The Old Stoic

By Emily Bronte

 

Riches I hold in light esteem,
   And Love I laugh to scorn;
And lust of fame was but a dream,
   That vanished with the morn:

And if I pray, the only prayer
   That moves my lips for me
Is, "Leave the heart that now I bear,
   And give me liberty!"

Yes, as my swift days near their goal:
   'Tis all that I implore;
In life and death a chainless soul,
   With courage to endure.

I like this poem a lot. It reminds me a lot of Emily Dickinson, both in message and in form. More optimistic, perhaps. The "courage to endure" particularly speaks to me. I'm not feeling very courageous at the moment. But this poem makes me think of Lizzy Bennet, sure and strong. It seems to me that it takes a lot more to be content to just be with yourself, without the trappings of everyday life. It might be lonely, though. But it might be worth it to feel so at home in your own skin.

Iowa, again...

Back in Iowa City. There is so much going on here. I had forgotten. A few things have caught my attention lately. A Hungarian poet, George Szirtes. A Sudanese artist, Ibrahim El-Salahi. I feel as though I have never read as much poetry--both for class, and on my own--as I have in the last few months. I love being back in Iowa City.
The Szirtes poem I'm reposting is a conversation of sorts. I admire the way he uses unusual spacing, juxtaposition, and line breaks to convey the tone of the conversation. I'm trying to decide whether the poem could be considered an internal monologue--I have conversations with myself like this, questioning the way that I'm telling my own story in my head, questioning the validity of my own thoughts/answers. The feeling of free-association in the poem's progression makes me think that it is.

By George Szirtes.
48.
see the leaves    what leaves?    the leaves
on the ground, the black hand flapping
the brown hand spread as if to grasp
grasp what?    a paving slab   a street   a sweep
of air    then some cruddy music    and leaf
leaf flattens, is pressed    is what?   is the body
as flat as this as brittle as surrendered   to what?
and some you burn and watch fly   and this
is    what?  an analogy as the mind makes it
of war perhaps    which war? dare we answer? dare
the body be its own dialogue? dare the
long, shall we say? rain beat down on us
and our music    is that the music? that cruddy
music you make in your bones and teeth?
who is asking the questions?    there are too
many and late and too soon and this answer
too is a question only you don’t see, no, you
don’t hear the question mark   – where?   – in the leaf
which leaf? that one there, that black-brown-green-
grey thing with its negligible weight, its music.

As posted on 3AM Magazine website url:  http://www.3ammagazine.com/3am/george-szirtes-48/

The last month or so in Ghana, I kept feeling like Iowa was calling me. I kept finding poems about corn and fields and prairies. There was a wonderful Mary Oliver poem that talked about morning glories that twined around corn stalks. I think Iowa was calling me. Or rather, the part of me that flourishes in Iowa was begging to be again at the forefront. It's nice to be back.

In Which I Go to Ghana

I've decided to create a new blog for my trip to Ghana. I hate to create more accounts than I really need, but I think that I would like a separate record of this trip. I will continue this blog when I return to the states in June, but until then check out the Ghana blog (which can be accessed from my profile). Cheers!

In Which I am Starry-Eyed

I've stumbled across a Sylvia Plath poem that makes my heart clench and stars my eyes:

Poppies in October

Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly--

A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky

Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.

O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.


Could there be anything more beautiful than the lines "O my God, what am I/ that..." I have never hear wonder expressed so aptly, the overwhelming feeling that sweeps through you, makes you throw your head back, look at the sky, open to everything.

In Which I am Generally Very Busy

In general, I am Very Busy. There is so much to read and so much to write about what I am required to read. And then all of the Ghana paperwork. And NaNo. All in all, I will have less time to post here for the next month or so. Maybe things about poetry that particularly strikes me (I am loving Rita Dove at the moment) or about the novel attempt. But Very Little, generally. Perhaps more over Thanksgiving and over Christmas... have to start thinking about Christmas gifts (ahhhhhhh). Yikes!

In Which I am Once Again Overly Ambitious

So... I have started another blog. Not just me, though. My friend Kristen and I went to a reading tonight. Two poets corresponded by prose poem for a year or so. Neither Kristen nor I intend to write prose poems exclusively, but the idea of a call and response, building on the work of a peer, a friend, is tantalizing.
To put this in perspective, a few lists...
Almost as tempting: the second season of Sherlock, owl stickers, the cat (Martha!) at Murphy's.
At least as inspiring as: Frank Lloyd Wright , my new obsession with Natasha Trethewey, snowdrops.
Still overshadowed by: Virginia Woolf, Chagall windows, elephant-poop paper.
This is terrifyingly indicative of my overall world view.

In WhichI Fall in Love with Hushpuppy

Just saw Beasts of the Southern Wild. It was one of those movie experiences where the theater falls away (except for the popcorn) and you are totally immersed in the story. I was enthralled. It is the story of a young girl named Hushpuppy and her life in a Louisiana bayou (The Bathtub). She lived with her father, a volatile and complex--but also affectionate--man. As the film progresses, we learn that he is sick, dying. This is where a wonderfully magical, playful, ironic symbolism comes into play. The Bathtub is in danger because of rising water levels and increasingly violent storms. In school, Hushpuppy learns about global warming, the melting of the icecaps that will eventually flood her home. And far away,  we catch a glimpse of a beast, frozen in a glacier, trapped outside of time. But the time is coming when the beast will be released and The Bathtub will be threatened, and with it Hushpuppy's entire world. I cannot believe how amazing this movie was. There was so much hype (Sundance), that disappointment was almost inevitable. But Hushpuppy proved me wrong. She stood tall and showed the world--and the beast--just how strong she is.