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Michael Parker's Journal
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Saturday, April 30, 2005 |
For my dear son, M. (Eight years-old)
Don't let people take the best of you.
When friends cast verbal stones, let them
hit a steel exterior. Turn rock to rubber
balls bouncing off cement. Let them roll
off your soft-heart like beads of dew in
morning. Make manna.
If the stones shape-shift into arrows, assume
your poom-sae position. Complete the pattern
of the star. The power of defensive motions--
quick arms, strong legs builds the shield arrows hit.
Break. Fall at your feet.
If it is your hope they wish to dash to pieces,
catch the wing of a swooping falcon and ride.
Beckon it take you to the open sky, the tops of
trees, its perch high on a cliff. Always take in
the sights. See the far horizon.
If they attempt to persuade you of your faith,
challenge them. Kneel. Press your forehead
to solid ground. Palms and elbows flat on earth,
become a mighty mountain.
6:40:03 PM  | |
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Friday, April 29, 2005 |
There are some great poetry being written today. Below, I have compiled a sampling of some of today’s finest poems from my circle of poets. Please stop on by to read and enjoy:
"Summer and Winter" by Rex Winn
"Soot" by Pris Campbell
"Chats With Eleanor" by Pris Campbell
"The Griot of Guantanamo Bay," by Christopher T. George
"Attempting a Leather Jacket Poem For Pris," by Rae Pater
Note: I did post the link to a wonderful poem by Didi Menendez titled "Your Name." She has removed the post from her site so I removed the link from my post. So if you attempted to read it and received an error, I apologize.
This is not an exclusive list. There are other poets I tried tracking down a poem to include but alas came away empty today. I'll keep searching and will post some tomorrow. I might have to make this a weekly post.
7:50:06 PM | |
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7:22:20 PM | |
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Thursday, April 28, 2005 |
Here is another of my favorite poems, "Throw Yourself Like Seed," by Miguel de Unamuno. Unamuno is a fascinating poet who was quite vocal in his criticism of Franco and fascism. At one point, one of Franco's generals stormed into the university at which Unamuno was teaching and demanded him to keep his mouth shut, if you know what I mean. What was Unamuno's reply?
"At times to be silent is to lie. You will win because you have enough brute force. But you will not convince. For to convince you need to persuade. And in order to persuade you would need what you lack: reason and right."
The general shouted in reply:
"Death to intelligence! Long live death!"
The general then forced the elderly poet out of the university at gunpoint. Unamuno suffered a heart attack and died within the week.
The general's actions were a stark contrast to Unamuno's character, which I feel is present in his brilliant poem "Throw Yourself Like Seed."
His poetic entreaties are thoughtful and mystical. The message is enlightening. I love the image of people spreading (sharing) their lives, as if the action of spreading goodness and offering lovingkindness is like throwing seed onto fertile soil that one day can be harvested.
HIs poem lends credence to my belief that developing awareness allows us to be responsible human beings and more able to help and server others.
I also think his notion of work lends viability to the plain and simple truth that we are responsible for our actions. The Zohar, one of the Jewish mystical canon, teaches that "a person should always imagine that the fate of the whole world depends upon his or her actions." (II:42a).
Understanding and being accountable for our responsibilities, actions, and words not only enriches us but enriches the lives of others. Life ultimately is more consistently rewarding.
And regarding his wonderful last two lines?
"For life does not move in the same way as a group of clouds; / From your work you will be able one day to gather yourself."
The results of our actions are not random or fleeting as the everchanging formation of clouds. They are as solid and real as the grain and vegetables we gather at harvest time.
Throw Yourself Like Seed
Shake off this sadness, and recover your spirit;
Sluggish you will never see the wheel of fate
That brushes your heel as it turns going by,
The man who wants to live is the man in whom life is abundant.
Now you are only giving food to that final pain
Which is slowly winding you in the nets of death,
But to live is to work, and the only thing which lasts
Is the work; start there, turn to the work.
Throw yourself like seed as you walk, and into your own field,
Don’t turn your face for that would be to turn it to death,
And do not let the past weigh down your motion.
Leave what’s alive in the furrow, what’s dead in yourself,
For life does not move in the same way as a group of clouds;
From your work you will be able one day to gather yourself.
8:35:05 PM | |
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Wednesday, April 27, 2005 |
I don't want to make a big deal about this. Just wanted to say something in passing. I haven’t been feeling well -- stomach and abdominal pains, nausea, and acid-burn sensations in my stomach. I went to see the GI specialist yesterday and I am on stronger medication to see if this is just ulcer-like symptoms caused by stress or something more grave. If the signs persist, the doctor will scope everything.
I’ve written before about my love for running. I was scheduled to run the Salt Lake City Marathon last Saturday and was unable to do that because of my stomach problems. I have been running every once in awhile when I feel strong enough to run. And when I have been running, it is just not the long miles I was completing in late February and early March. And ever since my problems started that last week in March, I have had odd pains while running or after running. All this has been frustrating and disconcerting to me. When your ill, faced with the symptoms I have been showing, mortality has seemed most fragile and fleeting.
Last night, after speaking with my specialist for the first time, I needed to hit the canyon trail and work through all of the frustration and worry pent up inside me.
I ran 8 miles in a slow 1 hour and 18 minute time.
And the music I listened to? I thought you’d never ask. It was a sampling of Delerium’s CD Chimera; Jeff Beck’s self-titled CD Jeff, which was a Grammy Nominated Rock Instrumental nomination last year (I’ll have to post my review of this excellent techno CD sometime soon); and songs from Enigma’s hugely popular CD titled MCMXC A.D.
Here’s the playlist:
1. Robert Black remix of "After All" by Delerium (Chimera). Robert Black is my very talented friend who participated in an international contest for coming up with the best remix of this song. His remix is one of my most favorite techno songs. It is highly unfortunate that it didn’t win. Anyway, I love running to it.
2. "Make a Wish" by Conjure One (Conjure One).
3. "Tears from the Moon" by Conjure One, guest vocalist Sinead O’Conner.
4. Love Me Like A Song by Kimmie Rhodes, featuring Willie Neilson
5. "My Personal Moon" by Madison Park
6. "So What" by Jeff Beck (Jeff Beck)
7. "Plan B" by Jeff Beck (Jeff Beck)
8. "Pork-U-Pine" by Jeff Beck (Jeff Beck)
9. "Seasons" by Jeff Beck (Jeff Beck)
10. "Trouble Man" by Jeff Beck (Jeff Beck)
11. "JB’s Blues" by Jeff Beck (Jeff Beck)
12. "Pay Me No Mind" by Jeff Beck (Jeff Beck)
13. "My Thing" by Jeff Beck (Jeff Beck)
14. "Bulgaria" by Jeff Beck (Jeff Beck)
15. "Why Lord Oh Why?" by Jeff Beck (Jeff Beck)
16. "Mea Culpa" by Enigma (MCMXC A.D.)
17. "Principles of Lust" by Enigma (MCMXC A.D.)
9:28:20 PM | |
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Tuesday, April 26, 2005 |
Thanks Didi for posting this quiz. I saw, I clicked, I completed it, and I couldn't resist posting it myself.
And who would have guessed my inner European is Italian! That's where my ancestry is from.
| Your Inner European is Italian! |
 Passionate and colorful. You show the world what culture really is. |
9:10:13 PM | |
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Sunday, April 24, 2005 |
Directed by: Tod Williams
Adapted by: Tod Williams
(From the John Irving novel A Widow for One Year)
Starring: Jeff Bridges (Ted Cole), Kim Basinger ( Marion Cole), Jon Foster (Eddie O'Hare), Mimi Rogers (Eleanor Vaughn), Elle Fanning (Ruth Cole), Bijou Phillips (Alice), Louis Arcella (Eduardo Gomez)
Rated R for adult situations, nudity, and sex. Distributed by Universal Pictures.
IN the opening scene, we see Ruth Cole standing on a chair she’s pulled into the hallway, staring at a photo of two boys who would be just her age or older. She’s having an animated conversation with them, as if they are playing. The camera then walks us down the long hall, showing us a consecutive line of framed black and white photos of the boys as they progress in age. We understand as we continue to be introduced and re-introduced to these boys, why little Ruth camped in front of the photo she did. Because she identified most with them at this age, their small features– feet and hands, unscarred bodies, and their child-smiles that go from ear to ear – they haven’t lived long enough to know anything of unhappiness.
Most importantly, we realize that this is not just a normal montage of pictures mothers and fathers hang on walls. This is a shrine commemorating life that’s been torn from them prematurely. But who are we kidding? Shrines are never for the dead. And it is upon this realization that Tod Williams begins The Door in the Floor.
Tragedy is an element of most any film created, even romantic comedies (Return to Me, for example). It not only helps build intrigue but it allows characters the vehicle to change, define themself. In this dramatic tale, however, tragedy is employed to show a reversal of fortune and how Ted and Marion Cole (Jeff Bridges and Kim Basinger) unravel, in many respects. After the tragedy that takes their sons, Marion slides into a depression that consumes her – she is an emotionless shell. And Ted has slid into not so secret adulterous affairs as if to get back at Marion for becoming numb and passionless, not realizing that he himself has not been the paramour of affection and warmth toward her. For him, life has become an ultimate game. Everything is a game, even his relationships.
The plot becomes highly intriguing when a 16-year-old prep-school student, Eddie O’Hare (Jon Foster), comes to live and work for Ted during summer break. ( Ted hired him because he uncannily resembles one of their sons.) The effect of this decision I will not reveal, only to say that it empowers and awakens Marion and ultimately humbles Ted.
Williams’ drama The Door In the Floor is beautifully filmed. It was recognized by the National Board of Review with an Excellence in Filmmaking award.
And the acting by Jeff Bridges and Kim Basinger is stellar.
Bridges developed this persona that demanded attention, even if he was not the focus or hung out in the background.
Basinger’s role was much more difficult than Bridges'. She was relegated to a more one-sided role and many viewers may have thought she appeared one-dimensional portraying the depressed wife and mother. But I want to clarify that I think she developed her character near-perfectly, especially in light of what she experienced watching her sons die, and then what she saw of her dead son's body. This alone may have shut down any mother in the insightful way Basinger portrayed it.
In all, I thought she was extraordinary more than anything in the way she would let some of the emotion surface. For example, I will not easily forget the image of her crying as she is making love to Eddie. It spoke volumes about her pain and longing to be loved.
The only low point of the script, in my opinion, was when Evelyn went after Ted for spurning her. The way this was scripted and filmed did come across as unrealistic, contrived slap-stick.
Williams' The Door In the Floor is a noteworthy film, memorable and meaningful. There is a scene in which Ted is giving a reading of his children’s book "The Door in the Floor." In this unsettling story, the mother begs her only son never to open the door in the floor. (It’s nearly a daily mantra.) Because legend has it that all the children that have opened the door disappear. It’s a wonderfully symbolic tale any parent understands. We’d love to shelter our sons and daughters from the effects of the world. And we’d hate to live with the knowledge that they have been taken from us too soon.
Other recognitions for The Door In The Floor:
2004 - Nominee - Independent Spirit Award Best Screenplay Tod Williams
2004 - Winner - Boston Society of Film Critics Best Actress [Runner-up] Kim Basinger
2004 - Nominee - Independent Spirit Award Best Actor Jeff Bridges
While preparing my review for the film, I came across the magnificent poem "The Novel According to John Irving" by Didi Menendez that tied in very well with my theme of tragedy. And she has Irving’s use of tragedy penned to the "t," even at its most harsh and controversial.
Note: Reader be forewarned, some of the images in the poem are graphic.
Didi is the publisher of the poetry magazine Mipoesias and is a recognized artist who paints authors and poets. It is a privilege to introduce you to one of her poems:
"The Novel According To John Irving"
So that our protagonist may find humility in himself
or in others, there must always be a severed body part.
Whether it be a hand snarled by a tiger,
a son's leg ripped off by a snowplow,
a wife's lover's penis chopped off by her own mouth,
a lesbian's tongue cut off by her own hand,
or a first born left eye gutted out by a stick shift.
And why must we be afraid of the stick shift
when it is there simply to drive us to an accident?
Let us wrestle with this idea for a moment
while the neighbor’s saliva slurping sloppy
dumb dog brings us a bone we buried a long time ago.
Did you know his mother conceived out of wedlock
so her son may become Jesus?
Bundled joys will surely return in caskets,
the rim of burned sunglasses framing
a perfectly melted face.
Let us replace the sons with a daughter.
Let us watch her as she turns into his mother.
Wait! There are bears locked away in a zoo.
Let us set them free!
Unable to out-run them,
they ravage their saviour.
Just like the marriage we could not save.
(c) Didi Menendez 2005. Reprinted with Author’s permission.
10:35:49 PM | |
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While J was cleaning her scrapbooking table, filing away M's school papers and projects from 2nd grade, she came across an exercise in which he wrote down all of the things he doesn't like.
Reading them off to me, I was struck by how poetic his list sounded. The subject matter was fascinating. So I formatted the list. I introduce to you a poem by my son, at age 7.
"I Don't Like"
by M.
I don’t like paper scratches.
They hurt.
I don’t like the shadows in my room.
It’s scary.
I don’t like red tomatoes.
They taste bad.
I don’t like dolls.
They look weird.
I don’t like dead ends.
They’re weird.
6:30:23 PM | |
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Thursday, April 21, 2005 |
Earlier in the month, I told you that the illustrious poet Laurel K. Dodge wrote a poem about my angel painting, titled "The Departure," that displays in my banner. Today, the magazine Mipo~Print was published online and her beautiful poem "Angels, Departing" is among the poems published therein.
I'm honored that my painting was her inspiration and I'm thrilled to introduce it to you. You can read it here, on page 3.
Laurel's poetry has appeared in many forums and magazines such as Mipo~Print, Mipoesias, Miller's Pond, and Electica, to name a few. Most remarkable, however, is her list of recognitions from the respected InterBoard Poetry Community. Consider these:
- August 2001, Honorable Mention, "The Pursuit of Light."
- June 2002, Honorable Mention, "Gaps"
- July 2002, 2nd Place, "Inside Out"
- Dec 2003, 1st Place, "The Dead Girl Talks Back"
- July 2004, 2nd Place, "Wintering"
I have the great privilege of going head-to-head with one of her newer poems "Awake" for an award at IBPC for the month of April. My poem is "Plotting Escape."
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Sunday, April 17, 2005 |
Being Sunday, I wanted to post some of my favorite poems that center around religious themes or employ religious symbols/dogma. To start us off with a bang, how about William Butler Yeats’ timeless classic "The Second Coming":
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
(Taken from William Butler Yeats: Selected Poems and Three Plays, Third Edition, Collier Books, 1986, page 89.)
The British poet and preacher, John Donne wrote two of my favorite religious-themed poems. First, let me introduce you to the sonnet "Batter my heart, three-personed God":
Batter my heart, three-personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labor to admit you, but O, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
but is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy.
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again;
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor even chaste, except you ravish me.
(From The Complete Poetry & Selected Prose of John Donne, Edited by Charles M. Coffin, Modern Library, 1952, page 252.)
My other Donne favorite is his sonnet "Death be not proud...."
DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die
(From The Complete Poetry & Selected Prose of John Donne, Edited by Charles M. Coffin, Modern Library, 1952, page 250.)
Another great and noteworthy poem is Love III from George Herbert.
8:24:19 PM | |
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Saturday, April 16, 2005 |
Sad to say, my high school and university English courses were devoid of studies about African American literature or poetry. That’s what I get for growing up in the Rocky Mountains, I guess.
I knew about Alice Walker because of Steven Speilberg’s excellent adaptation of her novel The Color Purple.
(If you want to read some noteworthy notes on the novel in regards to African American literature and Women’s studies, click here. It’s prepared by Professor Catherine Lavender of The College of Staten Island of The City University of New York.)
My favorite African American poet...hell, she’s simply one of my favorite poets period...is Maya Angelou. Her poem "In the Pulse of the Morning," which she delivered at President Clinton’s Inaugural, ranks as one of my favorite.
But other than these two writers, my knowledge of African American poets was deplorable. So I’ve done some research this month and come up with a list of poets and poems that reflect some of the greatest.
I discovered the writings of Paul Lawrence Dunbar (1872-1905), who is known as the first recognized African American poet. I discovered the amazing works of Rita Dove, who served at Poet Laureate of the United States from 1993 to 1995. I discovered Amiri Baraka, considered one of the most controversial writers of our time. Nonetheless, his voice is strong and is poetry excellent, including his tour de force poem "Someone Blew Up America." And I discovered, by searching for other peoples’ favorites, the writings of Gwendolyn Brooks and Margaret Walker.
Below, I have linked to some of these writers’ most recognized and celebrated works. (And poems I fell in love with for some reason or another.) There are themes on oppression, slavery, emancipation, growing up, being a mother, overcoming our adversaries, being a poet, being in love, mourning the death of a loved one, being free, being human, and persevering. I hope you take the opportunity to go out and read all of them.
This aspect of poetry month, researching and reading the voices of African American poets, has been one of the most rewarding projects I’ve yet done. I’m a fan.
Maya Angelou
Alone
Still I Rise
In the Pulse of the Morning
Alice Walker
I Said to Poetry
The Old Men Used to Sing
Gwendolyn Brooks
We Real Cool
The Mother
Margaret Walker
I Want to Write
For My People
Rita Dove
Vacation
The Yellow House on the Corner
Golden Oldie, Exit, Dusting, and Lady Freedom Among Us
Amiri Baraka
I Find the Same Thing Looking Up
Someone Blew Up America
Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note
Paul Lawrence Dunbar
We Wear the Masks
A Death Song
Emancipation
Note: Other recognized poets I did not get the opportunity to study include Nikki Giovanni, Audre Lorde, and Jay Wright.
5:37:15 PM | |
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Thursday, April 14, 2005 |
Directed by: Robert Rodriguez, Frank Miller (Guest director by Quentin Tarantino)
Written by: Frank Miller and Robert Rodriguez
(Adapted from the Sin City graphic novels by Frank Miller.)
Starring: Bruce Willis (Hartigan), Mickey Rourke (Marv), Jessica Alba (Nancy Callahan), Clive Owen (Dwight), Nick Stahl (Rourk Jr./Yellow Bastard), Powers Boothe (Senator Rourk), Rutger Hauer (Cardinal Roark), Elijah Wood (Kevin), Rosario Dawson (Gail), Benicio Del Toro (Jackie Boy), Jaime King (Goldie/Wendy), Devon Aoki (Miho), Brittany Murphy (Shellie), Michael Clarke Duncan (Manute), Carla Gugino (Lucille), Alexis Bledel (Becky), Josh Hartnett (The Man), Michael Madsen (Bob), Makenzie Vega (Nancy, Age 11)
(Rated R for graphic violence, nudity, and sexual situations. Distributed by Dimension Films.)
Hartigan (Bruce Willis) was on his way out one way or another. It was his last day on the force. And he had a bad heart – a ticker, he called it. And it was winding down.
All good heroes have a flaw, an ailment, and Hartigan’s might as well have been his heart. Being on the force for so many years in Sin City, caring for folks the way he did, knowing the things he knew and not being able to do anything about it, you can understand that his heart would ache to the point of breaking, failing.
But when we first see him, driving home in the dark, pelting rain, with that scar on his head (the one that looks like Christ’s cross fallen down) shining as if it had been touched by angels, Hartigan decided that he’s not going home. Instead, he was going to go against the instructions of his own department and go out and rescue little Nancy Callahan, the 11-year old girl who had been kidnapped by a pedophile who was being protected by the police because his dad was the Senator. If there were any loose ends he needed clearing up before he retired, this was that end. He’d die trying to save this girl.
Robert Rodriguez’ incredible film Sin City has many more anti-heros and heroines just like Hartigan, good-hearted folk who get thrown into situations they have to clear up before they get framed for it or end up dying for. After all, simply knowing about someone you should not know about was just as good as a ticket to the morgue in this town.
The gladiator-sized Marv (Mickey Rourke) is another such anti-hero. His story is the second in a series of three. When we first meet him, he’s just had the time of his life (literally) with Goldie, his goddess. You see, he’s such a big, ugly man that no woman had ever paid him even a glance. That is until Goldie saw him that night in the bar. She seemed to need protection and he was willing to be that man for her.
But when Marv awoke the next morning, Goldie was dead. And as if on que, at the break of dawn, the police began breaking down the door to his apartment. He was being framed. But he vowed to Goldie that he would find the murderer and avenge her death. On his journey, Marv finds a serial killer and uncovers the gravest of secrets that goes all the way to the high priest of the Catholic church in town.
The third story of Sin City is a two-edged tale about strong-willed women, hookers who have learned to fend for themselves, govern their side of town. It is also a story about Dwight (Clive Owen). His new love, Shellie (Brittney Murphy) was threatened by her ex-boyfriend Jackie Boy (Benicio del Toro). Dwight overheard his threats from the bathroom.
When Jackie Boy excuses himself to use the toilet, Dwight meets him there and nearly drowns him in the toilet. Dwight threatens Jackie and Jackie leaves with blood on his mind. Realizing the monster he had created, Dwight decides to go out and stop Jackie Boy before he kills anyone who crosses his path. What transpires is a battle for Old Town between the hookers who rule it, the mob who would love to govern it, and the police. And believe me, this portion of the film is Kill Bill meets Pulp Fiction. (Oh, and Quentin Tarantino directs a scene in this story.)
Yes, Sin City (adapted from Miller’s graphic novels Sin City, The Yellow Bastard, and The Big Fat Kill), is about good cops, very bad cops, a serial killer, a pedophile, a crooked Catholic priest, a crooked senator, hookers that control their side of town, and vigilante-ism that on one hand deals justice to those who truly deserve it and on another becomes the creed for a self-righteous psycho to rid the world of hookers.
Sin City is an amazing feat of filmmaking. Period. One critic called it visionary. They're absolutely right.
Sin City is a black and white graphic novel come to life. It has the look-and-feel and script of an old Spencer Tracy crime show or the Dick Tracy movie. The script was many things at different times: light, corny, comic book-like, and yes, even poetic. I loved the cyclical nature of the story and even of the script. For example, when Marv begins his narration, he opens describing his love for Goldie. At the end of his tale, he ends with the same lines.
The violence is toned down to a degree, employing the use of the color of white to display blood. The film isn’t devoid of color, however. People’s eyes are blue or green. A beautiful lady in the opening scene wears a brilliant red sequined evening gown. And the most ruthless of villians, Yellow Bastard, is yellow, of course. But don’t get me wrong, just because they tone down the blood, Sin City is an unabashedly violent film at heart. It's full of characters as sick as those in Silence of the Lambs, The Cell, and Memento. But I have to admit, it was hard for me to refrain from cheering every time one of these crooks met their violent end.
In closing, I couldn’t help but feel that Rodriguez created an allegory of and for our times with corrupt establishments and maniacal zealots at its heart.
8:52:54 PM | |
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Wednesday, April 13, 2005 |
This article is part of a continuing series on poetry to commemorate National Poetry Month.
The Interboard Poetry Community (IBPC) is highlighting a poem each day of the month of April in commemoration of Poetry Month. Today's poem, for example, is one of e.e. cummings greats "your little voice." Other poets included so far on their list consist of Hart Crane, Mark Strand, Elton Glaser, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Carl Sandburg, and Davis Mcombs. You can view this feature titled The Daily Verse here.
While your at it, you will want to check out this this month's winning poems "That I Was Here," by M, "Handless Woman," by Lynn Sweeting, "Widowed," by Ash Bowen, and "pejorative requim in medias res," by Nicky Testavudo. (I'd like to add that I think "Handless Woman" is an especially good poem.)
The IBPC is a community of 15+ poetry online workshops, magazines, and groups such as About Poetry, Atlantic Unbound, Blueline Poetry, Cafe Utne, Critical Poet, Desert Moon Review, Enter the Muse, Frugal Poet, iVillage, Lit with Kick, Melic Review, Minister Joe, MipoZine, Moontown Cafe, OZpoet, Rabbit Hole, Salty Dreams, SC Writer's Workshop, SplashHall Poetry, The Writer's Block, and Wild Poetry Forum. I am a proud member of the MipoZine group of poets.
10:31:54 PM | |
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Tuesday, April 12, 2005 |
This article is part of a continuing series on poetry to commemorate National Poetry Month.
"The Dictators," by Pablo Neruda
Years ago, I inlcuded Pablo Neruda's poem "The Dictators" in commentary about how the rising casualties in Iraq were being played down by the White House and the mainstream media. I found the poem most poignant because it paints such a vivid picture of those people who instigate war, who keep far away from the front lines and away from the glares of the dead.
Since then, I've always been amazed at number of and consistency of internet searches on this poem. It's a testament to its timelessness and relevency.
No other poet, including Emily Dickenson, has generated more hits for my site. But despite this fact, this is one of my favorite poems.
An odor has remained among the sugarcane:
a mixture of blood and body, a penetrating
petal that brings nausea.
Between the coconut palms the graves are full
of ruined bones, of speechless death-rattles.
The delicate dictator is talking
with top hats, gold braid, and collars.
The tiny palace gleams like a watch
and the rapid laughs with gloves on
cross the corridors at times
and join the dead voices
and the blue mouths freshly buried.
The weeping cannot be seen, like a plant
whose seeds fall endlessly on the earth,
whose large blind leaves grow even without light.
Hatred has grown scale on scale,
blow on blow, in the ghastly water of the swamp,
with a snout full of ooze and silence.
"Dulce et Decorum est," by Wilfred Owen
I was introduced to Wilfred Owen’s poem at university in one of my British Literature courses.
"Dulce et Decorum est" is recognized as the best known poem of World War 1. In Latin, the title means "it is sweet and right" and it comes from a longer phrase from the poet Horace. The phrase is quoted in its entirety at the end of the poem, "Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori." And it means "it is sweet and right to die for your country." Go to this site if you would like descriptions and meanings of some of the words.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
"The Wars in New Jersey," by W.S. Merwin
I am fond of a few poems with themes on war from his 1992 collection of poetry titled Travels, published by Knopf. In regards to this poem, The "Wars in New Jersey," I like to think it speaks so well about how I feel about the Iraq war. I appreciate his insight on how war affects the people of the country, the ones who have no voice in regards to who we go to war with, but who have to pay for it with our own money. I also like the closing stanza. Merwin seems to suggest that we are truly apathetic creatures-- we seem to see the effects of war yet pretend it's good and worthwhile, as if it's peacetime, as if we know the purpose of being there. In regards to Iraq, we know we were bamboozled by lies and yet we still live under this "see no evil" mentality.
This is the way we were all brought up now
we imagine and so we all tell
of the same place by saying nothing about it
nobody is ever walking on those black
battlefields and never have we set foot there
awake nor could we find our way across
the unmemorized streams and charred flats
that we roll through canned in a dream of steel
but the campaigns as we know we know
were planned and are still carried out for our sake
with our earnings and so near to us
who sail forward holding up our papers before us
while the towers rising from the ruins and the ruins
the acres of wrecked wheels the sinking
carries the single limbs yet hanging
from the light fall away as we pass
in whose name it is being accomplished
all in a silence that we are a part of
that includes the casualties the names
the leaves and waters from the beginning
everything that ever lived there
the arguments for each offensive the reasons
and the present racing untouchable
foreground its gray air stitched with wires its lace
of bridges and its piled horizons flickering
between tanks and girders a silence
reaching far out of sight to regions half legend
where the same wars are burning now for us
about which we have just been reading something
when we look out and think no one is there
a silence from which we emerge onto the old
platfrom only a few minutes late
as though it were another day
in peacetime and we knew why we were there
"The Less Deceived: Wants," by Philip Larkin
This poem, by Philip Larkin, written in 1955, I came across while reading Chris Hedges masterful anti-war book "War is a Force that Gives Us Meaning." It introduces the last chapter in book that discusses Freud's fascinating theory that human nature is torn between two motivating forces: love and death (annihilation).
In this chapter, Hedges discusses our role in the perpetuation of Thanatos (death), primarily the concept that we buy into the myths of war. He contrasts this with the dichotomy that exists between soldiers and citizens at home, specifically that soldiers returning home from war find they can't fit back into society because of how society is lost in a fog of myths and lies. Hedges writes:
"There is among many who fight in war a sense of shame, one that is made worse by the patriotic drivel used to justify the act of killing in war. Those who seek meaning in patriotism do not want to hear the truth of war, wary of bursting the bubble. The tensions between those who were there and those who were not, those who refuse to let go of the myth and those that know it to be a lie feed into the dislocation and malaise after war."(page176)
In light of this, Hedges aptly frames this chapter with Larkin’s amazing (yet disturbing poem) that addresses our nature to go along with life and avoid the realities of war and death.
Beyond all this, the wish to be alone
However the sky grows dark with invitation-cards
However we follow the printed directions of sex
However the family is photographed under the
flagstaff--
Beyond all this, the wish to be alone
Beneath it all desire of oblivion runs
Despite the artful tensions of the calendar,
The life insurance, the tabled fertility rites,
The costly aversion of the eyes from death--
Beneath it all desire of oblivion runs.
7:34:32 PM | |
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Monday, April 11, 2005 |
This article is part of a continuing series on poetry to commemorate National Poetry Month.
"Untitled"
I live my life in growing orbits
which move out over the things of this world.
Perhaps I never can achieve the last,
but that will be my attempt.
I am circling around God,
around the ancient tower,
and I have been circling for a thousand years.
And I still do not know,
if I am a Falcon,
or a storm,
or a great song.
-- by R.M. Rilke
Years ago my friend Sean sent me this poem and I immediately considered it a favorite for primarily two reasons:
1) It's visually amazing. It simply transports us out into a vast universe where we literally sense how it feels to be a falcon (maybe the size of a constellation), a storm (the size of the Milky Way), or a song (possibly so chrystal-clear and loud that it fills the entirety of space).
2) It speaks to that inner-person, the one that never ages (though we do) and feels like it could live on forever "circling the tower of God." Whether you refer to that inner-self as your heart or your soul, this poem makes that inner-self seem to take on wings, fly, and soar.
6:14:30 PM | |
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Sunday, April 10, 2005 |
This article is part of a continuing series on poetry to commemorate National Poetry Month.
Let me introduce you to another of my favorite poems:
In 2003, September 6th, in front of a special session of Congress, the US Poet Laureate, Billy Collins, stood in front of the assemly and delivered his dedication to those who lost their lives at ground zero in New York City.
It was a poem titled "The Names," Collins captures the sense of loss resulting from 9/11. What I most admire about the poem is the manner in which it is written. He treats his subject matter with care and a sense of reality--the names come alive to us because he ties them into things we touch or see everyday. Moreover, I appreciate the fact that he does concentrate on the lost souls; there is no touch of anger or retribution (or the like) as some of the poems I've heard being read on radio shows and observances. I think this portrays a great respect on Collins behalf and towards those who lost their lives and the many souls forever changed by the tragedy. Collins has created a timeless, beautiful piece of poetry.
Read Billy Collins poem, "The Names," here.
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Saturday, April 09, 2005 |
This article is part of a continuing series on poetry to commemorate National Poetry Month.
In light of National Poetry Month, I wanted to re-introduce you to one of my favorite poems, "Wild Geese," by Mary Oliver.
And I can't help but tell you that I'm writing up my review of Sin City. Hopefully, I will have that posted tomorrow or Monday.
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Friday, April 08, 2005 |
In light of this month being National Poetry Month, the American Poetry Association has posted 30 different ways to celebrate the occassion. (Thanks Mousemusings for the link.) I'm starting off late by posting it but they suggest you complete one activity each day of this month. Some of the activities consist of:
- Read a book of poetry
- Memorize a poem
- Revisit a poem you loved when you were young, then give a poem you didn’t like another try
- Attend a poetry reading
- Read a poem at an open mic
- Show your support of literary organizations
- Google a poem
- Hear a Poem
- Participate in Young People’s Poetry Week (April 12-18)
- Get out the sidewalk chalk and commit a poem to pavement
- Read or recite a poem to family and friends
- Organize a poetry reading in your area
- Promote public support for poetry.
- Start a poetry reading group
- Read some literary criticism
- Buy a book of poems for your local library
During this month, I will attempt to share with you some of my favorite poems (ones I have not already shared), include a couple of poems in some movie reviews (including one by China Viejo for my review of The Door In the Floor), add a few more of my own, and include links to other prestigious online poetry magazines.
And by the way, this is a great segway to share with you the news that the poet Laurel K. Dodge wrote a poem about my angel painting "The Departure" in my banner. The poem "Angels, Departing" is being published this month in the latest volume of MiPoesias. I'll link to it when it is published so that you can read it. It is very beautiful. I was very touched and honored.
10:09:27 PM | |
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Tuesday, April 05, 2005 |
If you like animation and ninjas, there is an online film by Atom Films I think you will find most delightful. For online films, I dare say it's a bit of a gem.
Ninjai: The Little Ninja is a film so far in twelve chapters. Ninjai is a little boy, who, we learn from Chapter 1, wonders who he is and where he came from. So he has gone on a journey to find his homeland, to find someone who knows his heritage. But this journey is not without its demons who attempt to capture or kill him.
The animation of Ninjai comes across as quite basic, but don't let that stop you from watching. The animation in many places, especially chapter 4, is wonderfully rich in color. The editing is quite good.
And the most surprising element of this online film is the script. It's quite advanced for such a medium. (I have one historical point of contention with it and it is in chapter 1, Ninjai says "I pray the Lord will guide over me because I know he watches over me." I didn't know Christianity had reached Japan in this time period.)
View Ninjai: The Little Ninja for yourself clicking on this link.
NOTE: One should be forewarned that the violence in these chapters are graphic. Demons and innocent bystanders die in the fashion standard to all martial arts pictures, including beheadings.
10:32:44 PM | |
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Sunday, April 03, 2005 |
(1978 - 2005)
Time extinguished this luminous flame
leaving fractured lines of smoke that
covered countrysides
choked our senses
stung our eyes.
The sun did not rise nor did the moon.
Even the City on the Hill appeared
muted, colored in
grays, hidden in
shadow.
Covered by our bushel, we can't see God
welcoming home his soul.
10:18:18 PM | |
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Saturday, April 02, 2005 |
Added links to my Music Reviews category in the sidebar for Duran Duran's Astronaut Concert and U2's How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb.
Also worked on getting the Archive Pages working again. When I installed Radio Userland on my new computer, it did not install all of the new macros. So I had to do this manually. There may be a few glitches before it gets up and functional again.
10:25:25 AM | |
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