Allen Ginsberg's classic poem "Howl" is notorious for breaking contemporary literary tradition and establishing Ginsburg's own unique voice. Ginsberg not only experimented with current poetic forms but also creating new styles, developing his own by the end of the poem.
According to Wikipedia, it was Kenneth Rexroth who originally encouraged Ginsberg to "free his voice and write from his heart," advice Ginsberg used as inspiration to write "a poem with no restrictions." In addition to Kenneth Rexroth, Ginsburg was also inspired by William Carlos Williams and Jack Kerouac, who were very influential writers at the time.
The manner in which Ginsberg breaks from tradition becomes apparent when reading of how he wrote his poem. According to Wikipedia, Ginsberg began "Howl" in William Carlos Williams's stepped triadic form but radically changed his style in the middle of the poem to "a long line based on breath organized by a fixed base." Perhaps he found the triadic form too restricting and by breaking through its limits, he accomplished his goal of writing a poem with no restrictions.
The poem also breaks tradition by incorporating sex, drugs, and harsh language. At the time, such boldness was dangerous and actually led to an obscenity trial, which seems to follow any revolutionary work of art (ie. Oscar Wilde's novel The Picture of Dorian Gray). Ginsberg describes sexual activities between homosexuals, both oral and anal, as well as drug use and hallucinations. On top of his controversial content, Ginsberg uses strong curse words.
As for the poem itself, I particularly liked several of its auditory and visual images. His use of assonance is brilliant in the repetition of the "a" sound in "ashcan rantings" and the "i" sound in "kind king light of mind." I also love the alliteration of "b" in the line "battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance." The line "...in boxcars boxcars boxcars" gives a perfect visual: the words themselves are square and follow one after another in a series just like boxcars.
Overall, Ginsberg went against the grain with his poem "Howl" by using controversial, even obscene content and language. He diverged from contemporary writing styles by expanding into long lines with a fixed base, and discovered his own style by doing so. Ginsburg's experimentation led to new literary creations, a principle that can be used by any poet to find his or her own style.
--Jessica Murphy
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Breaking Tradition with Allen Ginsberg's "Howl"
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Monday, February 23, 2009
Response to "What Ely Was"
My interpretation of "What Ely Was" is kind of out there. I think it is about the author's unsatisfied hunger for intellect(or something else) that she isn't getting, or can't get in her hometown of Ely. I know that sounds crazy, so here's why...
So Lynn Emanuel certainly has a knack for portraying strong description and vivid images, and she does so in only a few words. Very admirable. Just like in “Whites,” she uses a list of similar things to communicate through poetry. In “What Ely Was,” she does the list thing with foods! This is great because in addition to brilliant imagery she also appeals to the sense that is probably least described in literature…taste.
Coupling taste with imagery, this poem works well to describe Ely, (or what Ely once was, which I’ve assumed is a small town) via food. (Maybe Ely was Lynn Emanuel’s hometown?) Anyway, I’d say that when most people picture a feast or plan a large meal it involves a lot of color, a variety of different foods, and the foods that we associate with home, holidays, and/or childhood. The poem “What Ely Was,” exercises the use of description and imagery to communicate taste by providing all of these elements. Notice though, she never actually talks about physical taste on her tongue/taste buds.
In the beginning, we’ve got mauve as a backdrop to set the stage (maybe the tablecloth), then ocher (a yellowish brown color) tamales, dark gravy, white knuckles to describe corn, gleaming fats, blackened toast, which must be very black because it is compared to tar or shingles on a roof, blue glass with plum inside, green plantain, mustard, red tomato, rice and black beans (cool, direct contrast), and cayenne. These are all very distinct and different colors. They deliver strong and sure images to our minds. Also, they help to communicate variety; my next point.
The variety shown here is informative in many ways when I go to interpret this poem. Assuming my whole hometown theory is correct, I’d say the foods listed, especially closer to the beginning and middle, are foods that Emanuel’s family ate. Also, I’d conclude that they tell us a lot about the culture, time period, and geographic area of Ely. Casserole, hominy, Oleo, jam, and plum preserve all make me think of a country or more rural area, and a time when people grew more in gardens rather than buying things like jam in grocery stores.
The variety of foods changes towards the bottom of the poem with the line “I longed for…” Here we’ve got chocolate, plantain, mustard, red tomato (as opposed to…green tomatoes?), Haut-Brion (I think is a wine), Moroccan olives, and rice a black beans. These foods all seem to be categorized as from other places or rare to find in Ely. They represent what Ely is not, and when Emanuel states that she longs for them, perhaps she is saying she wants to travel or explore life outside of Ely. This interpretation makes the last sentence more meaningful to me. “…a kingdom where my hunger fit, both mind and body, all of it.” Just as a side note, when she mentions mind here maybe she feels some sort of intellectual hunger that Ely can’t fulfill. As mentioned earlier in the poem she knows of pigeons which most associate with urban areas and city life, she knows the mold under the cap of plum preserves is there and refers to it as Penicillin, and she knows that Moroccan olives are traditionally eaten with cayenne. These ideas hint that she has been out of Ely (either mentally or physically) and certainly still has a need to be.
One more thing…
To me Ely, person or place, whatever it/he is, doesn’t matter so much because either way, Ely is a character in this poem. Ely is characterized through terms that give a colloquial feel. If Ely is indeed a place, this really drives and strengthens the conflict between being in Ely and being elsewhere.
Lastly, I'd say, it is absolutely brilliant to use food to communicate all of this this!
-Rachel Alberico
So Lynn Emanuel certainly has a knack for portraying strong description and vivid images, and she does so in only a few words. Very admirable. Just like in “Whites,” she uses a list of similar things to communicate through poetry. In “What Ely Was,” she does the list thing with foods! This is great because in addition to brilliant imagery she also appeals to the sense that is probably least described in literature…taste.
Coupling taste with imagery, this poem works well to describe Ely, (or what Ely once was, which I’ve assumed is a small town) via food. (Maybe Ely was Lynn Emanuel’s hometown?) Anyway, I’d say that when most people picture a feast or plan a large meal it involves a lot of color, a variety of different foods, and the foods that we associate with home, holidays, and/or childhood. The poem “What Ely Was,” exercises the use of description and imagery to communicate taste by providing all of these elements. Notice though, she never actually talks about physical taste on her tongue/taste buds.
In the beginning, we’ve got mauve as a backdrop to set the stage (maybe the tablecloth), then ocher (a yellowish brown color) tamales, dark gravy, white knuckles to describe corn, gleaming fats, blackened toast, which must be very black because it is compared to tar or shingles on a roof, blue glass with plum inside, green plantain, mustard, red tomato, rice and black beans (cool, direct contrast), and cayenne. These are all very distinct and different colors. They deliver strong and sure images to our minds. Also, they help to communicate variety; my next point.
The variety shown here is informative in many ways when I go to interpret this poem. Assuming my whole hometown theory is correct, I’d say the foods listed, especially closer to the beginning and middle, are foods that Emanuel’s family ate. Also, I’d conclude that they tell us a lot about the culture, time period, and geographic area of Ely. Casserole, hominy, Oleo, jam, and plum preserve all make me think of a country or more rural area, and a time when people grew more in gardens rather than buying things like jam in grocery stores.
The variety of foods changes towards the bottom of the poem with the line “I longed for…” Here we’ve got chocolate, plantain, mustard, red tomato (as opposed to…green tomatoes?), Haut-Brion (I think is a wine), Moroccan olives, and rice a black beans. These foods all seem to be categorized as from other places or rare to find in Ely. They represent what Ely is not, and when Emanuel states that she longs for them, perhaps she is saying she wants to travel or explore life outside of Ely. This interpretation makes the last sentence more meaningful to me. “…a kingdom where my hunger fit, both mind and body, all of it.” Just as a side note, when she mentions mind here maybe she feels some sort of intellectual hunger that Ely can’t fulfill. As mentioned earlier in the poem she knows of pigeons which most associate with urban areas and city life, she knows the mold under the cap of plum preserves is there and refers to it as Penicillin, and she knows that Moroccan olives are traditionally eaten with cayenne. These ideas hint that she has been out of Ely (either mentally or physically) and certainly still has a need to be.
One more thing…
To me Ely, person or place, whatever it/he is, doesn’t matter so much because either way, Ely is a character in this poem. Ely is characterized through terms that give a colloquial feel. If Ely is indeed a place, this really drives and strengthens the conflict between being in Ely and being elsewhere.
Lastly, I'd say, it is absolutely brilliant to use food to communicate all of this this!
-Rachel Alberico
Whites
Like I stated in class, this poem gives me a feeling a nostalgia. It puts me in a place where times were more simple and the people were naive and more pure. I say naive and pure because of the constant referral to the color white. To me, white means clean, untouched, and a fresh slate. If I had to draw a picture or put this poem in a location I would use the movie "O brother, where art thou?" which is probably located somewhere in the deep south, Alabama, Mississippi? Another movie that this poem reminds me of is "Big Fish." In "Big Fish" the main character stumbles into a make believe town that is suppose to symbolize paradise. This poem is alot like that town except for the negative statements like "grandmother's feet pared with a paring knife..." or "weevils in sacks of spoiled flour". When these lines are read they relate more to the scene in "O brother, where art thou?" when the main characters escape from jail and visit the cousin of one of them. The cousin serves the trio a horse that was butchered and had gone bad a week prior to their arrival. This is another piece of evidence in support of me believing this is a pre-1950 era because any later than that and modern technical advances would keep sacks of flour from spoiling, for the most part anyways. On the topic of time, another example leading to my conclusion of a pre-1950s scene would be the fact that the grandmother's feet are pared with a paring knife. I once heard a story of Olympic gold medalists Jesse Owens that stated when he was young he cut a lump from is body with a knife. Jesse Owens lived in this pre-1950s era where going to a doctor or hospital might not have been an option, especially in the deep south. As for truly understanding Pierre the naked sailor, I don't, but I do have possible explanations. Like stated in class, Pierre could be a poster in the bathroom. I would agree with this explanation because Pierre is a French name and I locate this in the deep south of the U.S.A. The other possible explanation could be that Pierre is a veteran of a World War coming back from Europe. The evidence for this explanation lies in the identification of Eisenhower, who was a military general and president during WWII.
Thank You
Jay Woodward
Thank You
Jay Woodward
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Foreign Airport
After reading through Foreign Airport for the first time, I definitely found it to be quite strange and “all over the place.” Most of the lines seem incoherent, moving from mules on a runway to schoolmasters offering peanuts to a bailbondsman. But underneath these seemingly bizarre images, I feel like I made my own unique interpretation of what the poem was trying to depict. Starting off, I found the first line to be an incredible use of imagery. When I read this line, I get the feeling that the voice of the poem is in a constant state of paranoia and depression. My opinion is strengthened through the use of the word “hypochondriac” and the word “moon” which creates an image in my head of darkness/gloominess. As you progress through the poem, you definitely feel a sense of diversity and tolerance/intolerance; through the image of the mule for example. Something made even more obvious in the title. Not only the word foreign but the word airport; when you think of airports you think of traveling or progressing somewhere-possibly the progression to eliminate racial oppression. I feel that the lines discussing the school teacher and the bailbondsman were very abstract but I feel that the purpose was to introduce the whole subject of the poem to the audience. I mean how much better can you do to introduce the idea of diversity through two examples who are true polar opposites. And then I found the lines following that to be the most important in the whole poem. Although the characters are very different they found that they shared a lot of similarities, (they lived in the same town, were both Gemini’s, etc.) which in my opinion did an incredible job of telling the reader to be tolerant of others and although people may look/act different than you we are all the same and deserve to be treated so. The poem then takes a sharp turn to show that although this would be a sound way to live in society; nothing ever changes. Some examples to support my claim include the drifting conversation and the strong sense use of permanent images near the end; such as the skeleton and the inability to age. All in all I feel that this poem has a multitude of interpretations; reading through it once again I began to interpret it as death and the afterlife so I don’t know…
---Albert Sementa
---Albert Sementa
Response to What They Ate
While reading Campbell McGrath's poem I found it to be extremely uninteresting and lacking. I failed to find a point to the poem and felt like it had wasted my time.
The problem that I had with this poem was that I never found a true meaning to the words. In the first paragraph the author discussed all times of animals; different types of fish, game, meats, and selfish to be precise. After reading through the stanza once again I still failed to recognize any reason as to why these types of animals were being mentioned and why specific animals of that classification were involved in the poem. There is no person involved in the story up to this point and the story did not really seem to have a point to it.
In the second and third stanza there is even more that is being mentioned of foods and it still seems to be for lack of a better term, meaningless. The only thing that has some sort of value for the story was when at the end of the second stanza when the author explains how the Dutch and Germans have different uses of cabbage. In addition, at the end of the third stanza where it mentions how the white sugar is worth a large sum of money and how bees from the Narragansett were imported. Even while these both have some amount of a story to tell within them, it didn't relate to the story or show a message that this poem was trying to tell.
This poem would be much better off if it was broken down into three separate poems where each one told a different story, yet still tied in with the others. I tried to imagine somebody who liked to hunt and fish after the first stanza, and once I had made that image in my head the second and third stanza contradicted as to what I was envisioning. This poem would benefit from breaking up the stanzas and including more information and a background story with each of them so that there is a point to all of these animals, vegetables, and seed-like foods that are being talked about. I would have been more interested if there were a main character that was being involved in all of this.
--Perry Wertheimer
The problem that I had with this poem was that I never found a true meaning to the words. In the first paragraph the author discussed all times of animals; different types of fish, game, meats, and selfish to be precise. After reading through the stanza once again I still failed to recognize any reason as to why these types of animals were being mentioned and why specific animals of that classification were involved in the poem. There is no person involved in the story up to this point and the story did not really seem to have a point to it.
In the second and third stanza there is even more that is being mentioned of foods and it still seems to be for lack of a better term, meaningless. The only thing that has some sort of value for the story was when at the end of the second stanza when the author explains how the Dutch and Germans have different uses of cabbage. In addition, at the end of the third stanza where it mentions how the white sugar is worth a large sum of money and how bees from the Narragansett were imported. Even while these both have some amount of a story to tell within them, it didn't relate to the story or show a message that this poem was trying to tell.
This poem would be much better off if it was broken down into three separate poems where each one told a different story, yet still tied in with the others. I tried to imagine somebody who liked to hunt and fish after the first stanza, and once I had made that image in my head the second and third stanza contradicted as to what I was envisioning. This poem would benefit from breaking up the stanzas and including more information and a background story with each of them so that there is a point to all of these animals, vegetables, and seed-like foods that are being talked about. I would have been more interested if there were a main character that was being involved in all of this.
--Perry Wertheimer
Friday, February 20, 2009
Response to "Whites"
I may be completely wrong. I may be really off track. This may make no sense at all, but when I read “Whites,” I came to a strong conclusion as to what the poem was about with no hard evidence whatsoever. Call me crazy, but I think the poem centers around a death. More specifically, I think it’s about the progression of time right before the death, the death itself, the funeral, and almost immediately afterwards.
Whether I’m right or wrong I don’t know, but I can certainly say the author does two very interesting things in this poem.
Number one: Entirely based on image, the poem forces us from one reflection to the next extremely quickly. It feels like watching a home video on fast-forward where someone forgot to plug in the audio cable. The way I take it; the author is directly challenging us to look into her mind and see exactly what she saw, nothing more nothing less. And at the same time, she demands we know what event these images are transcribing… exactly what they mean.
Secondly, and even more importantly, the author is filtering these images. And I’d say, she’s filtering them in a rather cut throat kind of way. She only lets us see shades of white. That’s it. So now the panoramic of her mind is on fast foreword 4X, maybe even 8. Luckily, the title hints at this suggestively enough for us readers to make the connection. Also, it’s only fair to point out how this (the evocative title) works well to help with the forcing and filtering. It’s like she’s saying, “you may think grandmother’s toes are more beige in color, but nope, they’re a shade of white!” I guess that’s why concrete-ness in poetry is such a big deal.
So given that, why do I/where do I get death from?
Well, there are words like scar, blind man, gluey soup, chalked concoctions, and ulcer in the beginning. These are words I think I associate with sickness, and hospital for some reason. Then there’s a banker who pokes at family ledgers, the sense of gossip, weeping, nurses, and grandmother’s pared feet. I think of this as confirmation of a death and preparing for a funeral, which usually results in sitting at a bank for hours, family, weeping, and a lot of “he said she said/have you heard yet?” kind of talk. Towards the end of the poem, there come terms like slow, the body, Savior, and alter wall. To me this means funeral, or some type of acknowledgment towards Christianity, which is often questioned at times of death. Lastly, we have Pierre the naked sailor in the tub upstairs who I would say simply and perfectly signifies a shower after a long day.
This poem, death oriented or not, is a great example of being concise and writing strictly, with little room for anything that doesn’t portrait the main idea. This technique and strategy was very successful and works well.
Yay.
-Rachel Alberico
Whether I’m right or wrong I don’t know, but I can certainly say the author does two very interesting things in this poem.
Number one: Entirely based on image, the poem forces us from one reflection to the next extremely quickly. It feels like watching a home video on fast-forward where someone forgot to plug in the audio cable. The way I take it; the author is directly challenging us to look into her mind and see exactly what she saw, nothing more nothing less. And at the same time, she demands we know what event these images are transcribing… exactly what they mean.
Secondly, and even more importantly, the author is filtering these images. And I’d say, she’s filtering them in a rather cut throat kind of way. She only lets us see shades of white. That’s it. So now the panoramic of her mind is on fast foreword 4X, maybe even 8. Luckily, the title hints at this suggestively enough for us readers to make the connection. Also, it’s only fair to point out how this (the evocative title) works well to help with the forcing and filtering. It’s like she’s saying, “you may think grandmother’s toes are more beige in color, but nope, they’re a shade of white!” I guess that’s why concrete-ness in poetry is such a big deal.
So given that, why do I/where do I get death from?
Well, there are words like scar, blind man, gluey soup, chalked concoctions, and ulcer in the beginning. These are words I think I associate with sickness, and hospital for some reason. Then there’s a banker who pokes at family ledgers, the sense of gossip, weeping, nurses, and grandmother’s pared feet. I think of this as confirmation of a death and preparing for a funeral, which usually results in sitting at a bank for hours, family, weeping, and a lot of “he said she said/have you heard yet?” kind of talk. Towards the end of the poem, there come terms like slow, the body, Savior, and alter wall. To me this means funeral, or some type of acknowledgment towards Christianity, which is often questioned at times of death. Lastly, we have Pierre the naked sailor in the tub upstairs who I would say simply and perfectly signifies a shower after a long day.
This poem, death oriented or not, is a great example of being concise and writing strictly, with little room for anything that doesn’t portrait the main idea. This technique and strategy was very successful and works well.
Yay.
-Rachel Alberico
Friday, February 13, 2009
Daniel Pilla
Daniel Pilla
Windchime
I found the poem windchime extremely intriguing. Tony Hoagland’s ability to paint a mental picture is truly remarkable. Tony chooses t depict the most minute details, which greatly assist the reader in placing his/herself in his shoes. He describes her clothing, time of day, what she’s standing upon, what she’s doing. I feel as if I am their neighbor, and can see each event as clear as day. I also greatly enjoyed the poems’ subject matter. He takes a household chore, so boring and mundane, and looks at it on a much deeper level. He says that if he were to die, he would greatly miss seeing wife hanging up the windchime. This is a hint to how deep true love really is. To love everything your wife does, even something as small as hanging a wind chime is a type of love that I envy. He notices the little things, which is a quality I know most women crave for in their men. He sees the struggle she is facing with hanging the wind chime and marvels at it. He sees how her ankles sink into her work boots, and the way the problem etches itself into her forehead. This poem represents a breakthrough in me as well. I’ve found myself trapped in rhyming poems, so much so, that I, for the most part, reject all others. I feel that rhyming poetry has a certain sound to it, which is un-rivaled by non-rhyming poetry, but this poem has proved me wrong. In my opinion it flows just as well as any rhyming poem, and has a very nice beat to it. Although I don’t believe I am quite ready to stop rhyming my poetry, this poem has opened my eyes to the possibility of doing so. I just hope I can execute it as well as Tony Hoagland.
Windchime
I found the poem windchime extremely intriguing. Tony Hoagland’s ability to paint a mental picture is truly remarkable. Tony chooses t depict the most minute details, which greatly assist the reader in placing his/herself in his shoes. He describes her clothing, time of day, what she’s standing upon, what she’s doing. I feel as if I am their neighbor, and can see each event as clear as day. I also greatly enjoyed the poems’ subject matter. He takes a household chore, so boring and mundane, and looks at it on a much deeper level. He says that if he were to die, he would greatly miss seeing wife hanging up the windchime. This is a hint to how deep true love really is. To love everything your wife does, even something as small as hanging a wind chime is a type of love that I envy. He notices the little things, which is a quality I know most women crave for in their men. He sees the struggle she is facing with hanging the wind chime and marvels at it. He sees how her ankles sink into her work boots, and the way the problem etches itself into her forehead. This poem represents a breakthrough in me as well. I’ve found myself trapped in rhyming poems, so much so, that I, for the most part, reject all others. I feel that rhyming poetry has a certain sound to it, which is un-rivaled by non-rhyming poetry, but this poem has proved me wrong. In my opinion it flows just as well as any rhyming poem, and has a very nice beat to it. Although I don’t believe I am quite ready to stop rhyming my poetry, this poem has opened my eyes to the possibility of doing so. I just hope I can execute it as well as Tony Hoagland.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Beautiful Oblivion
The poem that resonated the most with my thoughts was, “Car Covered With Snow,” by Marianne Borvch. I could clearly get an image of a mother and son sitting in a parked car that has been in the snow for hours and has accumulated a layer of snow on the windshield. The line, “And the stillness is such that I lose how the day works,” is so profound because for anyone who has just sat and tried to listen to the snow has realized that there is a such a “quiet stillness” that is created that it is almost serene. I know that when I sit in the snow, I can hear the “quiet” and sometimes like to just watch the snowflakes fall from the sky and envelop the world. Everything seems more delicate and fragile when the snow covers it all. When you read the speaker discuss her son’s patience with his mother’s desire to sit in her car and just listen to the snow you can tell it wears thin. You get a cute depiction of a small child sighing at his mother’s insistence of a moment of peace. The second best line in the poem is, “We’re deep in the brain then, seeing as the blind see, all listening.” She describes sitting in the car under the snow as a deep cavity she has placed herself in, and how it is similar to being inside one’s brain. She also compares it to being blind, since the snow is preventing her from seeing anything, and she must rely on her hearing. And then she hears the heavy sound of snow….as unlikely as that is, because we all imagine snow as light and fluffy. But it’s the silence of the snow that is deafening and heavy.
I think that Borvch does an excellent job in capturing the “loudness” and peacefulness that falling snow brings to people.
*Donya Botkan*
I think that Borvch does an excellent job in capturing the “loudness” and peacefulness that falling snow brings to people.
*Donya Botkan*
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
my head feels like clay
Daniel Pilla
Surrealism poem
my head feels like clay
my cheeks are red with freezer burn
i wonder what time the day ends so i can sleep
a little bird told me
that you always bear in mind
fur tickling your cerebellum
your head hurts and your soul says no
but your mind says "Aye"
and we walk through the nights
long after she was asleep
i waited by the window
tears fell from my eyes
Surrealism poem
my head feels like clay
my cheeks are red with freezer burn
i wonder what time the day ends so i can sleep
a little bird told me
that you always bear in mind
fur tickling your cerebellum
your head hurts and your soul says no
but your mind says "Aye"
and we walk through the nights
long after she was asleep
i waited by the window
tears fell from my eyes
Monday, February 9, 2009
A Day With The Bard
My hair is soaked, and I found
an evil eye bracelot, enclosed on my wrist,
Then, to my surprise,
A downpour of ice and quiet
on my head, they sit laughing,
like knives the yellow eyes eat through
the night, the trees, and the soft lamplight.
Its a perfect day.
With the sun and trees and flowers that I seemed to have misplaced
'cus learned by Shakespeare, who
screams with sorrow, "I am fortune's fool."
*Donya Botkan*
an evil eye bracelot, enclosed on my wrist,
Then, to my surprise,
A downpour of ice and quiet
on my head, they sit laughing,
like knives the yellow eyes eat through
the night, the trees, and the soft lamplight.
Its a perfect day.
With the sun and trees and flowers that I seemed to have misplaced
'cus learned by Shakespeare, who
screams with sorrow, "I am fortune's fool."
*Donya Botkan*
“Bob Hicok's ‘Spirit ditty of no fax-line dial tone’”
I found Bob Hicok's poem “Spirit ditty of no fax-line dial tone” very unsettling, which is good because it means the poem affected me. I think his poem expresses human nature’s tendency to be impersonal, the narrator’s subsequent frustration, and his hope for future clarity.
Hicok gives specific, concrete examples of another individual’s complete disinterest, an abstract concept. He explains that "Betty from the telephone company” is “not concerned/with the particulars of my life" (2-3). Later, he perfectly describes a repairman standing in his kitchen wearing “hula skirt of tools/slung low on his hips" (6-7) who announces matter-of-factly, in a convoluted but funny passage, that:
the problem I have is not the problem
I have because the problem I have cannot occur
in this universe though possibly in an alternate
universe which is not the responsibility or in any way
the product, child, or subsidiary of AT&T (11-15)
Hicok then uses a metaphor to compare the repairman's face to "an abstract painting called Void" (27-28). This comparison conveys how the other man is "void" of any interest, sympathy, or human connection to the poet with a problem. No other person in this poem cares about the narrator or wants to help him fix his problem.
This poem also clearly expresses Hicok’s frustration. He mentions how many times he repeats himself to the repairman, who tracks mud across his white floor for the fifth time (5-8). This man dirties his house to inspect a problem he was supposed to fix already. When he does nothing to help the narrator and avoids further responsibility, Hicok describes the narrator abstaining from building weapons like "a shot gun from what's at hand" (24) or "a taser from hair/caught in the drain" (25-26). The first half of the poem describes events that lead to the rest of the poem’s frustration and hopelessness.
One of the most obvious expressions of frustration is the visceral/auditory description of a "million volts of frustration/popping through my body" (26-27). When we read this imagery, we can imagine an electric current of anger crackling through our own veins. The narrator thanks the repairman but secretly means “fuck you, meaning die” followed by a deluge of obscenely creative insults (33-35). What appears polite and calm on the surface is revealed to be thinly veiled rage at the repairman’s blatant inadequacy and apathy.
At the end of the poem the, narrator suggests the repairman: "reintroduce yourself to the sky" which "will transmit/without fail everything clouds are trying to say to you" (41-43). He gives an example of a medium which delivers honestly and therefore does not frustrate or anger anyone through difficulty or complication. After descriptions of the phone company’s impersonal behavior and the narrator’s vivid frustration, the poem ends with this example and hope for clear and simple communication.
Maybe he’ll get it, maybe he won’t.
--Jessica Murphy
Hicok gives specific, concrete examples of another individual’s complete disinterest, an abstract concept. He explains that "Betty from the telephone company” is “not concerned/with the particulars of my life" (2-3). Later, he perfectly describes a repairman standing in his kitchen wearing “hula skirt of tools/slung low on his hips" (6-7) who announces matter-of-factly, in a convoluted but funny passage, that:
the problem I have is not the problem
I have because the problem I have cannot occur
in this universe though possibly in an alternate
universe which is not the responsibility or in any way
the product, child, or subsidiary of AT&T (11-15)
Hicok then uses a metaphor to compare the repairman's face to "an abstract painting called Void" (27-28). This comparison conveys how the other man is "void" of any interest, sympathy, or human connection to the poet with a problem. No other person in this poem cares about the narrator or wants to help him fix his problem.
This poem also clearly expresses Hicok’s frustration. He mentions how many times he repeats himself to the repairman, who tracks mud across his white floor for the fifth time (5-8). This man dirties his house to inspect a problem he was supposed to fix already. When he does nothing to help the narrator and avoids further responsibility, Hicok describes the narrator abstaining from building weapons like "a shot gun from what's at hand" (24) or "a taser from hair/caught in the drain" (25-26). The first half of the poem describes events that lead to the rest of the poem’s frustration and hopelessness.
One of the most obvious expressions of frustration is the visceral/auditory description of a "million volts of frustration/popping through my body" (26-27). When we read this imagery, we can imagine an electric current of anger crackling through our own veins. The narrator thanks the repairman but secretly means “fuck you, meaning die” followed by a deluge of obscenely creative insults (33-35). What appears polite and calm on the surface is revealed to be thinly veiled rage at the repairman’s blatant inadequacy and apathy.
At the end of the poem the, narrator suggests the repairman: "reintroduce yourself to the sky" which "will transmit/without fail everything clouds are trying to say to you" (41-43). He gives an example of a medium which delivers honestly and therefore does not frustrate or anger anyone through difficulty or complication. After descriptions of the phone company’s impersonal behavior and the narrator’s vivid frustration, the poem ends with this example and hope for clear and simple communication.
Maybe he’ll get it, maybe he won’t.
--Jessica Murphy
What I should have said in class weeks ago when we discussed this
A few weeks ago we discussed "My Papa's Waltz"/"My Father's Dance”…a situation in which it seems that someone took "My Papa's Waltz," and tried to re-write it, line by line, in a degenerative way as a means to show what to strive for when writing poetry. The product was “His Father’s Dance;” a less natural sounding generic poem with lack of personality, and a hindering sense of neutrality.
In class, among the meaningful observations discussed and the resulting conclusions drawn, I had an idea which stemmed from one of the more obvious differences between the poems: point of view. Though this thought I had is not quite as relevant, some may consider it interesting to keep in mind when writing. (Poetry or anything)
So, aside from some of the more obvious reasons as to why first person as opposed to third person works better in this situation, something else that is important to think about is credibilty. Point of View does a lot when it comes to determining credibility. The reader subconsciously accepts whatever level of credibility is provided through perspective, but the writer must be aware of what the chosen point of view he or she selects does for the piece.
In “My Papa’s Waltz,” the first person combined with the nature of the poem and language used makes it feel fairly credible. The voice seems young and consequently innocence is communicated to the audience. This makes us assume things like, “this poem is about being abused.” Such a conclusion makes us feel a high level of credibility in this case.
But…
In some cases first person is extremely unreliable and not very credible at all. In contrast, one could argue that as we know first person does not provide a large scope of everything, but simply through only one set of eyes. That said, what if he was being bad earlier and deserved some sort of punishment. Or, yes the boy in “My Papa’s Waltz” is young; therefore, he can’t be trusted. His experiences are limited and so his innocence explains that this is simply a dance. He doesn’t know of abuse so he can’t know that his language sounds like it’s referring to abuse at times. Can we simply forget the old saying; there are two sides to every story.
Now don’t get me wrong, in this case the first conclusion is probably more of what Roethke was going for, but in other cases where first person is used who’s to say the voice is that of a highly credible one? When viewing a conflict within a piece of literature for first person, we must be careful to keep this in mind when analyzing. More importantly, we must keep this in mind when writing. What meaning do we want readers to uncover in our writing? And secondly, does the point of view combined with the other elements of writing chosen work together to portray the amount of credibility necessary for such discovery?
To me, it is a matter of what feels most natural for the impression I want my piece to give. Since it is best/ inevitable to write mostly of what we know (our experiences), I’d say first person is most common, a good starting place. It is using it to its maximum potentials keeping credibility in mind that is the challenge.
-Rachel Alberico
In class, among the meaningful observations discussed and the resulting conclusions drawn, I had an idea which stemmed from one of the more obvious differences between the poems: point of view. Though this thought I had is not quite as relevant, some may consider it interesting to keep in mind when writing. (Poetry or anything)
So, aside from some of the more obvious reasons as to why first person as opposed to third person works better in this situation, something else that is important to think about is credibilty. Point of View does a lot when it comes to determining credibility. The reader subconsciously accepts whatever level of credibility is provided through perspective, but the writer must be aware of what the chosen point of view he or she selects does for the piece.
In “My Papa’s Waltz,” the first person combined with the nature of the poem and language used makes it feel fairly credible. The voice seems young and consequently innocence is communicated to the audience. This makes us assume things like, “this poem is about being abused.” Such a conclusion makes us feel a high level of credibility in this case.
But…
In some cases first person is extremely unreliable and not very credible at all. In contrast, one could argue that as we know first person does not provide a large scope of everything, but simply through only one set of eyes. That said, what if he was being bad earlier and deserved some sort of punishment. Or, yes the boy in “My Papa’s Waltz” is young; therefore, he can’t be trusted. His experiences are limited and so his innocence explains that this is simply a dance. He doesn’t know of abuse so he can’t know that his language sounds like it’s referring to abuse at times. Can we simply forget the old saying; there are two sides to every story.
Now don’t get me wrong, in this case the first conclusion is probably more of what Roethke was going for, but in other cases where first person is used who’s to say the voice is that of a highly credible one? When viewing a conflict within a piece of literature for first person, we must be careful to keep this in mind when analyzing. More importantly, we must keep this in mind when writing. What meaning do we want readers to uncover in our writing? And secondly, does the point of view combined with the other elements of writing chosen work together to portray the amount of credibility necessary for such discovery?
To me, it is a matter of what feels most natural for the impression I want my piece to give. Since it is best/ inevitable to write mostly of what we know (our experiences), I’d say first person is most common, a good starting place. It is using it to its maximum potentials keeping credibility in mind that is the challenge.
-Rachel Alberico
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Who is Behind
I took a ride on the railroad
floated in the puddles of muck.
the boots were drenched with mud
my mother
she tells me to listen
and learn from her mistake what is right
and whatever left behind will surely feel
the scorn of time and fear of the past
lead me to wonder...
who is behind?
the chocolate laden door? why is it like this?
my house is as empty as my
bank account run dry
-wes edmond
Monday, February 2, 2009
Workshop
After missing all of last week's classes on account of the flu, I came back just in time for today's poetry workshop. I felt like it was the perfect way to dive back into class after being absent because it included everyone in a personal commentary of each other's poems. Anyone could contribute, and everyone benefitted from the feedback.
I enjoyed reading a refreshing variety of poetry. I read the poems before class and discovered that the more poems I read, the more ideas began coming to me for my own poetry. This inspiration became a steady flow after I got warmed up. A certain poet's form, diction, theme, voice, or other quality would give me ideas of what to try differently with my own poetry. I had to pause every poem or two in order to scribble down an outline, a few details, or a theme for another poem.
In class, I got to hear other poet's comments and constructive criticism that I wouldn't think of on my own. I didn't say much because I was busy writing down other people's comments and because I didn't have much to point out. I think listening to this feedback was good not only for the poets in question but for everyone, since most criticism can be applied to our own poems as well.
Todays productivity does frighten me a little. Two poems per class period means it could take us 11 classes for one workshop. Still, I hope we can make it through everyone's poem in a timely manner. I can't wait for the next workshop. I brought a blank verse poem illustrating death to this workshop, so I plan on writing and bringing a rhyming poem to the next one.
--Jessica Murphy
I enjoyed reading a refreshing variety of poetry. I read the poems before class and discovered that the more poems I read, the more ideas began coming to me for my own poetry. This inspiration became a steady flow after I got warmed up. A certain poet's form, diction, theme, voice, or other quality would give me ideas of what to try differently with my own poetry. I had to pause every poem or two in order to scribble down an outline, a few details, or a theme for another poem.
In class, I got to hear other poet's comments and constructive criticism that I wouldn't think of on my own. I didn't say much because I was busy writing down other people's comments and because I didn't have much to point out. I think listening to this feedback was good not only for the poets in question but for everyone, since most criticism can be applied to our own poems as well.
Todays productivity does frighten me a little. Two poems per class period means it could take us 11 classes for one workshop. Still, I hope we can make it through everyone's poem in a timely manner. I can't wait for the next workshop. I brought a blank verse poem illustrating death to this workshop, so I plan on writing and bringing a rhyming poem to the next one.
--Jessica Murphy
Radiation
Radiation makes for a
new age celebration.
Ideas bubbling;
excitement fills every corner of
every room.
There are pictures in every room,
pictures of you litter my room,
teasing and blushing brightly.
The boy and girl dancing furiously
captivating the dreams of minds everywhere.
Always keep in touch, OK?
Sometimes clowns
cannot catch the ball.
Jay Woodward
new age celebration.
Ideas bubbling;
excitement fills every corner of
every room.
There are pictures in every room,
pictures of you litter my room,
teasing and blushing brightly.
The boy and girl dancing furiously
captivating the dreams of minds everywhere.
Always keep in touch, OK?
Sometimes clowns
cannot catch the ball.
Jay Woodward
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