I've decided that since I'm home sick tonight, and reading lots of interesting things, I'd come up with a way to share some. I've been meaning to do something along this line for a while, and why not? So I will start a regular, daily column, and provide you with a poem or two I've discovered, or an old favorite, for your reading enjoyment, and perhaps with a brief discussion. Also, we will see if I am able to maintain this daily practice for any length of time. I give it until this weekend, but nevertheless I'll try to post daily.
I will choose freely from any and every source I can find, including famous and not-so-famous poets, people I know and myself, and try to offer as broad a selection of styles as I can gather, keeping in mind that the collection is governed by my own taste. I will tag anyone that I think might be interested.
The inaugural poem is by noted insurance salesman Wallace Stevens, not my favorite of his but a nice one to start on, as there is much going on. Keep in mind also that this was written back in the glory days of sexism, and Stevens, for what we know, was Don Draper. And that's interesting, but the thing that draws me to this poem can best be experienced thus: read it aloud. Feel the sounds in your mouth.
THE EMPEROR OF ICE-CREAM
Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
-Wallace Stevens
And since it's the first column, I'll do another, one of my very favorite pieces ever and a real treat the first time you read it. It's the frontispiece of Mary Oliver's "A Poetry Handbook," which is a masterpiece in itself. The poem is the embodiment of what great haiku is capable of, great leaps of imagination and broad expansions of visual power using the very smallest and subtlest of tools. Great haiku is like a great magic trick: there's the first stroke, a brief setting up; the second stroke, things that are not are shown to be, the reader is not deceived but directed; and the third stroke, the entire context of the piece's perception is altered, subverted, simply and quickly and without pretense. It's even referred to as the "aha!" moment. Take a deep breath, and go:
The temple bell stops -
but the sound keeps coming
out of the flowers.
-Matsuo Basho, trans. by Robert Bly
More tomorrow.
Legal notice:
Some may feel that the inclusion of works not in the public domain is a violation of the fair-use doctrine of US copyright law. I obviously do not agree, but I will gladly defer to the wishes of the rightsholder, and if anyone wishes for a post of their work or work for which they own the intellectual rights, they may ask for its removal and it will be so. I claim no ownership and have no rights as to the works I will be posting, save for any that were written by me.
I will choose freely from any and every source I can find, including famous and not-so-famous poets, people I know and myself, and try to offer as broad a selection of styles as I can gather, keeping in mind that the collection is governed by my own taste. I will tag anyone that I think might be interested.
The inaugural poem is by noted insurance salesman Wallace Stevens, not my favorite of his but a nice one to start on, as there is much going on. Keep in mind also that this was written back in the glory days of sexism, and Stevens, for what we know, was Don Draper. And that's interesting, but the thing that draws me to this poem can best be experienced thus: read it aloud. Feel the sounds in your mouth.
THE EMPEROR OF ICE-CREAM
Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
-Wallace Stevens
And since it's the first column, I'll do another, one of my very favorite pieces ever and a real treat the first time you read it. It's the frontispiece of Mary Oliver's "A Poetry Handbook," which is a masterpiece in itself. The poem is the embodiment of what great haiku is capable of, great leaps of imagination and broad expansions of visual power using the very smallest and subtlest of tools. Great haiku is like a great magic trick: there's the first stroke, a brief setting up; the second stroke, things that are not are shown to be, the reader is not deceived but directed; and the third stroke, the entire context of the piece's perception is altered, subverted, simply and quickly and without pretense. It's even referred to as the "aha!" moment. Take a deep breath, and go:
The temple bell stops -
but the sound keeps coming
out of the flowers.
-Matsuo Basho, trans. by Robert Bly
More tomorrow.
Legal notice:
Some may feel that the inclusion of works not in the public domain is a violation of the fair-use doctrine of US copyright law. I obviously do not agree, but I will gladly defer to the wishes of the rightsholder, and if anyone wishes for a post of their work or work for which they own the intellectual rights, they may ask for its removal and it will be so. I claim no ownership and have no rights as to the works I will be posting, save for any that were written by me.
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