Trying this again

I've probably lost what readership I ever had, but I may as well give it another go.

Here's a piece by the mid-18th century poet Thomas Gray, best known for his "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard." It always makes me think of Mr. Swartwout, my British literature teacher in high school. I find it interesting how the poem seems to resemble mock-heroics like Pope's Rape of the Lock earlier in the century, yet is also more in earnest, resembling in some respects the human-animal relationship posited by Burns in "To a Mouse."

"Ode on the Death of a Favorite Cat, Drowned in a Tub of Goldfishes"

'Twas on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purred applause.

Still had she gazed; but 'midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The genii of the stream:
Their scaly armor's Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betrayed a golden gleam.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretched in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat's averse to fish?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretched, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by and smiled)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood
She mewed to every watery god,
Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no nereid stirred:
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
A favorite has no friend!

From hence, ye beauties, undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters gold.

1748

Trying my hand at translation

One of my favorite poets in any language is the German modernist Rainer Maria Rilke, who, incidentally, was raised as a girl (just FYI). We spent a lot of time in a class I took on German literature a couple of semesters ago on Rilke's Sonnets to Orpheus, and I especially enjoyed this one. The way it plays with the material and immaterial qualities of language and experience raise a number of philosophical and critical questions that are, for me at least, incredibly interesting. The only trouble is, I couldn't find an English translation that I could access. I've provided my own (incredibly unpoetic) translation below, but I'd recommend just trying to read aloud the original German, even if you don't understand any of it. After all, that's part of the point.

Herausgegaben von Die Sonette an Orpheus

Voller Apfel, Birne und Banane
Stachelbeere ... Alles dieses spricht
Tod und Leben in den Mund ... Ich ahne ...
Lest es einem Kind vom Angesicht,

wenn es sie erschmeckt. Dies kommt von weit.
Wird euch langsam namenlos im Munde?
Wo sonst Worte waren fließen Funde,
aus dem Fruchtfleisch überrascht befreit.

Wagt zu sagen, was ihr Apfel nennt.
Diese Süße, die sich erst verdictet,
um, im Schmecken leise aufgerichtet,

klar zu werden, wach und transparent,
doppeldeutig, sonnig, erdig, hiesig--:
O Erfahrung, Fühlung, Freude--riesig!

From The Sonnets to Orpheus

Full of apples, pears, and bananas,
Gooseberries ... All of these speak
Death and life in the mouth ... I apprehend ...
Read it in the face of a child

When it tastes them. This comes from afar.
Do they become slowly nameless in your mouths?
Where once words were, flow in findings,
Out of the fruit-flesh, astonishingly freed.

Dare to say what your apple names.
This sweetness that first thickens
So as to quietly stand up in tastes,

To become clear, awake and transparent,
Double-meaning, sunny, earthy, local--:
O Discovery, Feeling, Joy--enormous!

1923

Marriage poetry

For my upcoming wedding, we're going to have some family members read a couple of poems. The standard choice for marriage poetry seems to be the Shakespeare sonnet "Let me not to the marriage of true minds." Not a bad poem, but my fiance and I wanted to avoid the obvious choice. As the English major in our relationship, I took on the task of finding a suitable alternative. Unfortunately, good love poetry is actually hard to find, especially since I have a taste for the sardonic or bitter. My favorite Shakespearean sonnet, for example, is all about how love is built on nothing but lies. Eventually, though, I came upon a poem by Edmund Spenser, who wrote roughly a generation before Shakespeare. For fun, I'll give it in the original Early Modern English spelling (u and v are interchangeable).

Sonnet 65 from Amoretti

The doubt which ye misdeem, fayre loue, is vaine
That fondly feare to loose your liberty,
when loosing one, two liberties ye gayne,
and make him bond that bondage earst dyd fly.
Sweet be the bands, the which true loue doth tye,
without constraynt or dread of any ill:
the gentle birde feeles no captiuity
within her cage, but singes and feeds her fill.
There pride dare not approch, nor discord spill
the league twixt them, that loyal loue hath bound:
but simple truth and mutuall good will,
seekes with sweet peace to salue each others woud
There fayth doth fearlesse dwell in brasen towre,
and spotlesse pleasure builds her sacred bowre.

1595

Apologies, and a poem

So, it's been about three weeks without posts. Terribly sorry, but two major term papers, finals, and moving do that. The good news, though, is that I've done well in all my classes and my new apartment is looking great after a long day and a half of scrubbing and painting. Things, I must admit, will be again fairly scattered here, as starting next Tuesday I'll be on the road doing far more important things. Still, I'll get in an entry when I can. Today, here's a piece by Sherman Alexie, a Native American writer (of mixed tribal ancestry) whom I only knew through his short fiction until recently. His story "This Is What It Means to Say Phoenix, Arizona" is a personal favorite of mine, and forms a part of the basis for the film Smoke Signals (which I've only seen part of). I still prefer the fiction to his poetry, but this particular piece I thought worth sharing.

"Crow Testament"

1.
Cain lifts Crow, that heavy black bird
and strikes down Abel.

Damn, says Crow, I guess
this is just the beginning.

2.
The white man, disguised
as a falcon, swoops in
and yet again steals a salmon
from Crow's talons.

Damn, says Crow, if I could swim
I would have fled this country years ago.

3.
The Crow God as depicted
in all of the reliable Crow bibles
looks exactly like a crow.

Damn, says Crow, this makes it
so much easier to worship myself.

4.
Among the ashes of Jericho,
Crow sacrifices his firstborn son.

Damn, says Crow, a million nests
are soaked with blood.

5.
When Crows fight Crows
the sky fills with beaks and talons.

Damn, says Crow, it's raining feathers.

6.
Crow flies around the reservation
and collects empty beer bottles
but they are so heavy
he can carry only one at a time.

So, one by one, he returns them
but gets only five cents a bottle.

Damn, says Crow, redemption
is not easy.

7.
Crow rides a pale horse
into a crowded powwow
but none of the Indians panic.

Damn, says Crow, I guess
they already live near the end of the world.

2000

A short haitus

As you may have noticed, I'll be taking a short break from blogging until probably next Wednesday or Thursday as I complete a couple academic projects for the semester. I'll try to make up for it by doing a few extra posts once I have a bit more time.

Cheers,
~

National Poetry Month

As Mighty Toy Cannon over at Culture Shock has informed me, April is National Poetry Month. To celebrate, I'll be posting poems about poetry all through the month. Today's poem opens the sonnet cycle by one of the masters of that form in renaissance England, Philip Sidney. Unlike most sonnets, it is written in hexameter, not pentameter, giving the pace a steady build, as opposed to the stately closed lines you get with a lot of pentameter.

From Astrophil and Stella

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That the dear She might take some pleasure of my pain,
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,
Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain,
Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburned brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay;
Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows,
And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way.
Thus great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,
Biting my trewand pen, beating myself for spite,
"Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart and write."

1582?

Lesson in Form: Monorhyme

Okay, this is an easy one. To borrow a joke from the Simpsons, monorhyme is made up of two Greek roots, mono meaning one, and rhyme meaning rhyme. This pattern is (in my experience) best used for light verse, in which it becomes a fun exercise to see just how far the poet can take it. Here's my favorite example, a poem by Dick Davis:

"Monorhyme for the Shower"

Lifting her arms to soap her hair
Her pretty breasts respond--and there
The movement of that buoyant pair
Is like a spell to make me swear
Twenty odd years have turned to air;
Now she's the girl I didn't dare
Approach, ask our, much less declare
My love to, mired in young despair.

Childbearing, rows, domestic care--
All the prosaic wear and tear
That constitute the life we share--
Slip from her beautiful and bare
Bright body as, made half aware
Of my quick surreptitious stare,
She wrings the water from her hair
And turning smiles to see me there.