On War and Peace.

Once again, racism rears its ugly head. 

It was SO HARD to read Claude McKay. Not because his poetry was unconventional or confusing, nor did he use hard to understand metaphors. No, his poetry was hard to read because of the content, because I didn't want to have the emotions I had while reading his poetry. I didn't want to look at history in the face. But I did. I wish so much that Claude McKay was alive right now. I wish that he could see how far we've come as a Country, I wish he was here to encourage us to go even further. His poetry, especially "The Lynching" really got to me. Just to think about the violence that black people endured, and read it described in such a way as to provoke a violent emotion, it does something. It's terrifying. 

Then I read Maya Angelou's poetry. She's not ignorant to what happened, she's well aware of her ancestor's history. However, she is more removed from slavery than McKay is. She has the ability to see the hope despite the crushing weight of opposition, of wrongdoing. Her poetry, most of it, is more hopeful. In her poem "Million Man March" Angelou calls up an army. This army is meant to defend their heritage, but not by taking revenge on the white's who oppressed them. Rather, she commands:

"Let us come together and cleanse our souls,

Clap hands, let's leave the preening

And stop impostering our own history.

Clap hands, call the spirits back from the ledge,

Clap hands, let us invite joy into our conversation"

McKay's poem "If We Must Die" is also a call to arms. The tone of the two poems is entirely different, but both calling their people into action. Now the context of each of these poets is different as well, and I must take that into consideration. Angelou, though her context still has racism and its consequences around, is nothing like the time of the Civil Rights Movement. That being said, the facts remain. McKay knew he was going to die by defending his people, "So that our precious blood may not be shed in vain." He's riding into battle with a known fate: death. It is almost hopeless. 

Angelou's poem has a much different effect. She is giving more of a pep talk before the war, she is hopeful that if she changes their perspective, they "will rise" that they will understand why they should be hopeful. The end of her poem describes this feeling: "The ancestors remind us, despite the history of pain We are a going-on people who will rise again." They will forever remember these oppressive acts of violence, but they will not let those things define them. They will rise. 

If only McKay could see how his people have risen out of slavery, out of constant violent oppression.

Spring into the beauty of a hopeless world.

What a perfect Spring Day to read H.D!

Here is a poem dedicated to H.D (Dr. Seuss Style)

A Joyful occasion

By Deanna Ver Schneider

I could read H.D in a hammock on a beach

or in the mountains

on a peak

By the fountains

raining spring water,

In my house

where no one could bother

me. Oh my, thank you H.D.

For bringing back joy

to me in Poetry.

Now, I am not exactly suggesting that H.D's poetry is joyful, but rather that it brings joy to me because I thoroughly enjoy reading it. Maybe because I'm a cynical old hag, or possibly because it is a breath of fresh air coming out of T.S Eliot and Pound (who btw, are great but mind-numbing).

Today I want to start with the poem This is Not an Experiment by Pablo Saborío.

His poetry is quite depressing with conflicting imagery and feelings of tension. While I don't know that I would say this is imagist poetry, Saborio uses images, very abstract images, to get his emotion across. He uses images that conflict, "This is a shadow shedding its bone in a camouflage of change." Shadows don't have bones to shed... 

He also uses images that simply don't make a lick of sense, "This is a sister opening a drawer to hide a wonderful thing"

Throughout the poem, I am left hanging, hanging on to what should be coming next, an explanation. What wonderful thing? What perception?... I didn't realize I was hanging until the end of the poem when he draws a picture of someone hanging off of a cliff, ending almost hopelessly. 

"But above all,

this is another handclinging to the edgebefore the fall."

It was then, that it all made sense. 

H.D's poem, "Eurydice" was a picture of hopelessness for me. But, if there is such a thing, a beautiful hopelessness. With the myth of Eurydice  and Orpheus as a back drop (also a sign of good poetry according to Eliot), the poem struck some emotional cords. She is clearly angry and unforgiving to the one who looked back, to the man who put her back in her misery after promising to rescue her. The man who, because he couldn't help himself, sent her back to hell. Yeah, I'd be pissed off too. And H.D creates a world for her readers-- A black, lost, ruthless world that she is forever condemned to because of the arrogance of her lover. "How RUDE!" is an understatement. 

Her images, unlike Saborio's, make logical sense (for the most part). She communicates her emotions through the language, and emphasizes it through the images. Saborio uses conflicting images to communicate his emotions. 

"before I am lost, hell must open like a red rose for the dead to pass." 

How can someone make hopelessness sound so beautiful?

Con Senses

I really do enjoy T.S Eliot. He is such a brilliant man. As I read his poetry though, I felt sorrowful, but not depressed (like I did at times with Frost). No, Eliot's poetry affects multiple emotions. In his poem "The Hollow Men" Eliot uses senses, mostly dominantly, sight. Near the beginning of the poem, he inserts almost abruptly, "Shape without form, shade without colour, paralysed force, gesture without motion;" What? How can you have shape without form or shades without color, or gesture without motion? Contradictions? Possibly.

eyes
eyes
eyes
voices
singing
images
lips
eyes
eyes
speech
sightless
eyes
Falls the Shadow
Falls the Shadow
Falls the Shadow
This is the way the World Ends
Bang
Whimper

Throughout the poem, the word "eyes" is referenced 6 times, with other allusions to sight and other senses addressed. Yet, at the end of the poem, Eliot presents three circumstances where "Falls the Shadow" meaning, theses are areas you can't SEE, you can't necessarily feel, you can't touch. To be honest, I don't know exactly what to do with this, but I feel like there is significance in this. Why would he want his reader to see and hear throughout the beginning of the poem and contrast it with the opposite? I'm not sure. As much as I enjoy his poetry, it is still quite ambiguous to me, a little bit over my head, where sometimes I feel an emotion, or significant thought and other times, such as here, I don't know what to think. Maybe I'm over-thinking.

I want to compare this poem to one by Deborah Ager. The title of the poem, "Alone" addresses her senses and uses them to paint a lonely picture. Rather than sight, she uses touch and smell.


Over the fence, the dead settle in
for a journey. Nine o'clock.
You are alone for the first time
today. Boys asleep. Husband out.

A beer bottle sweats in your hand,
and sea lavender clogs the air
with perfume. Think of yourself.
Your arms rest with nothing to do

after weeks spent attending to others.
Your thoughts turn to whether
butter will last the week, how much
longer the car can run on its partial tank of gas.


The last stanza in her poem is similar, though very different, to Eliot's. She turns to thoughts, untouchable and emotionless that contrast sharply with the stanza above. She is left alone with her thoughts. 

Eliot is left somewhere in the shadows.