Over thanksgiving break my old high school held a poetry slam. I was sort of shocked by some of the people who got up and performed. Some of these were people whom I never would have pegged as poets themselves, let alone capable of appreciating poetry. I guess that just goes to show how easy it is to be deceived by appearances. Back to the point – I was thoroughly fascinated by the broad range in style. This was my first poetry slam, and I have to admit I definitely had some preconceived notions as to what to expect. Some of my predictions were indeed quite accurate, but I was in for a few more surprises as well. I typically imagined slam poetry as the highly politicized, rhythmic, almost most rap-like poetry we had listened to in my English class whilst we completed our standard AP English poetry unit. There were definitely a lot of these sorts of poems. I heard poems that criticized war and government and society and global warming and commercialization and consumerism. One of the most memorable of these was written by a quiet girl I knew from drama club. I knew her by face and name, she was a techie in the production I was stage manager for. Still, I had never really talked to her before, and I found her poem to be sort of bittersweet in its accuracy. She spoke of the unrealistic expectations students are often forced to meet in the search for perfection, that overwhelming state of constant anxiety that I seem to remember haunted all of my junior and senior year. In the end she was the much deserving winner of the slam.
Now, all of this seemed to me to be, as I mentioned before, the norm for slam poetry – political/social critiques, rhythmic etc. Turns out, what I thought characterized slam poetry actual is a different style of poetry that is, nevertheless, very common in slam poetry. It is dub poetry that has this outspoken, rhythmic critique, and it just so happens that dub poetry is one of the more popular types of poetry performed at poetry slams.
Aside from the dub poetry, there were a lot of readings of free verse and sonnets, it seemed. There was one villanelle, I think, and yeah a remarkable number of sonnets. I thought that was a bit unusual. Free verse I would have expected, but there must have been four or five sonnets! Perhaps the form is being revived in the next generation? Meh. Anyways, I found the experience to be an overall pleasant one. I was quite happy to revisit a familiar place and learn something new about the same old people inside of it.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
“What is existence?”
“It doesn’t matter what they will make of you or your days: they will be wrong,” Jane Hirshfield states in the final poem “It Was Like This: You Were Happy,” in her book of poems, After. In a vast variety of poems, Hirshfield experiments with style and form, utilizing eloquent language that elevates her poetic voice and yet stops short of sounding pedantic or presumptuous. At first this eloquence of voice seems to be the only link amongst the sixty three poems Hirshfield presents. Initially the disparity in form and subject leads the reader to believe After to be a mere collection of works by the same poet. After careful reading, however, it becomes evident that while these poems are each vividly expressed in different manners, they dwell upon similar themes of the parameters of existence and significance.
Part of the apparent lack of unity is somewhat due to the visual disparity between poems. There isn’t any defined consistency or pattern in poem length and form. Most of the poems consist of any number of lines, from as few as six lines such as “Red Scarf” (86) or as many as thirty lines such as “Beneath the Snow, the Badger’s Steady Breathing.” All of Hirshfield’s poems fall within this range except for one five part poem, “A Letter to C,” which consists of over sixty lines. Individual line length varies too with each poem. In “I Write These Words to Delay” (58), the lines are rather short in length, creating a rough jaunt in the rhythm.
What can I do with these thoughts,
given me as a dog given her flock?
Or perhaps it the reverse –
my life the unruly sheep, being herded.
These succinct lines cause the reader to move through them quickly but abruptly, creating a sense of urgency. This speed-reading effect is almost ironic when the title implies that the purpose of these words is to delay, yet the accelerating tension with which they are put forth, reflects this desperation for delay. Yet, to directly contrast the hasty suddenness of this poem, “One Sand Grain Among the Others in Winter Wind” is expressed through lengthy lines such as,
I wake with my hand held over the place of grief in my body.
“Depend on nothing,” the voice advises, but even that is useless.
My ears are useless, my familiar and intimate tongue.
My protecting hand is useless, that wants to hold the single leaf to the tree
and say, Not this one, this one will be saved
Here, the long lines generate an atmosphere of enormity, You get that seem feeling of insignificance that seems to sweep over you when you stare at the vastness of the night sky for too long. The first of these poems is hasty and abrupt, the second vast and gradual, and yet they convey a similar feeling of helplessness. This question of worth and free will in a world that moves so fast.
The resulting length of lines seems to the product not of regulated meter, but rather the natural flow of speech. I noted that Hirshfield limits her use of enjambment, that often she condenses and expresses individual thoughts in one line statements. In “What is Usual Is Not What Is Always” (16) Hirshfield tells us,
What is usual is not what is always.
As sometimes, in old age, hearing comes back.
As is evident in this instance, one line is a complete sentence. The pair of lines, though related, is two separate thoughts. I have found that when the poet chooses to utilize enjambment, she makes the break where there is a natural pause. We can see this in the very same poem,
A woman mute for years
forms one perfect sentence before she dies.
Rather than insert extra punctuation, Hirshfield simply makes the line break to create the necessary breath mark. In creating the length of her lines, she sacrifices metrical regularity for a natural speech-like flow of language.
While she experiments with short poems and long poems, poems of many stanzas and poems of single stanzas, there is evident continuity in diction and imagery. Hirshfield takes images that could seem trivial or mundane, and expresses them elevated diction, utilizing these concrete images to convey abstract themes. This flavorful combination of the mundane and finery makes for memorable images such as in the opening poem “After long silence,”
Politeness fades,
a small anchovy gleam
leaving the upturned pot in the dish rack
after the moon has wandered out of the window.
What could be considered an everyday object or image, such as an anchovy or a pot on a dish rack, seems profound when used in conjunction with the image of the wandering moon. These details are elevated to roles as central focus points rather than minor details. This emphasis is the result of the unexpected pairing of images perceived as trivial and elegant. This phenomenon is even more evident in Hirschfield’s “Theology” (4), where she tackles religious dogma with a literal dog.
My dog would make her tennis ball
Disappear into just such a hollow
Pushing it under with both paws…
… And almost always, her prayers were successful –
the tennis ball
could be summoned again to the surface.
In this Hirshfield addresses the question of faith, is there universal faith or personal sanctuary? This investigation of religion is undeniably a topic for elevation, and yet Hirshfield chooses to explore the question with a border collie’s devotion to a tennis ball. Hirshfield remarks that, “everyone hurries to believe it,” acknowledging religion’s undeniable role in our lives. Whether or not we ourselves embrace it, faith is always there to be retrieved if the need arises.
With further attention to seemingly unrelated to subjects, Hirshfield devotes at least ten poems to “assays”. I must admit, I was initially unfamiliar with the term though I suspected it to be somehow related to the French verb essayer – to attempt or try. As it turns out, a poetic assay seems to be just that, and attempt to something, which in Hirshfield’s case is an attempt to understand and define. Her topics for assays range from abstract ideas such as hope and judgment to the more concrete gravel and termites. I noticed that the only three prose poems in After were assays, one of which, “Tears” (18), I found to be very interesting. In “Tears” Hirshfield explores what evokes tears and how this reflects what the tears mean. She notes that there are tears of laughter and grief and rage and the tears that a provoked by “a misplaced dust mote, errant eyelash or flake of soot.” The poet makes the insightful comment that “the composition of tears of laughter and tears of grief is not, it seems, the same, though the tongue cannot tell this.” It’s as though the tears are defined by the emotions they represent, and yet of completely separate identity. In using prose poetry, the poet creates stream of consciousness, allowing the reader to both distance themselves and become absorbed in the question at hand. By exploring the relationship between tears and emotion Hirshfield examines the role of the person who must experience these emotions in order to shed the tears.
Hirshfield combines emotional appeals with familiar images depicted in comfortably elegant language in each of her poems. These elements create a unity of the collection of poetic works in After, a unity that would otherwise go unnoticed, lost in the variations of form, style and subject matter. Yet as we examine what abstract meditations these elements of language and imagery connote, we begin to understand what Hirshfield addresses. Her theoretical musings address hope and judgment and “Sheep’s Cheese” (10), and “Seventeen Pebbles: Insomnia, Listening”(63). In these poetic explorations she attempts to discern what defines human existence? What defines any existence? Moreover, what defines our existence as important? The final poem, “It Was Like This: You Were Happy,” (92) celebrates life itself. To some, our lives are meaningless and insignificant; but with others we are inextricably entangled. In her final poem, Hirshfield reaches a rather existential conclusion that we are defined not so much by what we do, but rather how we feel about what we do. Rather, the only meaning anything has is that which we assign it. While some might be intimidated and discouraged by this, Hirshfield embraces and celebrates this freedom with an open heart and a mind ready to choose.
Works Cited:Hirshfield, Jane. After. New York • London • Toronto • Sydney: Harper Perennial, 2006.
“It doesn’t matter what they will make of you or your days: they will be wrong,” Jane Hirshfield states in the final poem “It Was Like This: You Were Happy,” in her book of poems, After. In a vast variety of poems, Hirshfield experiments with style and form, utilizing eloquent language that elevates her poetic voice and yet stops short of sounding pedantic or presumptuous. At first this eloquence of voice seems to be the only link amongst the sixty three poems Hirshfield presents. Initially the disparity in form and subject leads the reader to believe After to be a mere collection of works by the same poet. After careful reading, however, it becomes evident that while these poems are each vividly expressed in different manners, they dwell upon similar themes of the parameters of existence and significance.
Part of the apparent lack of unity is somewhat due to the visual disparity between poems. There isn’t any defined consistency or pattern in poem length and form. Most of the poems consist of any number of lines, from as few as six lines such as “Red Scarf” (86) or as many as thirty lines such as “Beneath the Snow, the Badger’s Steady Breathing.” All of Hirshfield’s poems fall within this range except for one five part poem, “A Letter to C,” which consists of over sixty lines. Individual line length varies too with each poem. In “I Write These Words to Delay” (58), the lines are rather short in length, creating a rough jaunt in the rhythm.
What can I do with these thoughts,
given me as a dog given her flock?
Or perhaps it the reverse –
my life the unruly sheep, being herded.
These succinct lines cause the reader to move through them quickly but abruptly, creating a sense of urgency. This speed-reading effect is almost ironic when the title implies that the purpose of these words is to delay, yet the accelerating tension with which they are put forth, reflects this desperation for delay. Yet, to directly contrast the hasty suddenness of this poem, “One Sand Grain Among the Others in Winter Wind” is expressed through lengthy lines such as,
I wake with my hand held over the place of grief in my body.
“Depend on nothing,” the voice advises, but even that is useless.
My ears are useless, my familiar and intimate tongue.
My protecting hand is useless, that wants to hold the single leaf to the tree
and say, Not this one, this one will be saved
Here, the long lines generate an atmosphere of enormity, You get that seem feeling of insignificance that seems to sweep over you when you stare at the vastness of the night sky for too long. The first of these poems is hasty and abrupt, the second vast and gradual, and yet they convey a similar feeling of helplessness. This question of worth and free will in a world that moves so fast.
The resulting length of lines seems to the product not of regulated meter, but rather the natural flow of speech. I noted that Hirshfield limits her use of enjambment, that often she condenses and expresses individual thoughts in one line statements. In “What is Usual Is Not What Is Always” (16) Hirshfield tells us,
What is usual is not what is always.
As sometimes, in old age, hearing comes back.
As is evident in this instance, one line is a complete sentence. The pair of lines, though related, is two separate thoughts. I have found that when the poet chooses to utilize enjambment, she makes the break where there is a natural pause. We can see this in the very same poem,
A woman mute for years
forms one perfect sentence before she dies.
Rather than insert extra punctuation, Hirshfield simply makes the line break to create the necessary breath mark. In creating the length of her lines, she sacrifices metrical regularity for a natural speech-like flow of language.
While she experiments with short poems and long poems, poems of many stanzas and poems of single stanzas, there is evident continuity in diction and imagery. Hirshfield takes images that could seem trivial or mundane, and expresses them elevated diction, utilizing these concrete images to convey abstract themes. This flavorful combination of the mundane and finery makes for memorable images such as in the opening poem “After long silence,”
Politeness fades,
a small anchovy gleam
leaving the upturned pot in the dish rack
after the moon has wandered out of the window.
What could be considered an everyday object or image, such as an anchovy or a pot on a dish rack, seems profound when used in conjunction with the image of the wandering moon. These details are elevated to roles as central focus points rather than minor details. This emphasis is the result of the unexpected pairing of images perceived as trivial and elegant. This phenomenon is even more evident in Hirschfield’s “Theology” (4), where she tackles religious dogma with a literal dog.
My dog would make her tennis ball
Disappear into just such a hollow
Pushing it under with both paws…
… And almost always, her prayers were successful –
the tennis ball
could be summoned again to the surface.
In this Hirshfield addresses the question of faith, is there universal faith or personal sanctuary? This investigation of religion is undeniably a topic for elevation, and yet Hirshfield chooses to explore the question with a border collie’s devotion to a tennis ball. Hirshfield remarks that, “everyone hurries to believe it,” acknowledging religion’s undeniable role in our lives. Whether or not we ourselves embrace it, faith is always there to be retrieved if the need arises.
With further attention to seemingly unrelated to subjects, Hirshfield devotes at least ten poems to “assays”. I must admit, I was initially unfamiliar with the term though I suspected it to be somehow related to the French verb essayer – to attempt or try. As it turns out, a poetic assay seems to be just that, and attempt to something, which in Hirshfield’s case is an attempt to understand and define. Her topics for assays range from abstract ideas such as hope and judgment to the more concrete gravel and termites. I noticed that the only three prose poems in After were assays, one of which, “Tears” (18), I found to be very interesting. In “Tears” Hirshfield explores what evokes tears and how this reflects what the tears mean. She notes that there are tears of laughter and grief and rage and the tears that a provoked by “a misplaced dust mote, errant eyelash or flake of soot.” The poet makes the insightful comment that “the composition of tears of laughter and tears of grief is not, it seems, the same, though the tongue cannot tell this.” It’s as though the tears are defined by the emotions they represent, and yet of completely separate identity. In using prose poetry, the poet creates stream of consciousness, allowing the reader to both distance themselves and become absorbed in the question at hand. By exploring the relationship between tears and emotion Hirshfield examines the role of the person who must experience these emotions in order to shed the tears.
Hirshfield combines emotional appeals with familiar images depicted in comfortably elegant language in each of her poems. These elements create a unity of the collection of poetic works in After, a unity that would otherwise go unnoticed, lost in the variations of form, style and subject matter. Yet as we examine what abstract meditations these elements of language and imagery connote, we begin to understand what Hirshfield addresses. Her theoretical musings address hope and judgment and “Sheep’s Cheese” (10), and “Seventeen Pebbles: Insomnia, Listening”(63). In these poetic explorations she attempts to discern what defines human existence? What defines any existence? Moreover, what defines our existence as important? The final poem, “It Was Like This: You Were Happy,” (92) celebrates life itself. To some, our lives are meaningless and insignificant; but with others we are inextricably entangled. In her final poem, Hirshfield reaches a rather existential conclusion that we are defined not so much by what we do, but rather how we feel about what we do. Rather, the only meaning anything has is that which we assign it. While some might be intimidated and discouraged by this, Hirshfield embraces and celebrates this freedom with an open heart and a mind ready to choose.
Works Cited:Hirshfield, Jane. After. New York • London • Toronto • Sydney: Harper Perennial, 2006.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
"Building Bridges"
A few weeks ago, I don’t quite remember exactly how, I came across “Rainy Day” Cornell’s very own undergraduate literary magazine. I have to admit it successfully prevented me from starting my chemistry problem sets but it was definitely worth the extra dose of caffeine I needed to finish my chemistry. To anyone who hasn’t taken a look at it yet, I would highly recommend you check it out! If you’re interested the link is : http://rso.cornell.edu/rainyday/. I don’t know about anyone else, but I could easily spend hours reading the pieces. The magazine has both fiction and poetry, so again I highly recommend it!
So, I was reading through the Spring 2005 issue and I came across this poem that I really liked called “Building Bridges” by Cameron Cooper. He opens the poem talking about building bridges of toothpicks, like I used to do in art class in elementary school. The tone of the poem is childlike in its lightness and innocence evoking the image of a small child with fingers all sticky with glue. The way in which the speaker describes what is happening really appeals to my memory. He speaks of peeling the dried glue of his hands, and I am filled with the memory of doing the very same thing! Until about sixth grade, I always made more of a mess than actual art, and even now I can never escape paint splotches and marker scars.
The innocent voice continues, but takes on more adult subject matter. There is an implied conflict that has created the “chasm” which bridge is intended to span. The last stanza swings back to more childhood imagery, strawberry stains and twelve year olds’ laughter. The tone of the poem creates an atmosphere of both innocence and helplessness. As if the conflict became much more than speaker had ever anticipated, so much more that the speaker is now helpless to do anything to fix it.
So, I was reading through the Spring 2005 issue and I came across this poem that I really liked called “Building Bridges” by Cameron Cooper. He opens the poem talking about building bridges of toothpicks, like I used to do in art class in elementary school. The tone of the poem is childlike in its lightness and innocence evoking the image of a small child with fingers all sticky with glue. The way in which the speaker describes what is happening really appeals to my memory. He speaks of peeling the dried glue of his hands, and I am filled with the memory of doing the very same thing! Until about sixth grade, I always made more of a mess than actual art, and even now I can never escape paint splotches and marker scars.
The innocent voice continues, but takes on more adult subject matter. There is an implied conflict that has created the “chasm” which bridge is intended to span. The last stanza swings back to more childhood imagery, strawberry stains and twelve year olds’ laughter. The tone of the poem creates an atmosphere of both innocence and helplessness. As if the conflict became much more than speaker had ever anticipated, so much more that the speaker is now helpless to do anything to fix it.
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