Poetry in the news

This week I thought instead of studying a poem I would look around for some interesting articles on poetry as a whole. I have thoroughly enjoyed this and would really recommend it to others who are interested; even if poetry is not that much of an excitement to you I'd encourage anyone to research their favourite things in the news, because I know how easy it is to let the TV tell you what is important in the world today and forget that so many things are happening that they can't all be focused on and broadcast.

So I shall list a few places to start here with brief descriptions of my findings. Many of them were surprisingly science-based and thus all the more enjoyable for someone who no longer uses that part ofher brain in her studies.

There is fascinating research going into encoding writing in the DNA of microorganisms! Check out this article http://www.engadget.com/2015/12/30/christian-bok-the-xenotext-bacteria-poetry/

Article about a computer which writes poetry and to me some of it seemed beautiful because the words used were placed amongst others one would not normally consider, which to me is pure creativity in a human. It is a little hard to judge when you know what the author is but I was pleasantly impressed http://motherboard.vice.com/read/how-machines-write-poetry

It is only briefly mentioned, but this woman went through depression at university whilst studying English (as I want to) and yet managed to undergo therapy to come out feeling stronger on the other side and now recite poetry about her experiences. I am glad to see that it is helping other people as it does me http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/dec/29/counselling-therapy-anxiety-depression-university

Here is a great story about a poet reciting in a prison and the inmates actually enjoying it far more than they had expected. http://www.nytimes.com/2015/12/30/nyregion/bringing-poetry-to-rikers-island-where-they-cant-cage-your-mind.html?_r=0

I hope these give some food for thought and I would love to read anything anyone else finds!

And also because I can and want to I shall say HAPPY NEW YEAR :)

Cute Coleridge

As far as I am aware I have not yet looked at any of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poetry. I have briefly met him during a course on Wordsworth, his good friend, but know that he was a great writer in his own right.

That said, the title of this post might seem a little demeaning but ah! the things I will do for an alliteration. Plus, he admits himself in the title of this particular poem that his pondering is not of higher thought.

This is a little love poem; I cannot state about whom it was that he was thinking when he wrote this because he was married but unhappily. It therefore may not be about anyone in particular, showing how the poet can imitate and simulate emotions without feeling them at that very moment, either from memory or sympathetic observance.

Something Childish, but Very Natural
Written in Germany

If I had but two little wings
And were a little feathery bird,
To you I'd fly, my dear!
But thoughts like these are idle things,
And I stay here.

But in my sleep to you I fly:
I'm always with you in my sleep!
The world is all one's own.
But then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone.

Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids:
So I love to wake ere break of day:
For though my sleep be gone,
Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids,
And still dreams on.

The poem begins on that wondrous conjunction 'if'', used to give the immediate impression of childhood hope and imagination. By using left branching, Coleridge has allowed this word to have poetic prominence, framing the whole piece with a positive, hopeful outlook on love. This is closed off in the same way in the final line with the use of the verb 'dreams', again a supposedly childish lexeme that really should not be seen as such; people continue to dream throughout the whole of their lives. As I see it, being called childish is just another way for saying someone is happy. This is why he also calls it 'natural'.

Hope appears to diminish in the first stanza with the adversative 'but', but then another 'but' contradicts that one in the next stanza, returning to the positive outlook of the child. The constant to and fro that these buts create is like the flow of the lover's emotions, at one moment positive, the next negative. The mix of exclamations and questions also aids this portrayal. The final positive resolution comes with the fresh conjunction 'yet' to rid the narrator of the past 'but[s]'.

Imagination is the final indication of a childish nature in this poem. The first stanza speaks of transfiguration, then the second of imaginative play in dreams. The life of the adult is outside of these things and thus leaves one 'all, all alone'. I feel I share this outlook on life, for anything supposedly 'adult' appears a more negative outlook on life than that of the child. His victory comes when he is awake and yet still manages to 'dream', without the aid of sleep. The inner hopeful and happy child has overcome the lonely adult in the 'dark'.

Overall, I see this poem as more of a comment upon life and imagination than love, and I think the title shows Coleridge would have agreed.

Sorry to disappoint. You'll have to Woolf this down instead.

...so Leo Tolstoy didn't write any poems (at least none that I can find). What a bummer.


Onto plan B then, which is just as intriguing: Virginia Woolf. I am ashamed to say that I often confuse Woolf and Plath, perhaps because they were both working towards the same goal of female independence and both unfortunately committed suicide after suffering from depression. However, Plath died aged 30, whereas Woolf lived until the age of 59. Woolf was born in the 29th Century in England, Plath the 20th in the USA. Both great women whose linguistic power will never fade from literary memory, whether it's Woolf's novels or Plath's poems. They have both shed so much light on female representation and we must be forever grateful to them.


A little more focused background to Virginia Woolf: she had seven siblings/half-siblings because her parents had both been widowed prior to their marriage. The family lived in one large house in Kensington. her father was an author and a mountaineer, her mother a model for painters and a nurse.


The girls of the household were educated at home and utilised their Victorian library. Here at home she wrote a household newspaper, noting the family's goings-on. Sadly, this was also the place where, at the age of six, Woolf was sexually abused by her two half-brothers. To make matters worse, her mother died aged 49 in this period. Two years later, her half-sister also died, leading to a breakdown.


However, being the scholarly pioneer that she was, she still learnt languages at King's College London in the female department, meeting many radical feminists. Then her father suddenly passed away, causing Woolf to be taken to a mental rehabilitation centre, which sounds much fancier than it is.


During this time, her siblings had bought a house in the Bloomsbury area, meaning the family became a part of the Bloomsbury group of intellectuals and artists. Here, Woolf met her husband and the two loved each other throughout the remaining years of her life.


Virginia Woolf's death was what she chose it to be. She was afraid of her mental state and so decided to drown herself by putting stones in her coat pocket to weigh her down in a river. I won't say it's sad because she had the right to choose what she did with her life, as we all should do.


This is the only poem I have found under her name. Maybe it was not her work, maybe it was. Either way it links in so well with her death that I felt compelled to comment upon it.

The first line captures her mental state at the point of considering death. She cannot 'see' anything, whether that is the love her husband as for her or the fate of her own future or even any more reason to go on. The stanza break provides literal emptiness on the page to mimic this statement, making the reader feel how empty the narrator is.


The first person plural address that comes next in 'we may sink' could be seen as Woolf's split in body and mind; her body will sink and so will her spirit and the voices in her head, meaning that her 'ears' will be free to listen to the natural and real world. The tone therefore becomes schizophrenic almost. 'Settle' denotes peace and her final rest after the trauma of her life. She no longer wants to struggle and has already done so much for the female battle that now she wants to become one with nature.


I do not know for sure what the 'white petals' symbolise. it might be mimicking the passing of innocence as white darkens as if blemished. It might mean that the parts of herself that she found beautiful will no longer be. Maybe even the petals symbolise the memory people will have of her once she has gone, thus 'sink' implies that no one will remember her after initial grief. Whether she wanted to fade from memory or not, she needn't have considered it an option.


As with many other poets I study, my next step will be to read her novels as well.


On a different note, maybe I should do a Christmas poem next week?! Exciting!

Stop...It's Tolstoy Time!

Great, now I have that song in my head.

This week's post poet has been plucked from my pool of general ignorance once again. And to make matters worse, I have found out there are two Tolstoys; the writer of Anna Karenina is Leo Tolstoy, and the one I am to study (who is actually related to the other!) is A.K. Tolstoy. Next week I shall see whether Leo wrote poetry and hopefully enjoy his works.

Today's Tolstoy has written some sweet little poems, like 'My Little Almond Tree' but I want to look at a patriotic poem. So here is Russia, O My Russia, Hail!

Russia, O my Russia, hail!
Steeds as tempests flying,
Howling of the distant wolves,
Eagles high, shrill crying!
Hail, my Russia, hail! Hail high!
Hail thy green forests proud,
Hail thy silvery nightingales,
Hail Steppes and wind and cloud!

The initial personification in the first line epitomises the sense of ownership and belonging that is patriotism. Tolstoy lived in a time of turmoil in the political world, with the opposing views of the Capitalist West and Communist East, Russia being a part of the latter. Therefore, one can either read this poem as a real and natural reflection of what is good in Russia, purposely avoiding the bias of politics, or it could be a political message to the West about the natural goodness of the East being better than the West as Communism is made to seem more akin with the natural world. Either way, I'm glad I can focus on the wild and an ecocriticism.

It is important to know that 'Steppes' refers to an area in Serbia which is unforested and therefore Tolstoy hails the nature of Russia most significantly, because it is what ends the poem. Each line includes semantics on the physical and biological geography of the country. Animals are present in 'steeds', 'wolves', 'eagles' and 'nightingales'. It might be worth mentioning that two of these a repredators, perhaps conveying the strength and aggression of Russia to the reader, although this is subtle as the horse and bird are less violent and wild images.

Tolstoy recognises that nature is not a human possession (I'm sure Atwood would approve!) by using the third person possessive determiner 'thy'. However, if Russia belongs to him, then surely the possessions of Russia are in reality the narrator's? Sneaky...almost had me nodding along with that!

It is nice to see weather that would typically be depicted as bad or miserable being praised here. 'Wind and cloud' and 'tempests' are again the more violent parts of the discourse of weather, portraying further natural vigour. 'Silvery' as an adjective brings value to the description (Russia was proud of its mining). even though it is ascribed to a bird; I see it as a transferred epithet, where the country owns the wealth and riches of nature - showing the West that Communism did not equate with poverty.

You can read this poem with the political slant if you like, or you could merely see an appreciation for nature. Either way, the human stamp on nature still remains, what with 'steeds' and 'eagles' being animals which humans commonly tame and train.

Looking forward to Tolstoy number two next week to see how the two relations compare (today's one had read the next one's works).

 

Wintry words

Yesterday on University Challenge the writer D.H. Lawrence came up as an answer and I felt it was time to explore some of his works.

As it so happens, it is the 1st of December and I found an intriguing and apt little poem called A Winter's Poem.

Yesterday the fields were only grey with scattered snow,
And now the longest grass-leaves hardly emerge;
Yet her deep footsteps mark the snow, and go
On towards the pines at the hills’ white verge.

I cannot see her, since the mist’s white scarf
Obscures the dark wood and the dull orange sky;
But she’s waiting, I know, impatient and cold, half
Sobs struggling into her frosty sigh.

Why does she come so promptly, when she must know
That she’s only the nearer to the inevitable farewell;
The hill is steep, on the snow my steps are slow—
Why does she come, when she knows what I have to tell?

The first thing you might wonder is, who is the woman? This question is brought about due to Lawrence's exophoric references; she is only referred to through the pronouns and possessive determiners 'she', 'her' and 'her'. By using the possessive determiner to first introduce her, Lawrence presents the action of making footprints as already in the past, as presumably is the relationship between the narrator and the woman.

The poem is set out with little hope from the start. The colour 'grey' denotes a lack of life and action. The life of the 'longest grass-leaves' has been quashed and concealed by snow, blanketing the past and the future. The snow, therefore, represents the narrator's memory, as she ahs made her footprints in it, with the adjective 'deep' conveying a longstanding aspect to the relationship, perhaps even a scarring one.

To me, the 'dull orange sky' is a hint to the fact that this once was a relationship between lovers (Lawrence did have such a one which lasted until the ends of winter) because it implies that the orange has faded from red, the colour of passion. Thus this passion has dimmed and therefore the narrator has to 'tell' her of this. However, the orange surrounds and conceals her, so perhaps she comes 'promptly' because her passion has faded quicker than his has and she has the same thing to tell; he goes with 'slow' steps, signifying a reluctance due to a remaining attachment. Perhaps this is the conclusion Lawrence wants us to come to when he asks the final rhetorical questions. This is enhanced by the 'frosty sobs' - passion would be symbolised by fire, so her heart is no longer ablaze as it once was. Yet she is still sobbing...or is she?

The narrator cannot see her, yet he thinks he knows she is sobbing; maybe he does not assume that she has experienced the same dwindling of love that he has.

I shall definitely return to this poet, also as an author. He went through the war and wrote about that in detail as he was ill and in sanatoriums, so I'd like to read more on that part of his life.