Poets' Corner

I love poetry and I wish I was more knowledgeable of it. The one you posted is quite nice, so thank you for sharing first of all.

I find and read a lot of pieces online, sometimes just ones that bloggers write, and not necessarily those who are "professional" poets, though who knows how to define that. Ones I've actually studied include Plath and Duffy; other than that I've read poems by Poe and Heaney before. I thoroughly enjoyed studying Plath's works, and Duffy's as well. I've also studied in my literature classes before other poems, but never many of the same poet as I did with Plath and Duffy.

Anyways I'd like to get to more educated on poetry and delve more into this area; I write in my own time but it's nothing "professional" either- by that I mean I've never submitted anything to be published, I just do it in my own time. Some poets I'm intending to look into more in the near future include Margaret Atwood (I've only ever read one of her novels), Richard Siken, and E.E. Cummings.

As for a favourite poem at this point in time...I mean I have a lot of favourites but one I'm just remembering right now is Blackberrying by Plath, which I studied a while ago:

Spoiler

Nobody in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blackberries,
Blackberries on either side, though on the right mainly,
A blackberry alley, going down in hooks, and a sea
Somewhere at the end of it, heaving. Blackberries
Big as the ball of my thumb, and dumb as eyes
Ebon in the hedges, fat
With blue-red juices. These they squander on my fingers.
I had not asked for such a blood sisterhood; they must love me.
They accommodate themselves to my milkbottle, flattening their sides.

Overhead go the choughs in black, cacophonous flocks—
Bits of burnt paper wheeling in a blown sky.
Theirs is the only voice, protesting, protesting.
I do not think the sea will appear at all.
The high, green meadows are glowing, as if lit from within.
I come to one bush of berries so ripe it is a bush of flies,
Hanging their bluegreen bellies and their wing panes in a Chinese screen.
The honey-feast of the berries has stunned them; they believe in heaven.
One more hook, and the berries and bushes end.

The only thing to come now is the sea.
From between two hills a sudden wind funnels at me,
Slapping its phantom laundry in my face.
These hills are too green and sweet to have tasted salt.
I follow the sheep path between them. A last hook brings me
To the hills’ northern face, and the face is orange rock
That looks out on nothing, nothing but a great space
Of white and pewter lights, and a din like silversmiths
Beating and beating at an intractable metal.

 

Oh yes I understand about the online thing; it's much easier to reflect or even annotate on paper- which is something I've grown accustomed to having studied poetry for my courses before and enjoying doing so. I'd like to buy some poetry collections from a bookstore soon; I saw Ariel (Plath) there recently but I couldn't get it at the time. Poetry Foundation is a pretty great website, I've been on it a few times before. And yes, I enjoy reading poetry of all kind and I definitely think that some of the bloggers online writing them are really quite talented too- and established was the word I was looking for, so cheers.

I haven't listened to readings of her poems before, but now that you mention it might be a nice thing to look into. Daddy is quite a fascinating poem, unfortunately one that I actually didn't study. Funny because it's one of her more well known ones I think. Blackberrying was one that I studied a long time back, but I think one of the main ideas definitely has to do with morbidity and death. The descriptions of decay and isolation within this path of blackberries seem to suggest a lonely walk towards the end of life, and towards a desolation that is the sea, and the nothingness described in the last stanza. The blackberries themselves seem to have quite a morbid connotation as well, although they are pictured as full of life, there is quite an ominous feeling about them (what with the usage of words such as "nothing but ____, blood, flattening, so ripe it is a bush of flies), and the nature surrounding it. Anyhow, I could say more, but I'll save the essay :lol: Many of Plath's poems have an incredible emotion and sometimes darkness behind them that is interesting to look into.

As for Duffy, many of her poems, at least the ones I've studied, have a quite feminist message and standpoint. I love almost all of them that I've read- her play on words, sharp humour and wit, and narrative voice that plays on traditional ideas and characters is fascinating. Certainly has been worthwhile for me to have looked into them.

To be honest, in regards to literary techniques and poetic techniques I am not the most experienced- a little bit ironic since most of my course focused on critical analysis, but really I just enjoy interpreting them and enjoying them. Sometimes that takes more than just a brief read- some poems are just difficult to understand and take in at first, but become brilliant if you look into them more. I've been writing for years now- all sorts from stories to poems, but poetry has become more frequent more recently.

Anyhow I'll definitely find some time to get to the bookstore soon to find something I can buy and read. Any recommendations for poetry collections or anthologies? If I find something I feel is interesting or can spark a discussion I may post it on here.

 

This poem is quite nice as well- I like the imagery and the word play within the usage of nature.

Ah I can't bring myself to do that either, that's why if I want to annotate I photocopy or just print out a copy and write on that. I rarely write in the actual book, though if I do it's all or nothing :lol:

I didn't know that PF has a magazine either! Seems like a nice thing to look into. It's quite a big site and I believe they have an app as well? Maybe that is something worth getting.

Thanks for sharing! I'll bookmark it for later, will be a nice change to listen to poetry rather than read it. Might open up some new ways of enjoying it and interpreting it.

Yes the subtle way she incorporates darker ideas is something I've always admired. There are some quite negative words and connotations within her description of the blackberries and the path, and her journey towards the end- and I agree, the sea's movement- that suggest hardship within life and death. Duffy is pretty great, but sometimes it takes a second or third reading to see what she's getting at- A World's Wife is a fairly decent anthology to start with. In it she subverts many traditional tales and characters to give women the voice- indeed many of the characters/personas she's writing from, in first person, are the wives of famous men throughout history. Penelope is a personal favourite of mine.

I used to be terrible at interpreting anything technical in poems, and whilst it didn't hinder me from enjoying them, I've found that analyzing them has definitely opened up some pathways of interpretation for me which has encouraged me to enjoy them even more. I'm happy to always look into a poem, even though in the beginning it can be quite daunting- especially if there's quite abstract language and erratic structure. Of course, I agree that even after understanding a poem to its "fullest" there will always remain ideas within it that we either don't quite grasp, or is still hidden beneath it. The beauty of interpretation is it can be quite subjective, which leads to often a more personal way of appreciating poetry. We may never know the full intent of the original poet, but I think I quite enjoy the elusive mystery sometimes. There's always the "is that even the original idea they were trying to convey, or are we all off by a dozen miles?" thought.

That's alright, I can definitely look into the library as well. Maybe I'll just buy them if I have read them through and thoroughly enjoyed it. Cheers for the recommendations, I'll see if I can get to the library shelves soon.

Anyways I think I'm taking up such a bulk of the discussion here (@Sartoris, if you'd like us to move this into wall message chat, let me know (*hug*)), others can feel free to chip in or just paste poems they've enjoyed.

 

Anyways, here are also two that I think are quite nice and in my opinion not too hard to read, if anyone is interested.

Love And Friendship - by Emily Jane Brontë
Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree --
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most contantly?
The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He may still leave thy garland green.

And a longer one by Atwood-

A Sad Child
You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.

Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.

Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child.

My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you're trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,

and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside your head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.

 

Rereading it I feel like word play isn't exactly the right term...I'd say maybe the imagery or the connotations of the nature within it. The parallel between human life, the end and the birth, and the purity/innocence and growth within childhood, and nature, is something that initially stood out to me, though I may be wrong.
If you look at the way nature is depicted here, first the lilacs are said to wither, which obviously connotes death and the end of something, but rapidly after that the fluttering of the butterflies, the mention of new-born children- the way the movement of life and new life is integrated in right after the depiction of death of nature. "Timeless mother"- this is just a really random thought, but perhaps a reference to mother nature, and the aspic nipples/vent honey- once again I see a reference to motherhood and life. The "pine tree sweetens" and "white iris beautifies"- he could be referencing the purity of nature and the innocence of birth and childhood, but I suppose in a way he could also be exploring the idea of the allure of nature and its beauty within that. I don't know, just throwing some thoughts out there.

Sometimes I'm tentative of my first few readings of a poem, because I have been drastically wrong in interpreting poems before (though it's an arguable idea if there is ever even a wrong interpretation of a poem). You might want to read Mushrooms by Plath- a much younger me was so confused in reading it, but after someone told me what it was initially about, only then was everything so much clearer.

Now that I remember more clearly, I don't think the app was PF, I think it was of another poetry website- it might've been Poem Hunter. Anyways, the app was orange, if my memory is correct (which it sometimes is not :lol

I agree, I think hearing poets read their own works really adds a dimension to it, and they have full control over the emphasis and delivery, which can sometimes be slightly skewered by our own minds and own internal voices when reading it. It's just really nice hearing them express their poem, even though at the end of the day a poem in itself a written piece.

Wait, I made a drastic mistake :bang: It's called The World's Wife, instead of A, which I'm internally berating myself for because I've read it so many times and I got the title wrong, what?? Anyways I'll forgive myself in my exhausted slip up. But yes, the collection sounds a lot like Transformations. In the anthology Duffy writes from the perspective of the wives of many famous men, and takes those characters from traditional stories, historical men, and Biblical tales. She then completely reinterprets and changes the perspective of the initial story and dynamic. Some of the titles are Mrs Lazarus, Penelope (Odysseus' wife), and Salome (from the Bible).

I don't have much to add on this because I wholeheartedly agree. Sharing interpretations and seeing the different perspectives on a singular piece can be eye opening. I usually try to get my own interpretation down first, no matter how wrong I think it might be, that way I have a solid first approach from my own perspective before I see how others have seen it, and in that way there's an appreciation of the poem from many angles and in many ways.

First reading reminds me of rows and rows of monks, copying texts by hand- for some reason. It's the first image that this conjures up for me. Bald heads is mentioned twice, though in this context I think it's an image of respect and wisdom rather than something negative? The way they're described to meticulously edit/annotate/muddle through the lines contrasts very very nicely with the image right afterwards of men dramatically rhyming out poems to court a partner. I really like how it's written out. That's the part that stands out initially for me.

I think that by "the holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms," is that we can often overlook and forget friendship when we're in that intense emotional experience with love, and in that friendship can often be pushed into the dark. Yet the "But which will bloom more constantly?" suggests that we cannot depend on the rose-briar which is periodic and unpredictable, but rather in friendship, which is more constant. She describes how the rose-briar dies in the winter, and in the winter nobody will call it fair- so the dark times of love and heartbreak are inevitable as well, and that love is inconsistent and not as present as friendship. Maybe that's one way to look at it.

I quite enjoy Atwood's dismissive and almost biting attitude in the poem, even if it's not the kindest of words. She seems to see sadness not as something heavy or significant, but takes that attitude of someone who simply goes "get over it." The shorter, blunt lines in the first stanza emphasise this well, yet when we get to the third, there are fewer full stops and more commas, which gives the poem a more liberated and gentle pace, suggesting a change in attitude to a more sympathetic one. I personally like this part:

and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside your head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.

Is the red flame the sadness? I wonder if she's seeing that the intensity of the emotion impacts everything else, and that either nobody is really sad, or everyone is. Hmm. Just my reading of it.

Anyhow if there are any other poems to chip in go ahead. I'll post if I find anything new that's interesting. Maybe it can just be throwing ideas or suggestions around, who knows :lol:

 

That's true, the fear of going utterly off tangent is sometimes still there, even when I have more confidence in my analysis or interpretation. I suppose though like you said, as long as you can evidence it and can justify your reasoning, it's hard to exactly interpret a piece of work completely wrong. Despite it being a very analytical thing, it is also entirely subjective and personal. Yes if you have time please do look into Mushrooms. I'm curious how others initially interpret it because I was lost when I first read into it.

It focuses very much on traditional stories and older times- though not all non fictional, she also uses stories from mythology and so forth. However she puts a modern twist on them, so it's really a blend of traditional and modern, and Duffy is very good at playing with words and ideas- taking something and tackling it from another viewpoint and perspective entirely.
To fully appreciate some of the poems in The World's Wife (See- got it right this time :lol I'd suggest doing some background research on what story/tale/historical figures each poem is based on. The context can help a lot, though you can definitely go into it quite blindly as well, but it might not make as much sense.

There's always a need for a foundational start point when it comes to intrepretation. A few readings through, finding the fundamentals before building on it. Like most things, it needs a backbone first. In terms of time for each poem, it could take a dozen minutes to hours, if I'm approaching it by myself, and with nobody to discuss it with. I've spent quite a few years learning and reading, and I think it helps- though experience isn't a pre-requisite, it does open up different perspectives and gives you new ways to look at what you see. And I don't exactly have a lot of experience either; I like doing all this but I'm far from being a professional in any way.

I think that's a good way of looking at it as well, actually. Didn't quite pick up on this perspective immediately, I suppose the speaker could very well have been reprimanding the tediousness and lack of spirit of the scholars and how they pick at the words of others, rather than having their own passion. This is why discussion is always useful :lol:

Honestly I'm not sure how to quite read it either. At first I believed that the red flame is sadness, an interesting way of representing it because sadness is so often traditionally represented in blues and grays, when it comes to colour. It could be referring to how the sadness is seeping into and destroying all comfort (the pillow, the bed, the floor/solid ground).

Anyways will respond to The Mad Scene in another post. If anyone has anything to add to what I said here feel free, or else the discussion can carry onto the next poem, however it goes. Oh and thanks for creating this thread by the way. I feel like the wall of text might be a bit intimidating, but adding new poems to discuss means that anyone can chip in anytime!

---------- Post added 24th Nov 2015 at 09:38 AM ----------

Oh I love it as well, thank you for sharing. I'm quite peeved at my range of vocabulary sometimes because it's not big enough to understand all the words here, but the general feeling I'm getting is that the speaker is addressing a fantasy of a relationship, perhaps a fulfilling daydream in substitute of a real thing. I'm getting, for some reason, quite the gist of loneliness here, though that's perhaps just my own reading. It's the exaggeration of someone who is trying to create a fantasy bigger than life- there's a certain romanticized desperation to it I think. The first line "Again last night I dreamed the dream called Laundry" seems to suggest that it is indeed in the speaker's mind.

The prose-like structure fits well into the telling of this story. The shorter lines "We had just met" and "I loved you," are powerful and emotional, possibly even moreso if we take it from the perspective that they are making this story up inside their heads, or forseeing something that could have been. There is quite a dramatic tone to it. Quite heartbreaking as well I feel: "the sheets and towels of a life we were going to share;" this line sticks out to me because it has a very domestic tone. Sheets, a connotation towards the bedroom, and towels, towards the bathroom, both quite intimate and important in and of a close relationship. I like how everything in this seems to refer back to the idea of laundry- in capitals in the first line like it's the title of a story. How the rags and cloths symbolic of this relationship, and its destruction (trampled/soiled/bled/groped), the clothes that never stain or wrinkle (perhaps an idealistic fantasy that represents a relationship?), and near the end "wrung white, gnarled together," like clothes in a washing machine.

Anyways there's quite a lot of strong emotion, movement and pace towards this. Although initially I thought it could be a fantasy inside someone's mind, born out of loneliness or just a daydream, it might be someone thinking back on a relationship that could have been.

 

I suppose so- like with many things, confidence comes about with experience, though that no means disqualifies one to approach something they have never done before. Sometimes I find that it might be even more useful- after all, a fresh, blank slate, with no previous experience or knowledge, can also give a refreshing and unique perspective. It's a balance between building up that confidence and knowledge, and not feeling overwhelmed by names of techniques and preconceptions and all that.

Interpreting poems in isolation is interesting, but I sometimes am left wondering if I'm going off on an entirely wrong direction (though like we mentioned, is there really a wrong way to read something), or I'm just curious how other people would see it. If you search online there tends to be a general opinion that is "right," and with others you may get a wider range of interpretations. Especially when it comes to poems that are very widely studied, there is generally one interpretation that is seen as correct- whether it be because it's widely agreed on, or it was the poet's original intent- but I don't think the reader's interpretation needs to match the poet's to be completely right. It's up in the air of interpretation and subjectivity as is many other things.
The Scholars is quite an interesting poem and I love that you shared it I simultaneously agree with your reading of it and also have my own original reading too, so a nicely rounded way of looking at it.

Haha this thread contains quite a few words, but if not contribute then I hope people still enjoy reading ^^ Nothing wrong with that either.

Oh I think that's a great idea to put together maybe some reference links. I feel like I'm always lacking in terms of vocabulary when it comes to poetry, there's a lot to remember, what with rhyme schemes and form and literary analytical terms.

I think laundry is an excellent theme in that poem. It's not something that I think one might think is an obvious choice of theme- but now that you mention it, the presence of laundry in so many aspects of life adds to the idea expressed in the poem- a sense of consistency and domesticity that is lacking. It's a good representation of a relationship, or in this case, the lack of one.
The frantic pace of the poem really does add to the emotion, I sense the speaker's almost desperate reminiscence or loneliness in a way. A missed opportunity always has that bittersweet nostalgia that is portrayed quite well. The transition between "never stains or wrinkles"- perhaps also in reference to the poet's pristine, "good" life before, over to "roan mane unloosen, running in panic, flinch" shows all this nicely. There is a shaky vulnerability to it.

Anyways nice chat as always, and this thread will always be open to new interesting poems, and I'll post ones I find that catch my eye in the future too.

 

I like a lot of W.H Auden's poems and obviously Edgar Allen Poe
I'm more into the macabre so if you could recommend me some stuff that'd be awesome and much appreciated

 

I don't know that much about macabre poems or poetry apart from having read some of E.A.P.'s works before, but I'll see about looking into that.

As for recommendations, Poems of the Fantastic (first link that comes up if you search it on Google) is a site pretty full of fantastic and macabre poets and poems. Hopefully you might find something you like. If there's anything interesting feel free to share (*hug*)

 

I got to dash so I'll put together a proper reply when I can, but meanwhile here's one by Atwood that caught my eye, thoughts? (*hug*)

Morning in the Burned House- Margaret Atwood
In the burned house I am eating breakfast.
You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast,
yet here I am.

The spoon which was melted scrapes against
the bowl which was melted also.
No one else is around.

Where have they gone to, brother and sister,
mother and father? Off along the shore,
perhaps. Their clothes are still on the hangers,

their dishes piled beside the sink,
which is beside the woodstove
with its grate and sooty kettle,

every detail clear,
tin cup and rippled mirror.
The day is bright and songless,

the lake is blue, the forest watchful.
In the east a bank of cloud
rises up silently like dark bread.

I can see the swirls in the oilcloth,
I can see the flaws in the glass,
those flares where the sun hits them.

I can’t see my own arms and legs
or know if this is a trap or blessing,
finding myself back here, where everything

in this house has long been over,
kettle and mirror, spoon and bowl,
including my own body,

including the body I had then,
including the body I have now
as I sit at this morning table, alone and happy,

bare child’s feet on the scorched floorboards
(I can almost see)
in my burning clothes, the thin green shorts

and grubby yellow T-shirt
holding my cindery, non-existent,
radiant flesh. Incandescent.