I thank you god
i thank YOU God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-- lifted from the no
of all nothing-- human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
-E.E. Cummings
Like all of E.E. Cummings' poems, this one has a very unusual style and many grammatical errors like Cormac McCarthy uses in "The Road." This poem thanks God for everything natural and infinite and positive- or, as he says it, "yes." He asks how humans who interact with everything that is "no" can doubt the existence of God. He is thankful for believing and having his ears and eyes awake and open.
The antecedant scenario may have been a renewal of his faith in his god.
Using parenthesis, colons, semi-colons, and commas (or lack thereof) gives accentuation to certain words and phrases. He brings attention to "YOU" by putting it in all capital letters to show that his thankfulness is large and directed at his god. He does not not capitalize "i" or any other letters except for "God" and "You." This makes God seem to be more significant than the narrator or E.E. Cummings himself.
This poem is pretty easy to understand, but I'm not exactly sure that I understand the second stanza completely.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Sunday, December 4, 2011
"The Snow Man" Poetry Blog.
The Snow Man
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold along time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
-Wallace Stevens
"The Snow Man" is a poem that describes winter. It tells us that only people who have truly experienced winter and "had a mind of winter" can see the beauty of it. Many people see the snow and cold and wind and see it as an ugly day. Only people that know can see the beauty of these things. The "snow man" is a part of winter, yet he isn't really anything; because of this, he beholds everything that exists before him and at the same time doesn't because he isn't really alive. To understand winter, we have to be like the snow man, or, at least, this is how I interpreted the poem. I found it a little confusing.
For the antecedant scenario, Wallace Stevens may have been thinking about winter, or perhaps looking outside and taking into mind the different perceptions of winter: a beautiful, sparkling wonderland or a freezing, disgusting outsider.
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold along time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
-Wallace Stevens
"The Snow Man" is a poem that describes winter. It tells us that only people who have truly experienced winter and "had a mind of winter" can see the beauty of it. Many people see the snow and cold and wind and see it as an ugly day. Only people that know can see the beauty of these things. The "snow man" is a part of winter, yet he isn't really anything; because of this, he beholds everything that exists before him and at the same time doesn't because he isn't really alive. To understand winter, we have to be like the snow man, or, at least, this is how I interpreted the poem. I found it a little confusing.
For the antecedant scenario, Wallace Stevens may have been thinking about winter, or perhaps looking outside and taking into mind the different perceptions of winter: a beautiful, sparkling wonderland or a freezing, disgusting outsider.
"A Work of Artifice" Poetry Blog.
A Work of Artifice
The bonsai tree
in the attractive pot
could have grown eighty feet tall
on the side of a mountain
till split by lightning.
But a gardener
carefully pruned it.
It is nine inches high.
Every day as he
whittles back the branches
the gardener croons,
It is your nature
to be small and cozy,
domestic and weak;
how lucky, little tree,
to have a pot to grow in.
With living creatures
one must begin very early
to dwarf their growth:
the bound feet,
the crippled brain,
the hair in curlers
the hands you
love to touch.
-Marge Piercy
On the surface, this is a poem about those small, nicely pruned bonsai trees. The trees could grow to be very tall, but a gardener carefully spends his time to dwarf it and shape it into what he wants it to be. Looking deeper, this poem could be seen as a commentary on the treatment of asian women. These lines: "the bound feet, the crippled brain, the hair in curlers the hands you love to touch" definitely imply physical aspects of asian women. By binding their feet, crippling their brains, and making their hair pretty the men of their society dwarf and prune them like bonsai trees to make them the perfect little women that they desire.
The style of this poem is simple with short sentences; it is not overly flowery. This style helps the meaning of the poem because it reinforces the themes of smallness and control.
The antecedant scenario may have been Marge Piercy thinking of a comparison to the atrocious treatment of women in China and other asian countires. She might have been thinking about these women and decided she wanted to write a poem that brought attention to the issue in an interesting way.
The bonsai tree
in the attractive pot
could have grown eighty feet tall
on the side of a mountain
till split by lightning.
But a gardener
carefully pruned it.
It is nine inches high.
Every day as he
whittles back the branches
the gardener croons,
It is your nature
to be small and cozy,
domestic and weak;
how lucky, little tree,
to have a pot to grow in.
With living creatures
one must begin very early
to dwarf their growth:
the bound feet,
the crippled brain,
the hair in curlers
the hands you
love to touch.
-Marge Piercy
On the surface, this is a poem about those small, nicely pruned bonsai trees. The trees could grow to be very tall, but a gardener carefully spends his time to dwarf it and shape it into what he wants it to be. Looking deeper, this poem could be seen as a commentary on the treatment of asian women. These lines: "the bound feet, the crippled brain, the hair in curlers the hands you love to touch" definitely imply physical aspects of asian women. By binding their feet, crippling their brains, and making their hair pretty the men of their society dwarf and prune them like bonsai trees to make them the perfect little women that they desire.
The style of this poem is simple with short sentences; it is not overly flowery. This style helps the meaning of the poem because it reinforces the themes of smallness and control.
The antecedant scenario may have been Marge Piercy thinking of a comparison to the atrocious treatment of women in China and other asian countires. She might have been thinking about these women and decided she wanted to write a poem that brought attention to the issue in an interesting way.
"I'm a Bad Vegetarian" Pie Day Poetry Blog.
Gobble, gobble! Mr. Turkey!
Mr. Turkey doesn't want to die.
He trots away into the murky
distance and lets out a sigh.
Oh no! Here come the rifles
and fat, hungry men.
Mr. Turkey- a breath he stifles
and he knows this is when
He will die
and be served on a table
beside stuffing and pie
like the Thanksgiving fable.
And so ends the life
of Mr. Turkey with barely a fuss.
Now he's under a knife
and in my esophagus.
Mr. Turkey doesn't want to die.
He trots away into the murky
distance and lets out a sigh.
Oh no! Here come the rifles
and fat, hungry men.
Mr. Turkey- a breath he stifles
and he knows this is when
He will die
and be served on a table
beside stuffing and pie
like the Thanksgiving fable.
And so ends the life
of Mr. Turkey with barely a fuss.
Now he's under a knife
and in my esophagus.
Monday, November 14, 2011
"Unveiling" Poetry Blog (11/13).
UnveilingIn the cemetery
a mile away
from where we used to live
my aunts and mother,
my father and uncles lie
in two long rows almost the way
they used to sit around
the long planed table
at family dinners.
And walking beside
the graves today, down
one straight path
and up the next,
I don't feel sad
for them, just left out a bit
as if they kept
from me the kind
of grown-up secret
they used to share
back then, something
I'm not quite ready yet to learn.
-Linda Pastan
This is a very simple poem. It doesn't have any specific or special or flowery structures; it is simply 22 lines of run on sentences. The meaning is not difficult to discern, it is simply about the speaker's family who are dead and in a row in a cemetary where they used to live together. The speaker doesn't feel sad when he walks past their graves, rather a little jealous- as if they are all part of a secret that he can't know just yet. That idea is new to me, and it is different and a little depressing in some ways. The simple structure of the poem seems to fit with the simplicity of death- there's nothing overdone or formal about it, it just happens.
The antecedant scenario is most likely Linda Pastan contemplating death in a new light or thinking about her passed away loved ones who she has yet to join. Maybe she sees that as being unfair like the speaker in this poem does.
a mile away
from where we used to live
my aunts and mother,
my father and uncles lie
in two long rows almost the way
they used to sit around
the long planed table
at family dinners.
And walking beside
the graves today, down
one straight path
and up the next,
I don't feel sad
for them, just left out a bit
as if they kept
from me the kind
of grown-up secret
they used to share
back then, something
I'm not quite ready yet to learn.
-Linda Pastan
This is a very simple poem. It doesn't have any specific or special or flowery structures; it is simply 22 lines of run on sentences. The meaning is not difficult to discern, it is simply about the speaker's family who are dead and in a row in a cemetary where they used to live together. The speaker doesn't feel sad when he walks past their graves, rather a little jealous- as if they are all part of a secret that he can't know just yet. That idea is new to me, and it is different and a little depressing in some ways. The simple structure of the poem seems to fit with the simplicity of death- there's nothing overdone or formal about it, it just happens.
The antecedant scenario is most likely Linda Pastan contemplating death in a new light or thinking about her passed away loved ones who she has yet to join. Maybe she sees that as being unfair like the speaker in this poem does.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
"Disillusionment at Ten O'Clock" Poetry Blog.
Disillusionment at Ten O'Clock.
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green.
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings,
None of them are strange
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
In red weather.
-Wallace Stevens
First off, this poem confused me thoroughly, but I think that's part of the meaning that goes along with the title itself. The word "ceintures" was unfamiliar to me, so I looked it up and it means a girdle or belt. I didn't understand the colored night-gowns at all.
I think it means that most people are the same and not fancy at night, and only the old "sailor" with experiences has strange and more exciting dreams. The antecedant scenario could be Wallace Stevens being awake himself late at night and feeling this disillusionment, or perhaps he was merely thinking about how people are at night. The overall tone of this poem is whimsical, trippy, or heavy like sleep itself. The descriptions, examples, and words used add to this tone because they feel strange and like "disillusionment at ten o'clock."
"None are green. Or purple with green... with blue rings...." I did not understand this section of the poem at all. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to understand or if I'm overthinking it, but I'd like to know what Stevens is trying to say here.
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green.
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings,
None of them are strange
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
In red weather.
-Wallace Stevens
First off, this poem confused me thoroughly, but I think that's part of the meaning that goes along with the title itself. The word "ceintures" was unfamiliar to me, so I looked it up and it means a girdle or belt. I didn't understand the colored night-gowns at all.
I think it means that most people are the same and not fancy at night, and only the old "sailor" with experiences has strange and more exciting dreams. The antecedant scenario could be Wallace Stevens being awake himself late at night and feeling this disillusionment, or perhaps he was merely thinking about how people are at night. The overall tone of this poem is whimsical, trippy, or heavy like sleep itself. The descriptions, examples, and words used add to this tone because they feel strange and like "disillusionment at ten o'clock."
"None are green. Or purple with green... with blue rings...." I did not understand this section of the poem at all. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to understand or if I'm overthinking it, but I'd like to know what Stevens is trying to say here.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
"The Possibility" Poetry Blog.
The Possibility
The lizard on the wall, engrossed,
The sudden silence from the wood
Are telling me that I have lost
The possibility of good.
I know this flower is beautiful
And yesterday it seemed to be,
It opened like a crimson hand.
It was not beautiful to me.
I know that work is beautiful.
It is a boon. It is a good.
Unless my working were a way
Of squandering my solitude.
And solitude was beautiful
When I was sure that I was strong.
I thought it was a medium
In which to grow, but I was wrong.
The jays are swearing in the wood.
The lizard moves with ugly speed.
The flower closes like a fist.
The possibility recedes.
The sudden silence from the wood
Are telling me that I have lost
The possibility of good.
I know this flower is beautiful
And yesterday it seemed to be,
It opened like a crimson hand.
It was not beautiful to me.
I know that work is beautiful.
It is a boon. It is a good.
Unless my working were a way
Of squandering my solitude.
And solitude was beautiful
When I was sure that I was strong.
I thought it was a medium
In which to grow, but I was wrong.
The jays are swearing in the wood.
The lizard moves with ugly speed.
The flower closes like a fist.
The possibility recedes.
-James Fenton
This poem is basically about a person's view on beauty and they are seeing it in an unusual way. James Fenton describes things that used to be beautiful, but now they are ruined because something about himself changed. The rhythm and rhyme makes the poem flow really well and it fits the idea; it flows like beauty, although, each stanza ends strongly with a different sound and feeling than it began with. The antecedant scenario may have been James Fenton contemplating beauty, the changes in his life that have made things uglier, or a new viewpoint of beauty itself. The tone is honest, a little melancholy, and reflective. It makes me wonder and feel a bit sad.
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