This is my last post in regards to my Modern American Poetry class, though I do think I will continue to post for my own enjoyment. For my final post I think I will do things a little bit different. I will post about my class instead of one of the poets that I have read.
I joined the class because I needed to fill an elective and I have always enjoyed poetry. I was looking for a class that would be easy and something I could focus little attention to. Though my I did not expect much from the class, I find that at the end of the semester, it is the class I will miss the most. There are several reasons for this change of attitude and I would like to share some of them with you.
First, the professor made the class fun. He gains an indescribable excitement when discussing the poets and their works, which honestly made me realize that I did not like poetry as much as I thought. The professor's ability to engage the poem in a way that represents what the author's purpose is, and to do this easily, impressed me. The professor then would lead us (students) to begin to grasp a better understanding of the author's intent in writing the poem. Where I used to just read the poem and enjoy it for rhyme and rhythm, he taught me to slow, put the poem into my own words and find what emotions were held within the words of the poem. This ability to understand the poem better has made me actually enjoy poetry. I now respect the words and writers.
Second, my fellow classmates, through discussion and their own blogs, gave me different viewpoints to read the poems in. I got to hear how others interacted with the read poems, which also helped me in better understand the poems. I can only read poems through my past experiences, through my thought process, and through my understanding; hearing someone else's personal reflection of the text is wonderful in the fact that it allows me to experience the text through emotions I would not normally be able to experience it with. To those who are in my class and may read this, I truly enjoyed being in class with you and I thank you for sharing your thoughts, they have helped me a lot. I also want to address that I said some things regarding some poems that may have left you scratching your head (my comments on Muriel Rukeyser's Mearl Blankenship probably is my best example of this). I did this at times just to get conversation going when things were a little slow, I apologize.
Third, this class made me want to write again. I used to write poetry all the time (looking back most were not very good), now I feel like taking pen to paper again and just letting the words flow onto the page like "something like wave after wave that breaks on the beach" (Rukeyser's Poem White Page White Page Poem). I have no intention of ever being published again (yes, I was published once), but maybe someone will come across a poem that I might post on this blog and actually enjoy it.
These are just a few things I walk away with from this class. I have grown to actually enjoy poetry and the people who write them. So let the last words that I post in regards to this class be said to my professor and my fellow classmates, Thank You.
Words from a Blanket Fort
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
The Many Confessions of a Poet
Sylvia Plath is indeed a
remarkable poet. In her poem, Lady
Lazarus, Plath completely blows my mind with the raw pain and internal
suffering that she is able to communicate. With her marriage falling apart and
a past of emotional breakdowns haunting her, she is able to let the reader into
her desire to rise above these setbacks in her life. Just like the Phoenix, she
will rise out of her own ashes and be stronger than she was before. But is it
all in vain? She states that this is her third attempt to be reborn, if the
first two did not work, will this time be different?
This
is a perfect example of poetry flowing from life. We are not supposed to read
her life into the poems, but it is hard not to when this poem was written only
months before her suicide. Plath was a brilliant writer, and in this poem, she
uses her brilliance to try and pursued her readers and possibly even herself
that she was going to overcome her struggles. Sadly it was not the case.
Her
use of imagery from Nazi WWII treatment of the Jews gives a great description
of how torn inside she truly was. Some of the images she mentions are painful
to read and makes it hard to grasp how evil man can be. With work as moving as
this, one can only question what could have come if she lived, and what may not
have come if she was not so torn inside.
Frederick Seidel’s
Mount Street Gardens is a confessional
poem as Plath’s, just not near as dark and infused with some humor. This is a
simple poem which talks about how a man has watched his little town grow into a
big city that is more flashy and fancy than he ever wanted it to be. He reminisces
about the old ways that he truly loved and speaks of some of the changes that
have taken place, and now the only enjoyment he gets when visiting is sitting
on a park bench in the garden that is hidden behind all of the growth. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/244422
The Sweet and the Sad and Sweet
Elizabeth Bishop’s Man-Moth is amazing! There is everything
one wants in a poem (or a story for that matter), mystery, darkness, sadness, a
hope that can never be fulfilled, and all of it lies in a character that has a
genuinely gentle heart. If you have read any of my other posts you know I enjoy
the darker creepy stuff, I think it plays more to the imagination, which
entails allows your emotions to become more subjective to the poem itself.
I
may be reading more into this poem than what is actually there, but I think
this poem tells the lives of many people, even if those people do not accept
it. First we have a man who chooses to remain hidden by living in the
underground tunnels. How often do we choose to keep thoughts and emotions
hidden from those around us, we bury our burdens deep inside so others will not
have to be bothered. There have probably been a few occasion when one chooses
to actually open up and reveal what is going on inside and it ends up not
working out as planned and just like the Moth-Man one ends up falling on their
back. When this fall takes place, the person who has fallen ends up going back
into their hiding place, alone and sad.
Given
this is not an image most want to look at in themselves, but it is there. That
is why Bishop’s use of imagery is so great in this poem, it taps into an
emotional side that most try to avoid, yet gives so much character. I just want
to give the Moth-Man a hug to tell you the truth. On a secondary note, I enjoy
cryptozoology and this story reminded me of the Mothman mystery that took place
in West Virginia about fifty years ago.
Ron
Padgett’s The Love Cook is nothing like Bishop’s
aforementioned poem, this poem is simple and tells of a person who is willing
to care for and cook for the person they love who has been gone for most of the
day. It is simple and sweet.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
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.
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.Thursday, April 3, 2014
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.
A Harlem Dancer's Family Dinner
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.
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