Number 257: Elizabeth Bishop "Sestina"

Sestina

September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.

She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,

It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac

on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.

It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.

But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.

Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.

-- Elizabeth Bishop

Hap Notes: I was looking something up in the Farmer's Almanac yesterday and the words "September" and "almanac" triggered the memory of this haunting sestina by Bishop. The sestina is a very difficult and intricate form of a poem designed by a poet/ mathematician (of course) and troubador named Arnaut Daniel. It calls upon the writer to us the same words in a set pattern for six stanzas in six lines followed by a three line envoy.

It's very tricky and hard to accomplish so that it makes a whit of sense but if you want to try it, remember that each of the six lines must repeat their words at the end of the line in this pattern (the first lines are numbered 1-6): 123456, second stanza is 615243, the third is 364125, the fourth is 532614, the fifth is 451362, and and the sixth and last stanza is 246531. The final tercet has 6 and 2 in its first line, its second 1 and 4, and its third 5 and 3. Even easier, go to dilute.net/sestinas/index.php where a poet has thoughtfully provided a template generator for the verses (I urge you to use this- it's a wonderful brain saver.)

Using the form is tricky enough to be justifiably proud of but making it lilt with such beauty and meaning as Bishop does is amazing.

In the poem, what is going on here? Why are there so many tears? Remember that Bishop grew up at her grandmother's house (see our first blog on Bishop here for details: happopoemouse.blogspot.com/2011/01/number-34-elizabeth-bishop-filling.html), among others because after her father died, her mother suffered from mental illness and was institutionalized.

A Marvel stove is a small stove made for warming and cooking. I have a picture of such a stove on this page today.

Equinoctial is an interesting word which means equally balanced (like the equator) or a storm taking place near the equinox. There's a math problem in here somewhere for those familiar with the equinox and the sestina's numeric lines but I'm only smart enough to see it, not solve it.

This poem is just loaded with images and ideas, yes?


Here is where we have also talked about Bishop: happopoemouse.blogspot.com/2011/03/number-111-elizabeth-bishop-one-art.html

and here: happopoemouse.blogspot.com/2011/02/number-80-elizabeth-bishop-invitation.html

Number 256: Charles Bukowski "The Laughing Heart"

The Laughing Heart

your life is your life

don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.

be on the watch.

there are ways out.

there is a light somewhere.

it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.

be on the watch.

the gods will offer you chances.

know them.

take them.

you can’t beat death but

you can beat death in life, sometimes.

and the more often you learn to do it,

the more light there will be.

your life is your life.

know it while you have it.

you are marvelous

the gods wait to delight

in you.


-- Charles Bukowski

Hap Notes: Well now, this poem is a big window into the compassionate heart of Charles Bukowski, whose gruff and often ribald public persona dominates his reputation. Bukowski had plenty of what the nine-to-five world would call troubles and what the world of struggling artists would call, ironically, "business as usual." Doubly ironic because the "business" of being who you really are is the hardest and most frustrating job you will ever tackle and does not really resemble business in any way.

The business world has co-opted phrases like "coloring outside of the lines," "thinking outside of the box," "pushing the envelope," "left brain thinking" to illustrate their own "creativity." One assumes these phrases are used to placate their discomfort with selling their souls to the devil. So let's them have them, even though it's a very clever way of clubbing themselves into submission.

No, what Bukowski is talking about is the frustrating life of someone who has a drive to do something which may or may not ever be successful. If you are an artist and you are always working at your vocation/avocation with relatively little remuneration or what the nine-to-five world would call "success" what you do get is your life, your own life.

Yes, but, Hap, those nine-to-five people keep the world going, keep things moving, allowing artists to live on the fringes. Everybody can't be creative, can they? Everybody can't be satisfied with what they've chosen do to, can they? Well, quite frankly, sure they can but the kind of dismantling of contemporary culture that would have to take place in order for that to happen makes my head hurt just thinking about it. We'd all have to agree to give up some things, live a little differently and choose to be happy. As long as there are people who think making money is actually making something real and significant, this ain't gonna happen. (Quick– name the richest person from Van Gogh's era, or Tolstoy's, or even Bukowski's. Who the hell cares?)

So what is Bukowski talking about by saying "the gods will offer you chances"? It's probably not wealth, but it does mean survival. It may not mean "success" but it does mean the satisfaction of doing something you have a fire within to do. It may not mean recognition but it may mean the appreciation of a few people who understand your work. It will be enough to help you to continue.

If you've ever looked up at the night sky with its stars and galaxies and been filled with awe and wonder and inspiration, you are experiencing the ride the universe is willing to give you if you will let it. Maybe for you it's not the stars. Maybe it's a car engine or an algebra problem or a crushed up tin can on the side of the road or a bird or a butterfly or a tree that gets you thinking, inspiring you to write or paint or sing or invent. This ride is often slightly dangerous (no net!) and it won't always be exactly what you want it to be but it will be amazing. And the more you feel connected to this cosmic cruise, the more "light there will be."

Because you, and everybody else, has marvelous stuff embedded in them. It's just waiting for us to discover it. Then, hang on for the ride of your life, your own life. This minute. Right now. Your heart will laugh with glee.

Here is where we have talked about Bukowski before: happopoemouse.blogspot.com/2011/01/number-43-charles-bukowski-so-you-want.html

Here is Tom Waits reading today's poem: www.youtube.com/watch?v=va1t6a0zCkQ


The pictures are the "universal form" of Lord Krishna, who reveals himself to his friend and follower Arjuna, in the Bhagavad Gita. Arjuna is, understandably, freaked out by the revelation that Krishna, is the universe, is everyone.

Number 255: Gerard Manley Hopkins "Spring and Fall"

Spring and Fall

to a Young Child

Margaret, are you grieving 

Over Goldengrove unleaving? 

Leaves, like the things of man, you 

With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? 

Ah! as the heart grows older 

It will come to such sights colder 

By and by, nor spare a sigh 

Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie; 

And yet you will weep and know why. 

Now no matter, child, the name: 

Sorrow's springs are the same. 

Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed 

What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed: 

It is the blight man was born for, 

It is Margaret you mourn for.

-- Gerard Manley Hopkins

Hap Notes: This may be Hopkins most easily accessible poem. The autumn season often brings out a sadness in people but here we are dealing with a little girl who mourns the colorful death of the leaves. The poet/speaker tells the girl that he understands that she cares for the trees and the leaves with her "fresh thoughts", her young innocence, but as she grows older, she will see the cycle of life (spring and fall) and will be less emotionally affected – even when it seems the whole world is full of dead leaves in the autumn.

He goes on to say that the girl may be instinctively sensing that the death of the leaves is comparable to our own cycle of life and that may also be a reason for her own weeping. Fall is a reminder of our own mortality.

If you like this interpretation of the poem then go no further. Because I've got a fairly strong limb I'm going to go out on here. I don't want to ruin the poem for those that are satisfied (and quite rightly, too, it's a wonderful poem) with the depth it contains from this fairly traditional reading. Gerard Manley Hopkins was a devout Catholic priest so if you don't want to hear the "God stuff" stop right here. (I will not call you a Godless libertine if you do. However I will think you are a chicken for not manning up to the idea that God exists in this poem.)

Here goes my limb-walking ( don't try this at home kids) : Note the title of this poem. What in the world does it have to do with spring, I wonder? Sure it's part of the seasonal cycle but what does it imply by being there? Rebirth, maybe? And how does a mere mortal get rebirth? And what is the plight man is born for as expressed in Genesis? And what is this "ghost" in the girl that guesses this is the plight man was born for – can you think of anything holy that is spoken of as a ghost or spirit?

This "goldengrove" makes the scene seem a bit idyllic, yes? What place is idyllic in the bible? Could this be a nod toward Eden? And then, what is Margaret also weeping about? Maybe the fall of man from grace? And that this is our legacy? "And sorrows springs are the same" – could this mean that all of our sorrows come from the same source- the fall of man, which has led to all of our troubles? And as we "come to sights colder," are we just becoming the sinners with less and less innocence? Could Margaret be mourning this as well?

Okay, let's say you buy all this. Why would spring be in this poem? For that, I'm going out on a bit more of a fragile limb. The lines in the poem " Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed/What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed" immediately struck me as similar to a passage of the letter of Paul to the Corinthians: " the Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him."

Also, there's the double entendre of "springs" as a season. Sorrow's season of spring has the same heartbreak within it because of the "fall" of man and the sacrifice that Jesus must make to save us, that his resurrection (after suffering) lets us live anew.

So there's something of the resurrection in this poem, out on this limb, in the title. Could this child, who morns the loss of the leaves. be also mourning the passion of Jesus? Could this whole poem be an allegory for the sorrow one feels at man's sinfulness and the lengths that God has to go to save us with Jesus? So we are mourning the plight of man and moved by the unlimited mercy of God?

Okay. You don't have to think of this poem as being specifically religious and all my tree-climbing to go out on some interpretive limbs may strike you as completely wrong.

Still, it's a wonderful poem no matter what your interpretation is, isn't it?

Here is where we have talked about Hopkins before:

happopoemouse.blogspot.com/2011/04/number-135-gerard-manley-hopkins-that.html

and here

happopoemouse.blogspot.com/2011/04/number-121-gerard-manley-hopkins-spring.html

and here

/happopoemouse.blogspot.com/2011/02/number-67-gerard-manley-hopkins.html

and here

happopoemouse.blogspot.com/2011/01/number-30-gerard-manly-hopkins-thou.html

Hard to read Hopkins body of work without seeing God in it, though, isn't it?

Number 254: Wislawa Szymborska "Seen From Above"

Seen From Above

On a dirt road lies a dead beetle.
Three pairs of legs carefully folded on his belly.

Instead of death's chaos – neatness and order.

The horror of this sight is mitigated,

the range strictly local, from witchgrass grass to spearmint.

Sadness is not contagious.

The sky is blue.

For our peace of mind, their death seemingly shallower,
animals do not pass away, but simply die,
losng – we wish to believe – less awareness and the world,
leaving – it seems to us – a stage less tragic.
Their humble little souls do not haunt our dreams,
they keep their distance,
know their place.

So here lies the dead beetle on the road,
glistens unlamented when the sun hits.
A glance at him is as good as a thought:
he looks as though nothing important had befallen him.
What's important is valid supposedly for us.
For just our life, for just our death,
a death that enjoys an extorted primacy.

--Wislawa Szymborska
(translated by Magnus J. Krynski and Robert A. Maguire)

Hap Notes: Ah, the superiority of large creatures! How we love to think that our lives have meaning and thoughts and philosophies and other creatures do not. It's interesting to note that much that we have learned about other creatures in the last 50 years supports the idea that they converse in their own ways. The Human Genome Project shows that we have a good deal in common with the worm.

I don't exactly know why people are repulsed by, let alone not sympathetic to, insects. They are so fascinating and often quite beautiful. Remember the James K. Baxter Poem we did about the wild bees? (Here it is if you want a refresher: happopoemouse.blogspot.com/2011/04/number-117-james-k-baxter-wild-bees.html) See where he compares the raiding of a bee hive to the siege of Carthage? Why do we think we are superior to other creatures? And for those thinking of the Bible and all that "man will have dominion over the earth," one wonders if that phrase doesn't carry with it a heavy responsibility?

I'm not suggesting that you invite a spider to tea or have a cluster of ladybugs over for dinner (although that would be mighty nice of you) but each creature has function and meaning on the planet, do they not? This planet is whirling with tangles of the births and deaths of millions of creatures every day. Isn't that an amazing miracle when one thinks of the stages needed to create or kill any living organism? Makes your head spin, doesn't it?

The universe is a very busy place. It's not a bad idea to stop and rejoice/lament all this with an open heart.

Note the title of this poem. What does it imply aside from our obvious height difference with a beetle?

Here's where we've talked about Szymborska before: happopoemouse.blogspot.com/2011/07/number-219-wislawa-szymborska-some.html

The masthead, in addition to a dead beetle (I believe it's a Stag Beetle), features a picture of witchgrass and also, jewelry made from dead beetles. It's cool looking stuff but the idea of using dead creatures for adornment is somewhat abhorrent and speaks directly to the point of the poem, does it not?
(Here's where I found the jewelry: www.amazon.com/Dead-Beetle-Bracelet-Small-violet/dp/B000IA0PC0/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top/180-4522757-9739351)

Number 253: Hilaire Belloc "The Frog"

The Frog

Be kind and tender to the Frog,
And do not call him names,
As ‘Slimy skin,’ or ‘Polly-wog,’
Or likewise ‘Ugly James,’
Or ‘Gape-a-grin,’ or ‘Toad-gone-wrong,’
Or ‘Billy Bandy-knees’:
The Frog is justly sensitive
To epithets like these.
No animal will more repay
A treatment kind and fair;
At least so lonely people say
Who keep a frog (and, by the way,
They are extremely rare).

-- Hilaire Belloc

Hap Notes: Joseph Hilaire Pierre René Belloc (1879-1953) was a highly intelligent and controversial essayist and historian in addition to being a poet of "children's verse." Belloc's verses for children, however, do not claim a shred of intention of being exclusively for children with titles like "Henry King, Who chewed bits of string and was early cut off in dreadful agonies"and "Rebecca, who slammed doors for fun and perished miserably." Roald Dahl, unsurprisingly, was a fan of his verse. Belloc, however, is first and foremost considered one of the most influential essayists of the Edwardian era and is placed with H.G. Wells (with whom he had battles in essay form), George Bernard Shaw and G.K. Chesterton.

Hemingway was somewhat of an admirer of Belloc and mentions him in A Moveable Feast in the passages about Ford Maddox Ford. (I remembered this and re-read the book last night only to find out that it wasn't actually Belloc that Ford had "cut" with a look. It was still a great read.)

Belloc held controversial and conservative views, however his book, The Jews (1922), tainted as it is with a sort of anti-semitism, accurately predicted Hitler, long before he took power. Belloc wrote many histories and historical biographies. His political views are not easily summed up but I suppose it's fair to say he was contemptuous of the modern world.

His books of children's poetry certain presage the dark titles of Lemony Snicket's (Daniel Handler)"A Series of Unfortunate Events" with titles like "Cautionary Tales For Children: Designed for the Admonition of Children Between the Ages of Eight and Fourteen Years" and "The Bad Child's Book of Beasts" and "More Beasts For Worse Children."

Here's a good Belloc quote: "Is there no Latin word for Tea? Upon my soul, if I had known that I would have let the vulgar stuff alone. "

and another: "Every major question in history is a religious question. It has more effect in molding life than nationalism or a common language. "

and his famous couplet: "When I am dead, I hope it may be said:/ His sins were scarlet, but his books were read. "

Here's our Saturday cartoons and songs (SO many froggy things it was hard to choose!):

Here's Ub Iwerks' "Flip the Frog" with music by Carl Stallings- "The Soup Song"
www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGd7RKSRlFo&feature=related

Had to have one Kermit. Here he is tap dancing (sorta): www.youtube.com/watch?v=kB890fs3GMU

Crazy Frogs with 'The Ding Dong Song": www.youtube.com/watch?v=5fju_XcUhqo

A Favorite of mine from Liam Lynch's podcast- "The Frog Song": www.youtube.com/watch?v=lfFGXG2-6kg&feature=related

Arnold Lobel's Frog and Toad stories in stop motion animation- here is the "cookie" story: www.youtube.com/watch?v=bhYh1eZh1Ew&feature=related (side note my brother always said that he was Frog and I was Toad. This episode illustrates clearly why that is true.)

The Rupert cartoons on Disney featured Paul McCartney music. Here's his song for the frog concert in the series: www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4xeidmjy6s&feature=related

Les Claypool, the frontman for the band Primus, is a multi-faceted musician (and person) here's Les Claypool's Frog Brigade with "Up On The Roof": /www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-bBN7WfiSU&feature=related

And, if you can stand one more, a short section from Sondheim's musical based on Aristophanes' The Frogs: www.youtube.com/watch?v=my8aIfgvtbM&feature=related

Number 252: William Lloyd Garrison "Freedom For The Mind"

Freedom For The Mind

High walls and huge the body may confine,
And iron grates obstruct the prisoner's gaze,
And massive bolts may baffle his design,
And vigilant keepers watch his devious ways:
Yet scorns the immortal mind this base control!
No chains can bind it, and no cell enclose:
Swifter than light, it flies from pole to pole,
And, in a flash, from earth to heaven it goes!
It leaps from mount to mount –from vale to vale
It wanders, plucking honeyed fruits and flowers;
It visits home, to hear the fireside tale,
Or in sweet converse pass the joyous hours.
'Tis up before the sun, roaming afar,
And, in its watches, wearies every star!

-- William Lloyd Garrison

Hap Notes: William Lloyd Garrison (1805-1879) is certainly famous but not for writing poetry, although this poem is much anthologized. Garrison was an abolitionist and life-long journalist who bravely fought for the abolition of slavery and for women's rights. He was a great believer in the equality of all and he put his money, and often his life, where his mouth was.

Garrison is probably most noted for his abolitionist newspaper, The Liberator, and for founding the American Anti-Slavery Society. He was a tireless lecturer and crusader for equal rights for Blacks and for the abolition of slavery (two separate issues and he felt that after slavery was abolished a new system should be set up to make sure freed slaves got their rights.) He often narrowly escaped lynching after some of his lectures. He endured a plethora of death threats and hostility from pro-slavery adherents. Some Southern churches actually had a price on his head.

Garrison spent a couple of months in prison so he knows whereof he speaks in today's poem. In point of fact, no one can access your brain unless you allow it. Advertisers and politicos try with all their resources (which are considerable) to get into your though processes and it's amazing how often they succeed in altering the thoughts of the unguarded mind.

As the poem states, you are free to think whatever you choose. Ah, and there's the rub, eh? If one chooses to believe the malarkey that advertisers constantly rain down upon the public or if one listens to the drivel of uninformed political types, one is free to think what they say is true, also. (A friend of mine recently said that Rick Perry was described as an "Old Testament Christian", which is, of course, an oxymoron but that won't stop people from thinking it or saying it.) So that's the downside of being a responsible-to-yourself thinker – muddy statements that "sound" like they have some merit.

The up side is that no matter where you are, you can think what you want, dream of a better place, imagine a different landscape. You can be flying to the moon as you sit on the porch, you can be in a cozy, warm house while you stand, freezing, at the bus stop, you can be talking to the clouds when it looks like you are watching television. Thoughts are the ultimate virtual reality and they need no computer to generate them.

This is one of those old time poems that teachers would trot out to illustrate the power of positive thinking. When I was a kid, my third grade teacher, Mrs. Campbell, used to recite a shorter and similar Frederick Langbridge verse. Do you remember this one?:

Two men looked out from prison bars,
One saw mud, the other saw stars.

Most of the time Langbridge's (I've never found the poem it came from) and Garrison's poem are whipped out to placate a complainer but the verses, which are about point of view, are also about consciousness and how present in the mind one chooses to be. I would caution all who use these verse to comfort themselves that there is a responsibility implicit in them that goes beyond just "looking on the bright side."

Of course, there's nothing particularly bad about looking on the bright side as long as it doesn't blind you to injustices and troubles you could remedy. Garrison's life stands as a testimony to holding fast to your beliefs and living the principles you espouse.

Here's a famous Garrison quote: "All Christendom professes to receive the Bible as the word of God, and what does it avail?”

You won't find more Garrison poetry but you will find some of his work from The Liberator here: www.theliberatorfiles.com/site-directory/

Number 251; Ruth L. Schwartz "Important Thing"

Important Thing

I've always loved the way pelicans dive,
as if each silver fish they see
were the goddamned most important
thing they've ever wanted on this earth --
and just tonight I learned sometimes
they go blind doing it,
that straight-down dive like someone jumping
from a rooftop, only happier,
plummeting like Icarus, but more triumphant --
there is the undulating fish,
the gleaming sea,
there is the chance to taste again
the kind of joy which can be eaten whole,
and this is how they know to reach it,
head-first, high-speed, risking everything,

and some of the time they come back up
as if it were nothing, they bob on the water,
silver fish like stogies angled
rakishly in their wide beaks,
-- then the enormous
stretching of the throat,
then the slow unfolding
of the great wings,
as if it were nothing, sometimes they do this
a hundred times or more a day,
as long as they can see, they rise
back into the sky
to begin again --

and when they can't?

We know, of course, what happens,
they starve to death, not a metaphor, not a poem in it;
this goes on every day of our lives,

and the man whose melting wings

spatter like a hundred dripping candles

over everything,



and the suicide who glimpses, in the final

seconds of her fall,

all the other lives she might have lived.



The ending doesn't have to be happy.

The hunger itself is the thing.

-- Ruth L. Schwartz

Hap Notes: While the pelican does not go blind from just diving, they can go blind from polluted water and avian botulism (caused by eating diseased fish in water that lacks oxygen due to pollution etc.) The botulism also causes paralysis so severe that the bird cannot hold its head up and he will drown. These facts do not particularly impact the poem as the pelicans are still blinded by their need, their fervor, their hunger. (And as this poem is from Schwartz's book, Edgewater, it deals with the water of Lake Erie in Cleveland at Edgewater Park, which, at one time, had a pollution problem.)

I love the image of the fish in the mouth of a pelican looking like a cigar. It's funny and rings true, too, doesn't it? But what Schwartz is actually dealing with in this poem is the will to life, to live, to feel, to hunger, to want and how that will keeps us going, no matter what.

We have talked about Icarus before (and his wings made of wax and feathers and how he flew too close to the sun) with the Auden poem here: happopoemouse.blogspot.com/2011/03/number-92-whauden-musee-des-beaux-arts.html

There is some jumping going on in this poem with both the pelicans and the suicide attempt. One jump seems alert and joyful, the other a bit rueful. But the motives for both jumps are that hunger, that desire. The pelicans need the food to live, the suicidal woman hungers for something that she needs to live, too, doesn't she? And how many of us consider the alternate paths we could have taken to sate our hungers?

According to the poet, what is the "Important Thing" in this poem? What is it for you?

Here is where we have talked about Schwartz before: happopoemouse.blogspot.com/2011/04/number-119-ruth-l-schwartz-swan-at.html