Image is Everything...Sometimes

            William Carlos Williams’ poem “The Great Figure” is awesome. I love it when poets are able to create a large picture with just a few words. With very little description, I am able to be transported back to a time when I was smaller, hearing a fire engine roar down the road, I ran outside just to see it. Though descriptions are few, I can still place the picture of this fire truck with the large number 5 on the side of it screaming past me. I can describe it from the color scheme to the stainless steel gauges that display the water pressure.

            This is what poetry should do; it should tap into your emotional subconscious and allow you to be taken to a moment of your life to which you can relate to the poem. With minimal description, yet using just enough description to get the picture into the imagination of the reader, Williams successfully takes his readers back to childhood with this short, yet image filled poem.

            Diane Di Prima’s poem “The Window” takes an opposite approach than Williams does in “The Great Figure.” Prima, for the most part, describes the window without actually using descriptions of the window. In this case, Di Prima gives the reader an image of the surroundings and through some metaphor, what the window is for. I also enjoy this type of imagery in a poem because it allows you to let your imagination control what you see. Sometime leaving room for interpretation of imagery is a good thing, it creates a personal feel for the poem that most probably will not share.

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/242640

Let it Flow with Rukeyser

Muriel Rukeyser’s poem “Poem White Page White Page Poem” is one that I find very interesting. Rukeyser uses the metaphor of waves crashing on the beach to help her readers identify with the process of writing good poetry. In the process of discussing the writing of poetry, the reader is also given an example of what good poetry should look like. Through imagery, Rukeyser is sharing with her readers the process she uses to write her poetry, allowing the reader to think that they can also accomplish such a task (writing poetry).

To break down the poem, one finds that it stats with just a blank white page. The writer proceeds to allow emotions and thoughts to flow from his/her soul like “waves” which control the fingers that hold the pen. This first glimpse in the writing process illuminates the idea that good poetry writes itself. When good poetry writes itself, the poet is able to relate to the readers emotions through image, mood, and experience.

Rukeyser proceeds to tell that the process of the poem flowing from the author, it begins to “declare for my whole life,” the good and the bad. The ability to allow the poem to write itself makes the author vulnerable to his/her audience because giving emotions full control of the poem creates an alley for bottled up feelings to be released. These feelings can be of happy moments and moments of sorrow and anger, again creating relationships between the poet and the reader.

As “wave after wave that breaks on the beach” is the in relation to the process of not ending the poem until it ends itself. Once the waves stop crashing, the poem is over the author should not try to incorporate any more material or try to use intellect to finish the work. Once the waves have finished crashing and the poem ceases to flow from your soul, it should stand alone as a single work of art that is able to stand upon its own merits. Do not force poetry let it flow from the depths of your being.

            Instead of comparing Rukeyser’s poem with another on this post, I thought I would just share a poem with you that I wrote. I will not say that it is good or that it is a work of art (I don’t think the author should praise his/her own work) but I did sit and let it flow. Tell me what you think.

                                                Happy Birthday My Love

The children are quiet, no sounds to hear as I wake from an unrest-full sleep.

The smiles I am used to in the mornings are not to be found – just tears.

My love sits beside me, no hug, no kiss, no joy to be found – just tears.

The first words said are “I’m sorry.” Not what I expect after waking from sleep.

Confused, I inquire about the sorrow. No answer to be given – just tears.

After long pause, with heavy breath, my love pushes away the pain – but not the tears.

While the children are quiet, her soul is what I hear. I am no longer dazed by an unrest-full sleep.

She somberly tells me that this day of my birth has lost its joy – now just tears.

The birth expected will no longer come – we embrace – we pray – with tears.

The Injustice of That Thing Called Justice

Justice by Langston Hughes may be a short poem, but it is a powerful poem. It is comprised of four lines that are made of a mere twenty six words. In those twenty six words is a message that is big enough to represent an entire era of struggle, hate, and inequality.

            Hughes begins his poem by calling Justice a “blind goddess.” In classic mythology gods and goddesses are known to be removed from the humans, only showing themselves for selfish reasons such as self-glorification, “jumping on the good foot and doing the bad thing” (as quoted from the great philosopher Austin Powers), and to spite fellow gods. One can contend that Hughes is making the statement that justice is removed from the Black peoples, especially in the south. Hughes also describes this removed justice as “blind,” indicating that justice is not just removed from the Black Americans but is also ignorant to this fact. Those who claim to be on the side of justice are far removed from what they claim to uphold and are not even aware of their fallacy. This statement is followed by a line that indicates that the people who are aware of this discrimination are the people who are being discriminated against.

            Lines three and four further the assertion that justice is blind, indicating that justice not only has a bandage covering its eyes, but the eyes are not even there anymore, they have become festering sores. What people claim to be justice is so far removed from the real thing that even if it wanted to change and be restored to what justice is actually supposed to be, it would be a difficult, if not impossible thing to accomplish. Justice is still blind, but maybe Hughes would be happy with the progress that it has made.

Shailja Patel’s ICC Kenya Trails: Witness is a poem about a witness who was blinded by an attacker. The witness asks several questions to gain to try and understand why she was left alive and why she was blinded. She seeks justice to come to the attacker but believes that it will not because she cannot identify who it was. With no sight she has no case. The means of the justice that would come to the attacker is now blind, and thus the justice is removed.

www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/247328

A Harlem Dancer's Family Dinner

        Claude McKay’s Harlem Dancer is a poem filled with emotions that make the poem difficult to ascribe just one. Some may argue that it is hollow because the dancer is showing a carefree, happy attitude, though the author states that her smiles are false, or fake. Some may argue that it has a feeling of detachment because in her mind she is not where her body says she is at emotionally. There are many different emotions that this poem can cause the reader to feel, I will not argue against those emotions because those are the emotions that readers get for various reasons which make poetry so great.

            The emotion that resonates with when I read this poem is that of remorse. You may be scratching your head at this particular emotion and not see where I can come up with such a notion. Good news! I will tell you. It all comes down to the last two lines. “Looking at her falsely-smiling face, I knew her self was not in that strange place” The entire poem paints the picture that this woman is the center of the party. People are admiring her dancing and singing. She looks so happy, yet she is not there in her mind. I see a woman who deeply troubled, maybe her move to Harlem did not bring the happiness she expected, maybe she lost a loved one, maybe she just does not like the people in her neighborhood, either way she is clearly troubled or saddened by something. You are still thinking “Where do you get remorse from?”

Have you ever been in a time of life where you put on mask? The world around you is falling apart, nothing is going right, you feel emotionally or physically terrible and you just want to let someone know. You want someone to help share this burden that you carry. When that friend or family member comes that you can trust and they ask you how everything is going and you respond with a smile and a lie of an answer such as, “God is good and I am having a great day.” Or maybe the response is a simple “I’m fine.” Losing your opportunity to let someone know what is happening, to let someone help you carry the burden that is weighing you down usually does not put a smile on one’s face and have them walk away rejoicing the fact that they still feel alone in their struggles. One usually feels remorse that they did not speak truthfully, they lost the chance to unload. This is what I see in the Harlem Dancer, a woman puts on a mask and does not share her true feelings, and this makes her feel horrible. I am sure she danced well though.

  

            Priscilla Lee’s poem Family Dinner describes a girl who is the complete opposite of the Harlem Dancer. She is very open about her feelings and the feelings others in her family have for her. She hides nothing. Nothing. Her family does not like her yet she still dines with them for the holidays. She deals with her life, she does not hide what she feels or thinks.

www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/247406

Rose, Garden, Rock, Igloo

    H.D.’s (Hilda Doolittle) poem Garden is one which has such visual descriptions that I find myself easily being taken to this garden as I walk along the path and view these magnificent scenes. A statue of a rose greets me as I entire the path that winds through this garden, a path I picture has not been traveled in some time which contains some overgrowth. This statue is covered with moss and mold, making it possible for the author to scrape the color off the petals. The statue is thick and solid breaking it is almost impossible, just as breaking the large trees surrounding the statue by hand  is a task that none can accomplish. In this hot, humid day which is not helped by the massive trees locking the heat in the path I walk, just a breeze would be a wonderful retreat from this exhausting heat. The fruit is not even appetizing to me due to the heat suffocates me. I beg for the breeze to move the heat so that I can enjoy my walk.

            The descriptions of this garden is amazing. H.D. does a great job of drawing a picture in the imagination of the reader to make one feel as if they are experiencing this garden.

Matthew Sweeney does a good job using imagery in his poem The Igloo as well. This poem of a traveler finding a an igloo which contains a fire and some food uses just enough description to allow the reader to feel as if they are undergoing this experience for themselves, and he is able to achieve this without taking away from the story that is being told. Cold and hungry a man finds warmth and nourishment in an igloo in the middle of nowhere. The character does not question whom the igloo belongs to, but when you are desperate you do not really care.

www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/247438