A Love for Violence- "The Hawk"

“The Hawk” was written by Marianne Boruch and published in her collection of poetry entitled Poems: New and Selected in 2004. I love this poem because it is violent, and doesn’t make excuses for it’s content. This feature in itself might leave some readers offended. In today’s society, where everyone and everything is politically correct, I appreciate a little danger. I applaud Boruch because she took a risk; she wrote a poem that someone might hate. 

The poem begins when the speaker comes home to a hawk tearing apart a grackle in their yard. The imagery is very striking, “blood, the black feathers scattered / on snow. ” These words paint a vivid picture of the scene that the speaker has come upon. She has also chosen to describe the remains of the grackle as “a skein of flesh” this word choice leaves the reader with an image of sinewy flesh, which might be enough to make someone vomit.

The next section of the poem emphasizes the lack of noise in the yard, the speaker is left wanting for the usual chatter of birds.

            The fierceness of it, the nonchalance.

            Silence took the yard, so usually

            restless with every call or quarrel,

            titmouse, chickadee, drab

            and gorgeous finch, and the sparrow haunted

This plays up the effect that the scene has had on the surrounding wildlife. The speaker is not in fear, yet the sparrow is justified in her alarm. The speaker states, “I didn’t know /

how to look at it.” It’s within this phrase I feel the point of the poem is driven home. Humans typically try to outline right and wrong wherever we can. This shows the scene for what it is. The animals here are not turned into darlings, they are simply doing what comes naturally. We cannot interfere with the natural order of things. We are made to respect the hawk, and empathies with the grackle. We see that all along, it was the sparrow that knew the danger. 

Why I love "The Snow-Storm" by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Ralph Waldo Emerson’s poem, “The Snow-Storm” published in 1904, diverges the supernatural and the essence of nature in this poem.  One of the most captivating aspects of the text is how Emerson illustrates this sense of numbness, a scene causing one to reflect upon instances throughout hardships of life.

Upon reading, visualizations of a mystic, surrounding wintry wonderland encompassed me. I was enthralled by his diction, especially through his usage of an antithesis in line 16, “So fanciful, so savage, nought…”, creating a strong sense of self, and what seems like, a sense of persistence. One can truly understand what type of man Emerson was, a man who was so passionate so determined and inspired by the world surrounding him. This poem not only portrays the characteristics of Emerson, it shines the light towards the personality of many who face difficult situations.

The diction I was ultimately enthralled by was in line 11. “Out of an unseen quarry evermore,” had my eyes constantly return and re-read the line. The way that this line is worded has a very eloquently way of describing the fact of a pit becoming eternal. This shows that one can stay in stuck in the same situation and never even realize it. This poem describes how people can beautifully destroy their own lives, just like a snow-storm. Snow is beautiful to see, but dangerous and can even harm you.

Why I love Emily Dickinson's "A Narrow Fellow"

I love the poem "A Narrow Fellow in the Grass" by Emily Dickinson.  Published in the newspaper The Daily Republican in 1866, it was one of the few poems published during the poet's lifetime.  It's a fantastic poem in its childlike simplicity, but also in its sophistication.  The language she uses is evocative and descriptive enough that she never has to name the thing she writes about; yet her word choice is unique. For example, in the very first line of the poem, she describes the snake as a "narrow fellow".  "Fellow" is usually used in reference to humans, so applying it to a snake gives it a human quality.  "Narrow" is an accurate description of a snake, though usually snakes are described as "long" rather than "narrow."  The combination of "narrow" with "fellow" gives us a sense of familiarity and fondness for the snake.
Later, she uses assonance to great effect in the lines "He likes a boggy acre, / A floor too cool for corn."   The assonance begins in the first of the two lines with "boggy" and continues with "floor," "for," and "corn." The longer assonance is interrupted by the smaller assonance of "too" and "cool."  Also in those two lines, Dickinson uses alliteration with "floor/for" and "cool/corn."  She uses assonance and alliteration in other places in the poem, but this is the best example.
The very last two lines of the poem are also fantastic in their description of fright.  The first, "without a tighter breathing", is more standard, but the last, "and zero at the bone" is such a cool way of saying "chilled to the bone."
Dickinson uses an interesting rhyme scheme. The first and third lines of each stanza do not rhyme, even by the most slanted slant rhyme, but the second and fourth do.  Sometimes the rhymes are perfect, for example "me/cordiality" and "corn/morn", but other times the rhymes are quite slanted, as in "seen/on" and "rides/is".  I love this because it doesn't come across as trying too hard to make the poem FIT TO A RHYME SCHEME OMG.  Metrically, the poem alternates between iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter, which leaves an interesting space after each second and fourth line.
Besides the poetic diction and literary devices, this poem just makes me squee.

A Valentine

Edgar Allan Poe – “A Valentine”

Published 1850

*Any citation in (parentheses) indicates the specific line(s) being discussed/quoted

Known for telling cynical tales of murder and having general air of eeriness Edgar Allan Poe steps into a realm completely different than most his famous poems would entail with “A Valentine.” Though love is not a new topic of nature to Poe, “A Valentine” stands out to me amongst his works by actually addressing that he is writing not only about a love interest but to her in such an endearing title as
“Valentine”. This seems cutesy, an adjective that would not typically come to mind when talking of Poe. This gives me a warming feeling instead of the initial creeped out aura I exude after I finish reading.

Now, whether this is a work of my new found confident eye for analyzing poetry, attributed to my literary classes, or not, I won’t divulge, but while reading “A Valentine” I see multiple thematic concerns simultaneously working together to make this work particularly interesting to me. The poem essentially, and eloquently of course, says that it is “penned” (1) for one person who will find her name within the work. I researched what type of poem “A Valentine” is and came across a few facts: The poem is an acrostic and it is not a normal one at that. A typical acrostic spells a word (or words) using the first letter of the first word of each line. Here, “A Valentine” complicates things with using the first letter in the first place on the first line, the second letter in the second place on the second line and so on. With some diligence, you can see the poem spells out “FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD”, presumably his valentine.

The poem is a “treasure” (5) of the heart, i.e. contributing to the cutesy emotion I mentioned feeling earlier, and continues to entice the reader to figure out Poe’s “riddle” (20). Going through I can see where Poe could also be talking not only about his valentine, but also about the fact that he is writing about writing about his valentine. (What a mouthful!)  

For example:

About his valentine: 

“For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
    Brightly expressive as the twins of Lœda” (1 -2)

About, About, About:

“Shall find her own sweet name, that, nestling lies
    Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.” (3 – 4)

“Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering” (13)

In lines 3, 4, and 13 Poe is making clearer that not only is the identity of his valentine hidden amongst the lines but also bringing attention to the fact that the reader is reading about reading…

Take what you will from my ramblings but Edgar Allan Poe’s “A Valentine” stands out to me by being mysteriously cutesy and for that I will always love it.

                

Why I love "Giant Saint Everything" by Buddy Wakefield

Buddy Wakefield’s poem; “Giant Saint Everything” was written in his journal on August 6^th, 2005. Wakefield is a well-traveled American poet best known for his work in slam poetry; he has won a number of awards throughout the slam circuit. Slam poetry has, and always will be a form of expression dear to my heart. That being said, hearing this poem performed by its author adds to the poem’s delectability. “Giant Saint Everything” is a free verse poem. It is a story about a love from the past and its implications.

           

Wakefield’s diction and word choice is always unexpected. With his words he paints pictures I doubt I could ever imagine on my own. In my opinion Wakefield is the speaker of this poem and that really speaks to my interpretation. In the first stanza the speaker depicts a love that he at times has wanted to leave, but yet he gets pulled back in. The person that the speaker is involved with is depicted with, “a sunset /
that hung like a sacred recipe painted /
all the way around Your holy head.” This makes them desirable again. I feel that it is as if the object of affection has again become worthy of loving and implying that they are holy. The speaker then reveals that is was them that drove the other off. “I should have told You / before talking in terms of Forever.”

            

The first two lines of the eighth stanza read, “There is a point when tears don’t work /
to wash things away anymore.” This statement implies the idea that initially tears are cleansing. Up until this point the speaker has been lamenting the lost love. In the volta of the poem the speaker shouts of the name of their love.

           

The name that Wakefield shouts is the name of a man. Buddy Wakefield has left the gender of his love up to the imagination until this point. This is essentially the speaker outing himself, which is a very powerful event. This action also shows why he alludes to “the holy” throughout the poem. By emphasizing faith in the first two lines of stanza eleven with, “And sure, we all deserve absolution, /
but especially You. You and Faith,”

He emphasizes that homosexuality doesn’t necessarily sit well within religion. By using absolution he tells us that his love needs to release his guilt.

            

In the end of the poem Wakefield is essentially confessing his undying love. Love that he has felt from the beginning, but just now getting the courage to disclose. He again makes reference to religion and refers to the object of his affection as his “Giant Saint Everything.” He ends the poem with the lines:

            Today all my visions converted to blurs

            like the night We saw the Light

            and I could not shut up 


            but I swear I was feelin’ silence.

For this week: My take on Elliot

http://www.famous-poems.biz/T_S_Eliot/Morning-at-the-Window-by-T-S-Eliot-great-poet.html

I’m going with T.S. Elliot’s “Morning at the Window” for this week. He composed this short piece in September of 1912; it was later published in Prufrock and Other Observations in 1920.

Elliot approaches his interpretation of a morning’s unfurl in a poignantly-unflattering way, describing what he sees from his view of a window which I presume is his room’s. With a bank of some actually very undesirable words, like “damp”, “despondently”, “brown”, and “muddy,” Elliot lets us into the archive of his personal distaste of a morning scene and the people subjected to working through it, which include the maids, the passersby on the street, and the ambiguous “they” of the first line. The only actual indulgence of positivity we can see, “An aimless smile . . . vanishes along the levels of the roofs” is even consumed with the downcast mood Elliot is so keen to project. If I had to tag a color to the feel this poem is giving me, and this is excluding the instances of mud and brown, it would be a solid and very tangible grey. Elliot gives us grey in a strong way and in such short a period of introspective observation, and it’s depressing me the more I go on about it.

The poem, like Berman’s (my previous choice), doesn’t follow a meter or a rhyme scheme. It chooses to detach itself from the conventional poetic structures, I’ve theorized, because the content of the poem doesn’t seem good enough for those conventions, like they don’t deserve structure or flow. Elliot wants us to feel uneasy and rattled by his descriptions, so what better way to do it than a lack of connective rhyme and a clatter of bumpy syllables? The sheer injection of realism and equally-sheer absence of theatrical, grandeur phrasing mixes well with just how awfully dismal this thing is, and I love it.

And I wasn’t overwhelmed by any of this. When I usually skim through an, for supreme lack of a better word, emo poem, I can’t help but roll my eyes at how self-involved and pitiful it is. But I can believe Elliot’s interpretation here. I feel like anyone can wake up, take a glance out the window, and feel just as despondent about how crappy today is going to be. The human element indicative of this near-surreal experience of looking outside is powerful. This poem makes me want to look outside and see the world as Elliot did that day. It’s so drawing, and all at once, so very dispelling. But we don’t have any maids around here, so it might be a little different. 

- Dylan

A Poetic Plunge into Moloch

Comprised of three parts, "Howl and Other Poems" was published in 1956. Because of the numerous references to illicit drugs and unorthodox sexual practices, both homosexual and heterosexual, "Howl" was subsequently accused of being obscene by U.S. customs. It is partially because of these traits I find Ginsberg's poem so endearing. More so, I love "Howl" because of how eloquently Ginsberg portrays his generation, his city, his relationships, and his musings. Part II, however, is my favorite.

In Part II, Ginsberg contrived a dismal characterization of the industrial city around him through the heavy use of symbolism and metaphors. This portion of "Howl" was immensely inspired by peyote, a hallucinogenic substance that caused Ginsberg to perceive a particular conglomerate of buildings as menacing. Ginsberg manifested his warped visions in Moloch.

Introduced as a “sphinx of cement and aluminum” (1), Moloch is an ancient god that demanded its worshippers burn their children as a sacrifice. Ginsberg chose this historical figure as his subject because it represents the capitalistic, industrial, corrupt, oppressive, mechanistic and deteriorating institutions that plague our society.

Having always identified with the ideals of communism, Ginsberg was naturally critical of the detrimental effects capitalism has on society. This is evident in lines 8 through 15.

“Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse

and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! 
Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!”

These lines refer to heartlessness of our governmental and economic systems. Ginsberg uses “jailhouse” in two senses: literally, many are cast into jail for petty deviance. In a way, Ginsberg is lamenting their unjustified incarceration. “Jailhouse” also refers to the entrapping nature of our system. We are all caught in Moloch, in the buildings, in the machinery and in the hamster wheel of senseless societal contributions—contributions that, in the end, only further empower Moloch to ruin the lives of others.

In lines 29 and 30, “They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, / tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!” Ginsberg is asserting that through rampant industrialization, society has created desecrated the planet in the attempt of obtaining a divine civilization.

With his colorful vocabulary, powerful imagery, incessant use of repetition, Ginsberg drives home the point that Moloch is an omnipresent force—one of which we are all a part. Ginsberg even admits, in lines 20 and 21, “Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom / I am a consciousness without a body!” that he has fallen victim to the overwhelming powers of Moloch. It is through this admittance, the reader can derive that Ginsbergs’ dramatic pessimism is not to be taken lightly.

Part II of “Howl” is anything but cheerful. Regardless, Allen Ginsberg, remains one of the most iconic poets of the 20th century. He painted a bleak portrait of contemporary society that has affected readers around the globe. As a result, he has inspired many, including myself, to combat Moloch through free-thought, humanistic compassion, and political awareness.

For these reasons, among countless others, Part II of Howl is one of my favorite excerpts in all of poetry.

Why I volunteered for Conscripts

Siegfried Sassoon lived from 1886 to 1967. He saw the horrors of World War One first hand as an army officer. After the war ended, Sassoon published several poems on the subject of war, Conscripts being one of them.

Conscripts, published in 1917, is written in an ABABCC format, with six lines in each stanza, and five stanzas in all.  The poem is about a drill sergeant who watches the men he trains lose their higher, positive traits. I enjoy Conscripts due to the way it puts you in the narrator’s head as he watches his men change, and has you question whether or not this was how it was like being conscripted in World War One.

In the first stanza, the narrator is first introduced by yelling at the recruits. He asks, “What’s magic got to do with you? / There’s no such thing!” (5-6). He continues to berate them as he trains them through the first three stanzas, noting how they begin to lose their better traits. During the last two stanzas, the sergeant sends them to France, and most of the men he cared about die. The sergeant himself loses some good traits of his own as the men die. At the end of the poem the kind men, “What stubborn-hearted virtues they disguised!”(27), live and go home, much to the sergeant’s disgust.

My favorite stanza in Conscripts has to be the second one, lines seven through twelve. After the training has begun, the sergeant begins to take notice of the things his men put behind them.

                "They gasped and sweated, marching up and down.

                I drilled them till they cursed my raucous shout

                Love chucked his lute away and dropped his crown.

                Rhyme got sore heels and wanted to fall out.

                “Left, right! Press on your butts!” They looked at me

                Reproachful; how I longed to set them free!"

I really like how Conscripts is told from an unlikeable character’s perspective. The man insists that magic isn’t real, yet he can’t help but personify the feelings that the recruits lose as a result of his training. He loses his own better traits when his men die and even ends up resenting the few, common traits that the survivors have after the fighting is over. Although I’d never enjoy being conscripted, I certainly enjoyed reading Conscripts.

Why I Love Aphra Behn's "The Disappointment"

Aphra Behn’s “The Disappointment” remains one of my favorite poems. Both the writer and the piece capture my attention. Aphra Behn achieved a career that men and women of the time period could only dream of: she was a paid writer. Behn wrote Oroonoko, or, The Royal Slave, which earned her the possible title of the first major novelist in English. Having read a part of Oroonoko, I highly recommend it, but not before I would recommend “The Disappointment.”

Behn’s piece, “The Disappointment” details the sexual activity of Lysander and Cloris, a shepherd and maid. In stanzas 1 through four, Lysander works for the object of his “desire” (25). In stanza 3, Behn mocks women’s attempt to hide their lusting nature, as seen in line 26, “Or I’ll call out--What would you do?” Cloris threatens Lysander, but at the same time, invites his fantasies by asking, “what would you do?” in her disheveled position. However, Lysander is unable to answer this question with any action; therefore disappointing Cloris.

On the surface, “The Disappointment” is about the sexual desires of men and women. Delving deeper, however, this poem is about the pressure men put on themselves, as well as the pressures of society and women. One can see this comparison in stanza 14,

“The nymph's resentments none but I

Can well imagine or condole:

But none can guess Lysander's soul,

But those who swayed his destiny.

His silent griefs swell up to storms,

And not one god his fury spares;

He cursed his birth, his fate, his stars

But more the shepherdess's charms,

Whose soft bewitching influence

Had damned him to the hell of impotence.”

Behn’s use of the word “swayed” exemplifies her understanding of the man complex. She understands the high levels of pressure that men put on themselves. Behn compares sex to responsibility. Men were responsible for keeping a home and living, keeping a clean image in society, and satisfying their wives. With all of these responsibilities, men would fail or fall into a sickness.

Behn's complex attitude toward men, sex, and society aids my adoration for her as a writer and "The Disappointment" as a piece of literature.

Why I love "Ode to American English"

With its interesting diction and free verse form, “Ode to American English” by Barbara Hamby presents a diversion from the poems we currently have been reading in class.  Hamby published her book of poems, Babel, in 2004 which included many unique poems similar to this ode.  When I came across this ode a few years ago, it instantly became one of my favorite poems and, by far, my favorite ode.  I cannot read over it without saying each line aloud and hearing how the words clash with their sounds mix into an odd cacophony. 

The speaker of this poem loves the English language—specifically, American English.  She expresses her longing for American English while in the midst of “French verbs/ slitting [her] throat”, and she does not hide her dislike of British English which “is… too cultured by half”.  The free verse form of the ode allows for the duplication of common speech patterns, lacking structured meter and rhyming, which speaks to the seemingly uncultured nature of American English.  The author’s diction throughout the poem exemplifies the very essence of what the speaker loves about this language.

“I miss the…/… smart-talking, gum-snapping hard-girl dialogue,/ finger-popping x-rated street talk, sports babble,/”

The choice of hyphenated words visually breaks apart the writing allowing the choppiness of the informal speech to truly be seen as well as heard when read aloud.  Indeed, Hamby realizes the “fragmented fandango” “Hungarian goulash” nature of the language by featuring various elements that allow the readers to hear the language as the speaker describes it.  Throughout the ode, the examples of consonance, sibilance, and the particular emphasis on alliteration (the “unguent of utter unhappiness”) and onomatopoeia ( the “nouns zipping”), create a poem that can be heard—very important for a poem that primarily focuses on the auditory aspects of English.

However, this ode functions on another level aside from describing this type of English.  Though the speaker mainly discusses the language, the concrete images she employs to characterize the language additionally characterize the nation and American culture.  

“hotrod,/ hotdog, hot flash vocabulary of the U.S. of A,/”

“Cheetoes, Cheerios, chili dog diatribes…”

Both lines contain nouns typically associated with the American culture with which the speaker uses as adjective to describe language components. Ultimately, the ode functions as a commentary on the American culture, or at least what this speaker believes defines America. 

However much I enjoy the undertones of cultural analysis found in this poem, I simply love the ode mainly for the way it reads.  When Hamby emphasizes the uniqueness of American English with her great variety of literary elements, I remember how fun it can be simply to hear English, and I recall what makes me love this language I speak—the harsh, sometimes awkward, but generally beautiful sounds of American English.