Poetry: The last chance

Poststructural Pub
1

Thanks for indulging me in my love of poetry.

I am reading Allan Peterson’s new book, All the Lavish in Common, which is wonderful. It is has been my pleasure to correspond with Allan and to publish a good bit of his work on Right Hand Pointing, and there’s no living poet I love to read more than Allan.

Just when I would think there couldn’t possibly be a fresh way to write about, well, love at first sight, here comes Allan, in the poem “Viscosity”:

When I first saw Frances in the printmaking studio
at Southern Illinois,
the light shafts began to solidify, the tray of nitric tightened
to its bubbles, the room thickened
and stayed with me.
Now after forty years nothing aromatic has reached the ceiling,
nothing then falling reached the floor


I told Bloomfield that if I lived to be a thousand years old, it would never have occurred to me to use the word “aromatic” there. Perfect.

I’ve been reading the great Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa. I ran across these lines, translated by Jonathan Griffin, and it occurred to me that for people who think they don’t like poetry, this could be a final test of that feeling about poetry. In other words, if you can’t see the beauty in this, you definitely do not like poetry.


I take myself indoors and shut the window.
They bring the lamp and give me goodnight,
And my contented voice gives them goodnight.
O that my life may always be this:
The day full of sun, or soft with rain,
Or stormy as if the world were coming to an end,
The evening soft and the groups of people passing
Watched with interest from the window,
The last friendly look given to the calm of the trees,
And then, the window shut, the lamp lit,
Not reading anything, nor thinking of anything, nor sleeping,
To feel life flowing over me like a stream over its bed,
And out there a great silence like a god asleep.

2

Of course I admire the skill of writing good poetry, but perhaps even more, I admire the skill of translating poetry. I’ve only tried a few times. It’s so difficult (for me at least).

I especially like the first one.

3

Wow, that first one is really wonderful. I’ll have to go and find that book now, I think.

4

Viscosity–love it. It’s the height of art when every word is chosen with that level of precision..and yet the entire poem reads as though created without effort. And you’re right, the image is extraordinary. Brilliant.

The Pessoa poem is strikingly lovely, as well. Not familiar with him, so just did a quick google to learn more; now my mind is boggling from the “heteronym” thing… but anyway. That poem has a gentle benevolence that just about breaks my heart. In a good way. A fine ‘litmus test’ for one’s feeling toward poetry, all right.

Thanks, as always, for those thoughtful choices.
:wink:

5

Interesting. :wink:

6

Since this is a poetry thread, this reflection is probably appropriate: one semester a couple years ago, I overheard an English professor tell one of my classmates, “‘Interesting’ is an over-used word. If you can help it, please don’t call something ‘interesting’ when writing in this class. ‘Interesting’ is the word we use to describe ugly babies.”

7

Well, excuse me! How about it’s wonderfully different, and marvelous. :laughing:( I didn’t do very well in my poetry course.Nearly failed.)

8

Dale, thank you for this acid test. I definitely do not like poetry, and now I have proof of it.

I feel so much better about myself. :slight_smile:

djm

9

I don’t like it either. And you just gave me the courage to say it. :stuck_out_tongue:

10

I don’t know anything about poetry obviously. What kind of poem would the second poem be called? Can someone say something about what makes it a poem? I guess like how it’s built and if it is following some rules? Are the stresses on the words in a pattern? This has nothing to do with the beauty question, but I am just wondering what someone could say about these questions.

11

If Dale likes it, it is poetry. :stuck_out_tongue:

12

Others can (and will, I hope) give you some learned and informed and authoritative answers to your questions. I’ll just make a clumsy stab at it until they come along. First, your “what kind” question: I’d say it falls into the very broad category of free verse; 13 lines, with no particular formal pattern of meter or rhyme scheme…at least that came through into this English translation (the fact that it’s a translation makes that analysis a bit risky, though, so I could be totally wrong, there).

As for what makes it a poem…well. I just made a sincere effort to try to answer that… then had to delete about half a page of pompous nonsense. This reminds me of music discussions, like those on this board: You can read and write and talk about music, and debate and analyze and dissect it; but all that has limited meaning in isolation, detached from the music itself. It’s the same with a poem. To answer your question, I have to go beyond structure. Part of what makes it a poem is its visible structure, yes. And its rhythm–best appreciated with reading it aloud, of course. But more important (to me, anyway) is its intent: The attempt to distill emotions or ideas into intensely concentrated language with layers of meaning.

As important as intent is imagery–that’s not unique to poetry, true, but good poetry takes imagery to its highest level, and everything that doesn’t serve that intent is pared away. Pessoa doesn’t just say, “Boy, I’m really content tonight; life sure seems sweet sometimes.” To evoke the desired feeling or understanding in the reader, he sketches the scene with mundane details described in ordinary language: the lamp, the goodnight wishes to friends, the view through the window as evening falls. It’s left for the reader to complete the picture in his mind. Poetry lives in that place where the poet’s words and the reader’s imagination meet. (And yeah, if that meeting doesn’t happen…you don’t like poetry, I suppose).

What I get from this poem is a picture of a man at peace; his quiet acceptance of his world, his place in it, the people around him; the beauty he sees in small things…but there’s more to it than just that: by the end of the poem I have traveled in imagination with him, in a slow, almost dreamy way, as his contentment and gentle vision of life well up and out…far beyond the cozy little lamp-lit room.

Hmmph. Half a page of nonsense again. Well, I tried. :wink:

13

Good Stab, Cynth. I for one liked the second one much more. It captures a mood I’ve thought about trying to capture, but never really even attempted because it is so tenuous.

What makes it poetry? Just CALLING it poetry is the frame around the artwork. These spam emails have curious list of words in them, which can be strangely hypnotic. They aren’t poetry until someone calls them so - like those Objets Trouvées d’Art which were popular in the 1960s.

It is a moot point. Is it poetry or isn’t it? I’m inclined to the view that if even one person (say, the author’s Mother) says they think it’s poetry it IS poetry, and worthy of the name. I’d apply the same criterion to Art, or questionable groupings of music. (But that’s a topic for the contentious forum.)

Of course if a LOT of experienced people say it is poetry, and good poetry, then that carries more weight than the author’s Mother, who might not be impartial.

14

Tik Tiker
my rooftop is attacked
Words on dry bone

15

Since a couple of people mentioned “Viscosity,” I should say that the lines above are from the poem, but it’s a longer poem.

As I said, I love Allan Peterson’s work, but it’s not for everyone, I must say. I don’t do poetry reviews because I fear that I will so grievously mischaracterize the work, but—

When I read Allan’s work it seems to me as if I am overhearing the thoughts of someone who is very smart and very perceptive. If you pay attention to your own thoughts ( :wink: ) you’ll note that they aren’t linear and they don’t sound much like speech or conversation. So, there are times when I have no more than the vaguest sense of what Allan is talking about. But, his talent for the sounds of words and language mean that when I lose touch with what he’s talking about, I just enjoy the language.

I love his new book, which won the 2005 Juniper prize, but if you want to look at some of Allan’s work before you buy:

http://www.righthandpointing.com/allan_peterson/

16

See. I don’t get it. But, I’m glad you feel better about yourself! :slight_smile:

17

I like both of the poems, but the second one “speaks to my condition”, as the Quakers would say, more so than the first one.

I am trying to go back to square one and begin to practice meditation again. I am starting with the basic practice of counting with the breath. The instructions say to count “one” with the first exhale, continue up to five, and then start over again. However, the poetic part of me is not cooperating with this process, as simple as it may seem. I tried it a couple of times yesterday, and I never once got to “five” without getting totally lost in the mental world of sounds and images, as if the numeral “three” was license for the repressed creator within me to have free reign.

18

I have always tried to write a decent poem, but usually to no avail… still, I keep at it. I like both samples of Mr. Peterson’s work.

19

Sounds like it’s not basic enough, Doug.
There are so many ways of meditating you couldn’t count them all.
But I advise you to forget the numbers.
There are three main strands of meditation. They all start with the instruction “Sit quietly.” (Or stand, or lie down.)
Hindu meditation (Yoga meditation) is to concentrate on one idea and keep returning to it.
Buddhist meditation is to concentrate on nothingness. (occasionally on a mantra. Your own name will do. See “Kim” by Kipling.)
Pagan/Tantric meditation is to concentrate on everything. Extend your senses as far as you can while sitting quietly. The impressions you get from this are described by the Buddhists as “maya” (illusion).

It’s probably best to do a Yoga meditation, to start off with.
If you like that kind of thing, you can buy tapes which will talk you through a guided meditation, with suitable new-age music.

20

What is poetry? Playing the music of the word.