I know I hid from growing up, but another
Life far away, is still hidden -
Away from the summer morning station wagon, tan,
Baked inside and vinyl seats too hot to sit in
Sunday, riding to church with my family -
The four of us, in the burning car.
Mom's perfume and flowing dress and earrings dangling,
Papa's buttoned shirt, short sleeved arm holding my clinging brother
We step out, here -
The castle-house church, with crow's nest and spire,
Mom talking, preaching, I sit, look at my books, tuning out -
Hearing bible stories, or sermons I couldn't understand
The flowers, or dried plants, or water -
Israel and the desert, wandering, like my boredom.
I explored the big house-castle building when the sermon was done,
Looking for new places, sometimes alone.
The church had an old tire swing, I would twist around
and wind it up, and spin really fast,
until the world spun too-
Like I did at my house,
but my swing was more fun - Papa made it for me.
The screen door opening out after sitting in church
would give me energy
To launch myself off the concrete porch, onto the front lawn
Running to the corner of the yard, where the tall thin trees
And tangled bushes and grass hid the ditch that would be my fortress.
Myself, and sometimes my brother, where we could be us -
And I could show him this secret place
Where no one else was allowed.
And we didn't have to sit and wait to imagine
Great worlds and battles and adventures or heroes
Or find rocks, or bugs, or toads,
No one else would know about.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Dickinson imitation no. 1
I heard the raindrops falling
The tears of eulogy
Your bitter sorrow rolling down
Veiled cheeks you hid from me
Of sea's hushed voice in evening
Hearts knowing, intertwine
As footprints in the sand once there
Swept forth to faith's decline
Though love as such is bitter-sweet
And beauty clouds in strife
In moments here of fleeting bliss
The purest form of life.
The tears of eulogy
Your bitter sorrow rolling down
Veiled cheeks you hid from me
Of sea's hushed voice in evening
Hearts knowing, intertwine
As footprints in the sand once there
Swept forth to faith's decline
Though love as such is bitter-sweet
And beauty clouds in strife
In moments here of fleeting bliss
The purest form of life.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Words inspired by Whitman's "Poets to Come"
Poets to Come
Poets to come! orators, singers, musicians to come!
Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for,
But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before
known,
Arouse! for you must justify me.
I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future,
I but advance a moment only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness.
I am a man who, sauntering along without fully stopping, turns a casual
look upon you and then averts his face,
Leaving it to you to prove and define it,
Expecting the main things from you.
Inspired by Poets to Come:
Who are the poets to come? The orators, singers musicians to come?
This wild noble crowd of your new brood, native, athletic, continental,
If such a power greater than before known would be
mine,
I shall arouse, and justify you.
If not to-day is to justify me,
Myself, as you say -
I will answer for you.
I the justifier spell (spill) a few
imploring words onto my page,
and return as you once did back to the hiding place of the unknown.
I heard the indicative words you wrote for the future
and for me.
I almost saw your face when you sauntered past, like the
aged god of renaissance, common man, grandfather,
Because your new brood of familiar kin,
Once lived to justify you.
Poets to come! orators, singers, musicians to come!
Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for,
But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before
known,
Arouse! for you must justify me.
I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future,
I but advance a moment only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness.
I am a man who, sauntering along without fully stopping, turns a casual
look upon you and then averts his face,
Leaving it to you to prove and define it,
Expecting the main things from you.
Inspired by Poets to Come:
Who are the poets to come? The orators, singers musicians to come?
This wild noble crowd of your new brood, native, athletic, continental,
If such a power greater than before known would be
mine,
I shall arouse, and justify you.
If not to-day is to justify me,
Myself, as you say -
I will answer for you.
I the justifier spell (spill) a few
imploring words onto my page,
and return as you once did back to the hiding place of the unknown.
I heard the indicative words you wrote for the future
and for me.
I almost saw your face when you sauntered past, like the
aged god of renaissance, common man, grandfather,
Because your new brood of familiar kin,
Once lived to justify you.
An Imitation of Walt Whitman's "An Army Corps on the March"
An Army Corps on the March
With its cloud of shirmishers in advance,
With now the sound of a single shot snapping like a whip, and now an
irregular volley,
The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades press on,
Glittering dimly, toiling under the sun -- the dust-cover'd men,
In columns rise and fall to the undulations of the ground,
With artillery interspers'd -- the wheels rumble, the horses sweat,
As an army corps advances.
-Walt Whitman
A Traffic Jam on the Freeway
Through the smog of motors rumble,
Through instants dragging on blasting horns like shouts,
this fleet of steel in frozen heat,
The parallel hulls lurch on and off,
The smooth bodies now stopped,
Shimmering like a mirage, captured under the sun -- the shining metal machines,
In single-file lines rolling rubber on the road,
With exhaust pipes pointing back -- windows roll'd down, the people sit,
As these transport units halt.
With its cloud of shirmishers in advance,
With now the sound of a single shot snapping like a whip, and now an
irregular volley,
The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades press on,
Glittering dimly, toiling under the sun -- the dust-cover'd men,
In columns rise and fall to the undulations of the ground,
With artillery interspers'd -- the wheels rumble, the horses sweat,
As an army corps advances.
-Walt Whitman
A Traffic Jam on the Freeway
Through the smog of motors rumble,
Through instants dragging on blasting horns like shouts,
this fleet of steel in frozen heat,
The parallel hulls lurch on and off,
The smooth bodies now stopped,
Shimmering like a mirage, captured under the sun -- the shining metal machines,
In single-file lines rolling rubber on the road,
With exhaust pipes pointing back -- windows roll'd down, the people sit,
As these transport units halt.
What is Poetry? (revised)
Poetry has evolved with language as civilization has developed and changed throughout time, making it as unique and diverse as the writer's own experiences, sensations and emotions. The poem can be a snapshot into the poet's reality of intimate thoughts and feelings. The reader often feels that he or she is experiencing and feeling the emotions of the poet in the expressions and imagery provided. As with any work of art, a poem can be interpreted distinctively by the individuals reading it, but at the same time the poet's world is shared harmoniously with the audience. In contrast to other literary styles, poetry is more auditory in its rhythm and musicality. The poet is often able to speak a language that surpasses the literal, to create pictures that transcend the two-dimensional words on the page. Poetry has the freedom of the figurative, allowing the reader insight into visceral and vivid realities.
Emily Bronte's poem, "I'm Happiest When Most Away," contains a definite meter and rhyme scheme, but in this structure the reader is given a glimpse of a brilliant vision. The meter of the poem leads the reader along through Bronte's rich imagery. A look at the technical aspect of the meter would be shown thus:
presenting a revelation of clandestine yet intense portraiture. Bronte transports the reader beyond even the moon in the cloudless sky and the sea below. The reader is unhindered by nothing but his or her imagination to envision the symbolism of the soul's exploration of the unbounded universe.
This poem conveys immense sensation and feeling even in two brief stanzas. The reader is given insight into Emily Bronte's fantastic dream and passion for mystery. Imagination and creativity can be cosmic in poetry, as the poet pours out elaborate fantasy with the use of imagery, symbolism, allegory and connotation, that could fill volumes of prose. In "I'm Happiest When Most Away," the reader is inspired to use his own mind's eye to release his soul, and soar beyond earth and sea and cloudless sky to the infinite immensity beyond.
I'm happiest when most away
I can bear my soul from its home of clay
On a windy night when the moon is bright
And the eye can wander through worlds of light—
When I am not and none beside—
Nor earth nor sea nor cloudless sky—
But only spirit wandering wide
Through infinite immensity.
<http://markandrewholmes.com/imhappiest.html>
Emily Bronte's poem, "I'm Happiest When Most Away," contains a definite meter and rhyme scheme, but in this structure the reader is given a glimpse of a brilliant vision. The meter of the poem leads the reader along through Bronte's rich imagery. A look at the technical aspect of the meter would be shown thus:
| U I'm | / hap | U pi | / est | U when | / most | U a | / way |
| U I | U can | / bear | U my | / soul | U from | U its | / home | U of | / clay |
| U On | U a | / win | U dy | / night | U when | U the | / moon | U is | / bright |
| U And | U the | / eye | U can | / wan | U der | U through | / worlds | U of | / light— |
| U When | / I | U am | / not | U and | / none | U be | / side— |
| U Nor | / earth | U nor | / sea | U nor | / cloud | U less | / sky— |
| U But | / on | U ly | / spi | U rit | / wan | U dering | / wide |
| U Through | / in | U fin | / ite | U im | / mens | U it | / y. |
The parallel rhymes provide musical clarity and a delicate flow like that of a dream. Bronte rhymes the ends of the lines using assonance: away - clay, bright - light, beside - sky, and the final rhyme is different enough (wide and immensity) to allow the reader to come out of the dream at the same time as allowing him to envision the immensity depicted. The reader finds a juxtaposition of earthly and ethereal images in the poem that denotes the poet's desire for an escape into an immense other-worldly ideal. Bronte speaks of bearing her soul from its home of clay. This image of clay could be an allegory for her body - soft, supple, moldable, allowing for a smooth spectral transformation to another plane. This image could even be a reference to a biblical passage in which humans are created by God from clay. Job 33:6 states: "I am just like you before God; I too have been taken from clay." The poet's vision is drawn to the night sky, with the moon giving rise to other mysterious realms. In this case, the moon in the night sky is an allegory for the mysterious realms she desires to attain. The poet writes:
"On a windy night when the moon is bright / And the eye can wander through worlds of light-"presenting a revelation of clandestine yet intense portraiture. Bronte transports the reader beyond even the moon in the cloudless sky and the sea below. The reader is unhindered by nothing but his or her imagination to envision the symbolism of the soul's exploration of the unbounded universe.
This poem conveys immense sensation and feeling even in two brief stanzas. The reader is given insight into Emily Bronte's fantastic dream and passion for mystery. Imagination and creativity can be cosmic in poetry, as the poet pours out elaborate fantasy with the use of imagery, symbolism, allegory and connotation, that could fill volumes of prose. In "I'm Happiest When Most Away," the reader is inspired to use his own mind's eye to release his soul, and soar beyond earth and sea and cloudless sky to the infinite immensity beyond.
I'm Happiest When Most Away
by
Emily Brontë
I'm happiest when most away
I can bear my soul from its home of clay
On a windy night when the moon is bright
And the eye can wander through worlds of light—
When I am not and none beside—
Nor earth nor sea nor cloudless sky—
But only spirit wandering wide
Through infinite immensity.
<http://markandrewholmes.com/imhappiest.html>
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