put through the steam-press that is schooling. Jan Dean, an apparently talented poet, takes what seems to be the free-writing of a child, which details a grotesque scene of trauma and concern, and pairs it with the eloquent corrections of what the reader can assume to be the child's teacher. Through this juxtaposition of incorrect, untidied passion and curt, cold corrections, Dean takes a jab at the system of education. The poem glows with the idealism of preserving an author's voice and helping that author to better convey his or her message. It shines even more as a critical frown on teachers that read for grading and not for understanding. I hope that, when I become an educator, I remember Dean's sentiment and appreciate my young writers for what they have done correctly and not what they have done wrong.

"Oh, Oh" a Successful Second Attempt

I have long been a skeptic of the 'Read Twice' method of understanding poetry; I have always believed that, for analytical purposes, a poem need only be read once with proper thoroughness. After reading William Hathaway's "Oh, Oh," I find myself rejoicing in the success of the 'Read Twice' method. "My girl and I amble a country lane," Hathaway brilliantly and simply paints a portrait of the true beauty of the countryside: most of this with the connotational naming--country lane. "moo cows chomping daisies, our own" Calling the cows "moo cows" adds credibility and character to the speaker as a man of the country--magnified even mores by the line cut, indicating ownership of the daisies being chomped. "sweet saliva green with grass stems." This is the part that lent itself to a second reading. At this point, I was convinced that the speaker was a cow and that this poem was about cow love. I realized upon a second reading, however, that Hathaway only suggest ownership of the daisies and that the speaker is chewing grass and observing the cows. The imagery thus far is brilliant. After this glorious setting is in place, dialogue kicks in from 'his girl.' The conversation slowly winds its way around their relationship: both in appreciation to the world they have, expressing dreams of a far off future that "loyally" include one another. It's all very delightful, until they "look/ eagerly to the road ahead. And there, poised and growling, are fifty Hell's Angels." This sharp turn in the final line of the poem rhetorically mimics my thought process in terms of existence: when I am surrounded on all sides by nature, I look to the trees, I listen to the birds, I feel the cool water of the lake, and when my perception is complete, my appreciation turns to concern--worry about the road ahead, paved with demons. Being somewhat of a religious wanderer, my concept of Hell's Angels (excluding the biker gang, with which I am all too familiar) is boiled down simply to 'demons,' but with a more understanding connotation: Hell's Angels could be the renaming of harsh experiences that will benefit us in that they are experiences. Anyway, Hathaway very clearly exhibits the harsh turn of thought on a beautiful day to the troubles that lie in wait on the road ahead, "poised and growling." This has been a quality poem, by William Hathaway, who is still alive at age 87 today. Congratulations, living poet. You made it.

By blustin | View this Toon at ToonDoo | Create your own Toon

By blustin | View this Toon at ToonDoo | Create your own Toon

Blake and I worked together on these, so please give him some credit!

"When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer," I listened elsewhere

This poem, by Walt Whitman (one of my favorite poets), is a blurred and generalized reflection of--or inspiration for--Billy Collins' "Introduction to Poetry." The speaker hears from the accomplished astronomer his analysis of the massive and unquantifiable space and becomes "tired and sick." Annoyed at the blatant arrogance of one attempting to trap the majesty of the universe with a pen and paper, the listener wanders away and seeks the inexplicable wonder simply by looking to the stars. Whitman's genius lies in both his message and his presentation: the structure of the first half of the two part idea rhetorically suggests the structure of the lecture--each line longer and more droning than the last. Then, the lines are cut short, reflecting the calm of the night outside the lecture hall, the same calm as the contented feelings that overtake the speaker. This rhetorical manipulation of the structure allows the reader to truly empathize with the speaker and the situation. Sprinkled with some instances of literary device and imagery, this poem stays true to Whitman's artistic address to language.

"note, passed to superman" from Lucille Cliffton, a human

The structure of this poem is quite possibly its most meaningful piece (in competition with the final two lines). Lucille Cliffton, born 1936, models her poem to literally resemble a note to Superman, conceived 1938. Having grown up with Superman, I imagine she is using him as his early symbolisms portray him: the Big Blue Boyscout, childish savior of the world all grown up. The first line kicks off the rhetoric with an interesting juxtaposition of "jesus," and "superman." Placing these two on opposite sides of the comma seem to suggest a comparison or contrast of these two symbols: quite possibly a comment on the modern paraphrasing of religious figures and media anaologies.

She goes on to discuss Superman's role in Metropolis as a troubled crime-fighter, making a sly allusion to the "choirboy" (boyscout) Clark Kent, and to provide a very interesting point of view on interaction with alien life.
I have always thought it selfish to believe that we, here on earth, are the only living organisms in this vast, immeasurable universe. Cliffton takes that idea one step further and says "there is no planet stranger/ than the one i'm from." It's interesting to consider ourselves as aliens, and Cliffton introduces the idea with much subtlety along with a comment on our existence. Perhaps even her consideration of Superman as a character is a comment on the strange nature of our societal consciousness. Perhaps it is getting late.

"The Guitarist Tunes Up"--Am "I" the Guitarist?

I, having been a guitarist for some time now, absolutely loved this poem. I wish that I had read it before I played and then after once more: the meaning is lucid, but I feel that I might owe that clarity to my experience with the instrument.

Tuning is definitely a fine process--fraught with caution and optimism. While I'm tuning, I feel truly at the mercy of the instrument: strings could break, bolts could loose and drop pitch, stirrups can catch strings and make sound lies, the whole event is nerve-wracking. At the same time, I've spent enough time with my guitars to gain an understanding of their habits. With that knowledge, I can't express the feeling of tuning any more clearly than Frances Cornford's "attentive courtesy." He goes on to illustrate a relationship between the man and his guitar with a likeness to marriage, and he does so quite rightly. Guitars have the strange capacity to sound entirely different at moment's notice. The guitarist doesn't command the guitar, he simply participates in the creation of music, pulling creativity out of its resting place within the hollowed body

Am "I" the Guitarist? I was able to relate to this poem instantly. There was no translation for the emotions and ideas presented, so when I ask this question, I don't mean myself in particular, but any guitarist in the first person. It seems as though Cornford wanted to paint a portrait of the tuning guitarist and show it to those that can't see from the outside. I had always thought of tuning as an embarrassing display of under-preparation, but Cornford has made it beautiful in this poem.

"The End of Life"

This critical juncture at which
I find myself is truly a
Bittersweet Freedom.
The great, collapsing cliffs of
Venture and Folly,
Grinding atop my eight by ten paradigm.
Panoramic view of white-washed walls and
Clothing I can no longer wear--piling
Next to the suitcase as if for a bonfire.
Crumbling scribbles of three brothers, age five,
Hide under a fresh coat of paint.
The year is out.
A foray into the cold.

Question Poem

"The Purpose We Don't Know"

Is there a reason or being?
Will we ever know?
Does one find it in others?
Can it help us live more completely?
Does it bring us peace?
Will it bring war?
Will it find us?
Why?

"Personal Hellicon"

I was recently trapped by writer's block--a condition that plagues me every so often--and having read through this poem again, I believe I have found a directed remedy to my plight. This poem, "Personal Helicon" by Seamus Heaney, shows the speakers growth as a man from carefree child to self-aware adult. Interestingly he uses a well to symbolize his ability to see himself as others see him--humanity is a well of experience (or some such quote in cliche). The first well has no reflection, and that is when Heaney's play seems most full of mirth. That is when true creativity and fun are taking place. Then a face starts to take it's form: first as a hovering, white apparition, then a fully fledged reflection (like the of Narcissus).

I thought to myself, having come to terms with the fact that I have writer's block, what am I trying to write for? Fame? Publication? Money? No, I was writing for the sake of creativity and expression. In this poem, I found that intended audiences, people we assume to be critiquing our work, force us to see the mirror and polish, rather than create. As thus, I have taken to writing in privacy. No expectations, no reflections about appearance, and no stress. I am cured at last.

Sort of a Blog Response

William Williams (quite a humorous name, in fact) has truly baffled and impressed me with his poem, "Sort of a Song." Here, I shall attempt deconstruction and reexamination.

"Let the snake wait under
his weed"

This seems simple enough: let the thing exist where it should exist. He seems to be setting up a direct comparison of the relation between the snake and his weed to the nature of writing.

"and the writing
be of words, slow and quick, sharp
to strike, quiet to wait
sleepless."

This is where confusion rears its ugly head. Since we're letting the snake exist in his habitat, we must be letting writing consist of its natural factor: words both slow and quick--words sharp to strike--words quiet to wait sleepless. Slow and quick seems clear, a possible reference to several literary ideas that involve pacing and diction. Sharp to strike, now I'm lost. Does he mean "sharp" as in "The better 'to strike' you with"? Or "sharp" as in "striking this will allow you to discover how sharp it is"? It seems the first would fit more cleanly. Words that are slow, quick, sharp, and quiet. Waiting sleepless, however, seems pretty clear: words are always 100% accessible.

The structure here is what has me truly impressed: it's as if the first idea completes the first stanza and leaves me blank space beneath it for reflection. Then, with an em dash of great importance, Williams cuts into my reflection with further poetry.

"--through metaphor to reconcile
the people and the stones."

I can only assume the subject to be writing. If that is true, these lines say that metaphor (a symbol here for figurative language, I think) allows writing to reconcile all things in this world, from the pebble to the human mind.

"Compose. (No ideas
but in things) Invent!"

The use of single word imperatives here is a brilliant call to action. "No ideas but in things" might mean only ideas that pertain to reality.

"Saxifrage is my flower that splits
the rocks."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saxifraga I cannot relate these ideas. However, splitting rocks is the first step to breaking ground and finding something valuable (?). Perhaps "Saxifrage" is the thought that helps Williams start in his composition process and he is suggesting that we each find our own Invention Starter.

When broken up, the poem seems to make a little bit more sense. I really wish I could talk to Williams.

"No man is an island, entire of itself."

Edgar Allen Poe's "Alone" starts with a dark and gloomy reminiscence about his isolation in childhood. He then goes on to say that "Then--in my childhood... was drawn/ The mystery... Of a demon in my view." I have experienced times of intellectual reflection in which I believed myself to be entirely of an independent nature. And of that nature, I do deem to have 'seen a demon.' I think that Poe is trying to point out that his separation from others early on has forced him to look from a third party perspective and see the 'demons' of the other's lives. I entirely agree that isolation can breed cynicism through over-analysis. However, in John Donne's Meditation XVII, he says that "No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main." In that, Donne is saying that all life is interrelated (at least on the level of human emotion) and that Poe's witness of the 'demon' as a result of being alone may be a witness of the 'demon' of loneliness itself.  These opposing ideas became ever-prevalent in my thoughts on this subject when I began to wonder about my academic lack of peers. It wasn't truly a lack of peers at all. Quite the contrary, the 'demon' of my loneliness was a fear of anything more than loneliness. However, Poe's representation of one side of this discussion was artfully crafted with a chain of couplets and what seems to be a loose iambic tetrameter. The genuine nature of the piece will hopefully find its way into my writing through example.

Chasing "The Cat"

"Outside it was night
like a book without letters.
And the eternal dark
dripped to the stars through the sieve of the
city."

In this wonderfully deep poem, Miroslav Holub addresses countless meaning through deliberate word-choice. A book without letters could be a picture book, a book of runes, or (what I believe to be most likely) an empty stack of pages. The implications of an empty page are truly astronomical: the night is entirely what we make of it. Our imaginations run most rampant in the darkness.  Then saying that the "dark dripped to the stars," Holub has both impressed me with his alliteration and confused me with the use of "to." In the analogy, it seems as though the stars would be the holes in the sieve that allow the draining to occur. However, looking to the sky, the stars are surrounded by darkness: the sieve seems to be composed of the darkness. This seems to suggest that darkness is indeed the light that shines through the sieve. Blank pages are white; stars shine white. Maybe Holub is saying that darkness, in the literal sense, is true light, in the figurative sense. That is to say, the embrace of darkness is a virtue of those seeking the light. After all this, I am made to ask: Did Holub consider this in the such detail?

Praise for "Praise in Summer"

In his poem, "Praise in Summer", Richard Wilbur literally flips perception of the world upside-down. This poem grants its imagery of a world unimagined through the artful and beautiful meter and rhyme format of an English Sonnet. Wilbur's ending couplet, most interestingly, grants the opposition to his new world by detailing the world as it is normally seen. This is very significant in that the poetic departure from the majority format indicates a figurative divide between Wilbur's world and ours.


Earlier in the poem, there is an interesting juxtaposition of imagery.


"The hills are heavens full of branching ways

Where star-nosed moles fly overhead the dead;
I said the trees are mines in air, I said
See how the sparrow burrows in the sky!"

Wilbur's use of "branching" when describing the hills above (!) collides with the image of the tree. This may be suggesting that up is down and down is up: all things are of equal merit because, at their most base, all things are the same. 

Another interesting piece, or theme rather, is "this mad instead". Wilbur notices and raises (as an issue) the use of the word "instead" when describing something that could be; "uncreation." Wilbur is definitely of the creative sort. This is by far one of my favorite poems. 

Existing Outside: "Of Mere Being"

In his poem, "Of Mere Being," Wallace Stevens Uses several commonly applied symbols to explain, through leaping logic, his idea of 'being'. His use of vivid, abstract imagery, in tandem with this symbolism, creates a portrait of the infinitesimally small space between the mind and the world: "Immense cosmic power, itty-bitty living space." The dark corridors of irrational hope--faith. We reach to the "end of the mind" to grasp at all that we cannot understand, or rather those things that we cannot explain. The most readily used example of this 'space' is faith, more specifically faith within religion. Divinity is neither of this world nor of the mind. Quite the contrary, this world and these minds are understood to be of divinity. Therefore, we can categorize faith as falling between the world and understanding of the world.

What's most incredible, on a related note, is that sometimes, the world outside that space is effected solely by the existence of the mind within. This idea is demonstrated by the Double-Slit experiment. Even by merely being, we are effecting the way that the world functions.

Double Slit-Experiment: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DfPeprQ7oGc

Beginning Again

A new year has come and I have curiously found myself addressing poetry in the same respect as the former semester: with an "Introduction to Poetry" from Billy Collins. I read the same lines, I notice the same themes, but this time, the poem is different. What has changed? I am older, more versed in literature, more poetically aware, so to speak. No longer is my instructor holding my hand and walking me through meaning. I'm not beating it with a hose either. Poetry isn't a solitary interrogation--it's a conversation. With new beginnings, I am capable of asking the poem for reason, following the point of a fiber optic, being lead to importance and meaning.

Billy Collins addresses the 'normal' approach to poetry with disgust and contempt. Voicing his requests politely and in sequence, each a symbol of respect for poetry. Then he labels the bad readers. "Them." An ominous pronoun. "they begin beating it with a hose...." Collins characterized the unnamed readers as criminals.

Truly a new beginning, this semester looks bright.