I'm going all modern on you

I am a very fickle person. Or at least my mood affects a lot of what I do. I warn you of this because I am about to make a statement which might well prove false by, say, next week.

For the next few weeks I have decided to look at modern poets. I know that the classics are brilliant and who could want more than their wisdom and pleasure, but I would like to broaden my horizons of the world around me as it is today as well as learning how we got here. I am not very au fait with the goings on in the literary world right now and I'd like that to change. I should not be a modernism snob when I live in the age of liberalism in writing.

Today I have found an American poet by the name of Deborah Landau. I have read a few of her poems, some more abstract than others (she plays around with stream of consciousness, it appears). I have found that she likes the flowing use of syntax across stanzas and similarly makes little use of capitalisation. Her poems are rather short, often, to make them to the point, and I suppose this reflects how little time people have nowadays for things like poetry; your message has to be given before the reader goes to check their phone or watch a fast-paced action film with instant gratification of plot, sex scenes etc.

This poem is rather different to the ones I have studied so far and is ironically anti-modernist in its content, though modernist in form (less dependence on rhyme, scansion etc.)

You've Got to Start Somewhere

I had the idea of sitting still

while others rushed by.

I had the thought of a shop

that still sells records.

A letter in the mailbox.

The way that book felt in my hands.

I was always elsewhere.

How is it to have a body today,

to walk in this city, to run?

I wanted to eat an apple so precisely

the tree would make another

exactly like it, then lie

down uninterrupted

in the gadgetless grass.

I kept texting the precipice,

which kept not answering,

my phone auto-making

everything incorrect.

I had the idea. Put down the phone.

Earth, leaves, storm, water, vine.

The gorgeous art of breathing.

I had the idea — the hope

of friending you without electricity.

Of what could be made among the lampposts

with only our voices and hands.

From the start of the poem, there is a sense of difference and solitariness. 'I' is contrasted with the indefinite pronoun 'others', portraying an initial focus on the self as apart from the generic, noisy crowed. It seems a pretty simple 'idea', mimicked in the simple lexis, but in reality it is quite a feat for some, unthinkable almost.

The next couplet introduces a nostalgia to entice the reader to miss how things used to be, not only in the music industry with 'records' but the connotations of that; every record shop would be on a street filled with other shops which we no longer have, like sweet shops and the local butcher and other family-grown trades, (nearly) all gone. One 'shop' brings back an entire section of memory for those who lived during those times, times of a community that didn't exist only on the internet, which is hinted at in the next line.

'A letter in the mailbox' is a minor sentence, using words purely to recall memory of a time before email. This again symbolises more than it seems; it symbolises correspondence with distant but faithful friends, the dedication to writing personally for a loved one, which contrasts to the reality of the 'mailbox' today: bills, bank statements, more bills.

The following few lines use the same short and minor sentences to recall memories in quick succession. This is broken by a question about how things feel now, the answer to which is inside itself; 'run' indicates that the writer thinks things, people especially, move too quickly to appreciate life fully now. Running connects to fast transport, such as planes, cars, trains, linking back to the initial 'rushed'.

Ms Landau mocks tech-speak with words like 'auto-making' and 'friending' to present the new world as false and petty, if not irritating and often counter-productive. I did not know whether the comment on the precise 'apple' eating was referring to GM products and scientific meddling (I think maybe not due to the positive sound of 'gadgetless grass' which follows) but if it doesn't then I don't know what point she is making, although I am sure it is seriously intellectual and would leave me thoroughly impressed with her grasp on the figurative world.

As a tech-baby I have some sympathy with this poem in a Utopian world but realistically I could not live the life she promotes; unfortunately she is right in observing that there is just not enough time in the day constructed by this society. But if we do want to change that, we have 'got to start somewhere'.

Poetical Pope

I cannot remember why but this week somewhere the name of Alexander Pope caught my attention and thus he is the next discovery on my list.

This week I will give you some context into the man as I rather feel I have been neglecting that important process.

Born in 1688, Pope was a part of a Catholic family, which was based in London until anti-Catholic legislation persuaded them to move to Berkshire. Alexander was self-educated, due to the fact that his religion barred him from attending schools etc.

I am rather astonished to read that this poem was written when the poet was aged merely twelve. I chose it prior to that knowledge and so will now read it in a slightly different light, perhaps. Or just with further awe.

The year that he wrote this poem was also the year in which he was diagnosed with a disease which would render him a hunchback of only four and a half feet.

I suppose then that is all the context needed to cover this poem. It does give a much more bitter note to the term, as if he knew his future was to be tinted by his deformities for the rest of his life.

Ode on Solitude

Happy the man, whose wish and care

   A few paternal acres bound,

Content to breathe his native air,

                            In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,

   Whose flocks supply him with attire,

Whose trees in summer yield him shade,

                            In winter fire.

Blest, who can unconcernedly find

   Hours, days, and years slide soft away,

In health of body, peace of mind,

                            Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease,

   Together mixed; sweet recreation;

And innocence, which most does please,

                            With meditation.

 

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;

   Thus unlamented let me die;

Steal from the world, and not a stone

                            Tell where I lie.

As I am participating in a course on Wordsworth at the moment, I find it apt to mention his 'Preface to the Lyrical Ballads' as well as his poem 'Michael', among others. Wordsworth, a century after Pope,  thought poetry should reflect the voice of the ordinary person and highlight the fact that emotions did not belong only to the nobility. To me, this poem of Pope's inclines towards these points before Wordsworth even got there. All at the age of twelve, apparently.

The reader would first come to this poem, due to its title, probably in rather a lonely mood themselves, or at least expecting a sombre poem. Pope surprises the reader by fronting the first line with the complement 'happy', which sets any later negative statements in a more positive light, as in the subordinate clause 'a few paternal acres bound' and the last stanza as a whole.

The technique of not repeating the main verb from clause to clause makes the poem shorter and therefore more simple. The trees 'yield' both shade and fire and 'milk', 'bread' and 'attire' are all indirect objects of the verb 'supply'. This mimics the simplicity of the life to which the poet aspires.

It is interesting that the poet describes the farmer (note how we are never given a title of the 'man') to have both 'study and ease'. The perception of the time was that those who worked the land were not educated and did not 'study' but Pope is claiming that they have a certain type of knowledge to learn. He does not say what though, only that it brings on 'meditation', implying that these country-folk are capable of higher thought and reflection.

Perhaps the knowledge of his disposition put thoughts about death into the young poet's mind. This would explain the final note about where he will 'lie' appearing peaceful, regardless of the solitary nature. The prefix 'un-' is used in a tricolon takes three participles ('-seen', '-known' and '-lamented') which are usually desirable after death and makes them sound very negative. However, this purposely contrasts to the overall positive message of the poem. The iussive subjunctive in 'let me' gives an urgency, as if death is to be greeted. The poet speaks of an almost taboo subject in conversational speech with contentment and almost excitement; 'steal' is etymologically related to 'stealth', giving connotations of an exciting escape by night to somewhere forbidden for whatever reason.

I find it both a solemn and an uplifting poem, the former for knowing the poet's context, the latter for the message it gives to other people. In an age dependent upon class structure, at least a few people could see that being at the top was not the be-all and end-all (isn't that a nice phrase, when one thinks about it?).

War Poetry

What with all the political unrest around the world at the moment, I decided I should try to connect more with the fighters and sufferers themselves by reading some war poetry. They are all inspiring and I appreciate the controversial portrayals of Christianity, which convey the disillusionment of the time.

Here dead we lie, by A. E. Housman

Here dead we lie
Because we did not choose
To live and shame the land
From which we sprung.

Life, to be sure,
Is nothing much to lose,
But young men think it is,
And we were young.

I chose this poem firstly because it is short and barely descriptive, which mimics the numberless deaths of people who were amalgamated into the general 'soldier'. Housman also cleverly uses the deictic 'here' to denote the fact that soldiers can die anywhere; the reader will question 'where is 'here'' and the ambiguity means that the poem can be applied to any fighter of any war.

The simplicity of the phrase 'to live and shame' acknowledges the heavy guilt that returning soldiers felt or were made to feel by those who had lost family and friends. The choice of the verb 'choose' can come across as sarcastic as it implies that those who lived had a choice, which they mostly did not and a war poet would be sensitive to this. Therefore 'choose' implies a sacrifice whilst shaming those who pour guilt onto those who 'chose' to come home and live.

The most solemn and disillusioned tone comes through when the poet claims that 'life.../Is nothing much to lose'. This again casts aside the losses of war, as it is impossible to feel grateful enough for the lives the fighters and helpers sacrificed. It sounds colloquial, meaning it also comes across as careless and unimportant, mimicking the message.

The final two lines begin with the discourse marker 'but', which gives a contradictory tone to denote the simple fact that the previous thought is hard to be fully understood and appreciated. The part that makes the heart turn is the repetition of the adjective 'young', which also ends the poem to leave the reader with the feeling of loss and wasted life and youth. The pathos is aided by the switch of tense from 'is' to 'were'.

I could go on further into this poem and its actual context but I rather like looking at it from afar as it can be applied to so many moments in time. Short poems always do get me going on far longer!

If anyone likes war poetry, I would recommend the song 'This song for you' by Chris du Burgh. Makes me cry every time.

Pre-print poets

This week I thought I'd set myself a trickier task and read my first medieval poem (not including a dabbling in Beowulf). As I have not read any Chaucer I thought it important that I should combine the two virginities into this one post.

I have to say the few I've read I will have to research a lot in order to understand them. Firstly because they are in Middle English and secondly because they are heavily contextual and I know little about the 14th Century.

Being a love poem, I managed to understand the gist of 'To Rosemounde', so have chosen that to focus on. I am afraid any comments I can make will be of a more simple nature than usual.

Madame, ye ben of al beaute shryne

As fer as cercled is the mapamounde,

For as the cristal glorious ye shyne,

And lyke ruby ben your chekes rounde.

Therwith ye ben so mery and so jocounde

That at a revel whan that I see you daunce,

It is an oynement unto my wounde,

Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.

For thogh I wepe of teres ful a tyne,

Yet may that wo myn herte nat confounde;

Your semy voys that ye so smal out twyne

Maketh my thoght in joy and blis habounde.

So curtaysly I go with love bounde

That to myself I sey in my penaunce,

"Suffyseth me to love you, Rosemounde,

Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce."

Nas neuer pyk walwed in galauntyne

As I in love am walwed and ywounde,

For which ful ofte I of myself devyne

That I am trew Tristam the secounde.

My love may not refreyde nor affounde,

I brenne ay in an amorous plesaunce.

Do what you lyst, I wyl your thral be founde,

Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.

The refrain to me conveys the essence of the narrator's unrequited love. All the words bar the last are monosyllabic and therefore emphasise how simple love is, especially in this story as only one person is in love. So Chaucer mimics the one-sided nature of the love but also the plain acceptance of that person that the other does not love back. He does not feel anything bad towards the woman for her refusal of him, highlighted by the politeness of the address in the very first line.

He feels a 'wounde' but it is healed merely by seeing her 'mery'. The antithesis here emphasises how the two people are separate and will never be together but also highlights the strength of his love for her if she can heal what she has unconsciously caused.

In the first paragraph the 'daliaunce' is literal as he cannot court her. By repeating it, however, Chaucer uses metonymy where a dance represents courtship and eventually any relationship at all. He seems removed, letting her do 'what [she] lyst', although he claims his love will not turn cold (tautology in 'refeyde' and 'affounde' to emphasise this). He appears almost as a stalker, saying he will be 'founde' wherever she goes. So this love is a very strong one but also an accepting one as he does not appear to beg for love or scold her for her distance. At no point does the narrator claim to have any interaction with the girl, so perhaps he has fallen in love without actually knowing the woman. This is supported by his immediate concentration on her 'beaute' and how at no point does he give us her actual character and the things he loves about her.

I am glad I did this; I like this poem and am sure there are other Medieval poets with equally pleasing works.

Synderella Plath

This week I am going to take a look at some of Sylvia Plath's work. I have often avoided her due to my knowledge of her suicide affecting my sensitive soul rather too much but I felt in the mood to take her on today and stop being so selfish, especially as I know she did great work for feminism.

The prince leans to the girl in scarlet heels,
Her green eyes slant, hair flaring in a fan
Of silver as the rondo slows; now reels
Begin on tilted violins to span

The whole revolving tall glass palace hall
Where guests slide gliding into light like wine;
Rose candles flicker on the lilac wall
Reflecting in a million flagons' shine,

And glided couples all in whirling trance
Follow holiday revel begun long since,
Until near twelve the strange girl all at once
Guilt-stricken halts, pales, clings to the prince

As amid the hectic music and cocktail talk
She hears the caustic ticking of the clock.

The main things I have noticed in this poem are: the amount of colour; the focus on light/reflections/glass; the significance of 'the prince'.

The first stanza creates vibrant images due to the broad range of colours used by Plath. We notice that the shoes are not merely glass as we are used to but 'scarlet'. This conjures up images of promiscuity rather than royal class, so differentiates the girl from her partner. The green eyes are also unusual and often desirable due to their rare nature. 'Green' usually connotes envy but perhaps here it is jealousy in its original sense (she wants the prince all to herself). Then we come to hair of 'silver', once again contradicting the norm, which is blonde. As silver is not as valuable as a golden blonde, perhaps Plath is suggesting the girl is out of place beside a prince (note how she is merely a 'girl', not even 'young lady'); this is her dream but it is a childish one, leading to her 'guilt' as she knows she must leave but also that she has been greedy and naïve. She has cheated both her partner and herself.

I have interpreted the 'glass hall' to symbolise a trap for the girl, in which she is subjected to the male gaze. This is enhanced by the use of the word 'reflecting' at the end of the second stanza. Plath does not use it overtly to say the girl is reflected in a mirror but the natural impulse to see this as her repeated image is there. The 'rose' of the candles is used in various ways. It first suggests love or passion but then is paled by the sudden 'lilac', which clashes with the first in both colour and scent, creating a sickly image, making the atmosphere of the poem more heavy and oppressive. This is matched by the sickly 'revolving' of the dancers, who go through a pattern out of their control as this is high society.

I have noticed that (excluding the final rhyming couplet) the poem is framed by 'the prince'. He first 'leans' to her and then she 'clings' to him. He is therefore the focus of this coupling, the most important, the protector and the lead. By calling the girl 'strange' in the penultimate stanza, Plath might be using indirect discourse to portray the girl in the prince's eyes. If so, he has no romantic thought of her clinging to him and thinks she is but a 'girl' to his royal status, which carries so much more weight.

I suppose the underlying message of this poem is that you can't get what you want by pretending to be something you are not; everyone else will notice. Also, what you want may not be healthy for you, especially for woman who are brought up to want to be beautiful for men but find that this means being controlled by them and patriarchal society (1950s debates over whether women should be allowed to feel desire). The clock, therefore, beckons the girl away from her man because it symbolises the process of ageing, at the end of which no man will want her again due to the fading of her beauty, just as her pallor fades to 'pale' in fear.

After doing some research on the poem now, I realise that it makes sense for me to be a little confused about the poem's messages because it was one of her earlier poems, so she had not mastered the ability to define her opinions, no matter how contradictory, in an easy and subtle way. Nevertheless I like the direction in which she was thinking.