Sublunary
Mid-sentence, we remembered the eclipse,
Arguing home through our scant patch of park
Still warm with barrel wine, when none too soon
We checked the hour by glancing at the moon,
Unphased at first by that old ruined marble
Looming like a monument over the hill,
So brimmed with light it seemed about to spill,
Then, there! We watched the thin edge disappear—
The obvious stole over us like awe,
That it was our own silhouette we saw,
Slow perhaps to us moon-gazing here
(Reaching for each other’s fingertips)
But sweeping like a wing across that stark
Alien surface at the speed of dark.
The crickets stirred from winter sleep to warble
Something out of time, confused and brief,
The roosting birds sang out in disbelief,
The neighborhood’s stray dogs began to bark.
And then the moon was gone, and in its place,
A dim red planet hung just out of reach,
As real as a bitter orange or ripened peach
In the penumbra of a tree. At last
We rose and strolled at a reflective pace
Past the taverna crammed with light and smoke
And people drinking, laughing at a joke,
Unaware that anything had passed
Outside in the night where we delayed
Sheltering in the shadow we had made.
Response: The definition of sublunary is, “Belonging to this world as contrasted with a better or more spiritual one.” The poet writes and with a slow and steady pace. As I read, I calmed, my emotions and thoughts eased and I think that it is truly incredible that a poem can provide that sense and feeling. The poem seems as if it is a love poem, without bluntly stating it. It reminds me of our assigned Heartbreak 500 poem. The poet uses an interesting rhyming scheme, it doesn’t sound consistent when reading, but it is rather unique.
Nature Knows Its Math
Divide
the year
into seasons,
four,
subtract
the snow then
add
some more
green,
a bud,
a breeze,
a whispering
behind
the trees,
and here
beneath the
rain-scrubbed
sky
orange poppies
multiply.
Response: The poet, Joan Grahamuses a unique technique of describing the time frame and moment they are in through the incorporation of math. The poet presents nature and allows the reader to take the imagery and create a scene. The combination of nature and math play hand in hand as the poet uses them both to describe and relate to each other like a symbiotic relationship. The poet also includes a rhyming scheme in their poem.
Daughters 1900
Five daughters, in the slant light on the porch,
are bickering. The eldest has come home
with new truths she can hardly wait to teach.
She lectures them: the younger daughters search
the sky, elbow each other’s ribs, and groan.
Five daughters, in the slant light on the porch
and blue-sprigged dresses, like a stand of birch
saplings whose leaves are going yellow-brown
with new truths. They can hardly wait to teach,
themselves, to be called “Ma’am,” to march
high-heeled across the hanging bridge to town.
Five daughters. In the slant light on the porch
Pomp lowers his paper for a while, to watch
the beauties he’s begotten with his Ann:
these new truths they can hardly wait to teach.
The eldest sniffs, “A lady doesn’t scratch.”
The third snorts back, “Knock, knock: nobody home.”
The fourth concedes, “Well, maybe not in church . . . “
Five daughters in the slant light on the porch.
Response: The constructed poem provides the audience with characters and dialogue as it sets a specific scene. It presents a moment in which history is being created amongst a family as the five girls are beginning to mature and see what it is like to be in the future. The line, They can hardly wait to teach, themselves, to be called “Ma’am,” to march high-heeled across the hanging bridge to town” caught my attention as it refers to the daughters wanting to be grown. As the line states that they can’t wait, they are ready to grow up and venture out into the world and be respected. The poem is an interesting reflection of a specific moment amongst the family.
Words are Birds
words
are birds
that arrive
with books
and spring
they
love
clouds
the wind
and trees
some words
are messengers
that come
from far away
from distant lands
for them
there are
no borders
only stars
moon and sun
some words
are familiar
like canaries
others are exotic
like the quetzal bird
some can stand
the cold
others migrate
with the sun
to the south
some words
die
caged—
they’re difficult
to translate
and others
build nests
have chicks
warm them
feed them
teach them
how to fly
and one day
they go away
in flocks
the letters
on this page
are the prints
they leave
by the sea
Response: The poet uses and makes the comparison of words to birds throughout their poem. The poet uses imagery to provide the reader with a visual perspective on what the poet is referring to. As the poet uses vivid imagery to create this scene and description of words, we are able to make connections and understand what exactly the poet means. I enjoy this poem as it takes two unlikely things and creates such a strong relationship and bond between them both. My favorite stanza is “for them there are no borders only stars moon and sun”. I like that statement made that there is no limit for the expansion of words just as birds are able to travel where they please.
And Later . . .
I take my kaleidoscope off the shelf,
look through the little hole at the end
of the cardboard tube;
I turn and turn and turn and turn,
letting the crystals shift into strange
and beautiful patterns, letting the pieces fall
wherever they will.
Response: This poem places a unique perspective on the use of a kaleidoscope. The poet is literally looking through a kaleidoscope and appreciating the beauty and detail of it. They are taking a simple item and making it complex with their choice of words.
Kinship
Two sets
of family stories,
one long and detailed,
about many centuries
of island ancestors, all living
on the same tropical farm…
The other side of the family tells stories
that are brief and vague, about violence
in the Ukraine, which Dad’s parents
had to flee forever, leaving all their
loved ones
behind.
They don’t even know if anyone
survived.
When Mami tells her flowery tales of Cuba,
she fills the twining words with relatives.
But when I ask my
Ukrainian-Jewish-American grandma
about her childhood in a village
near snowy Kiev,
all she reveals is a single
memory
of ice-skating
on a frozen pond.
Apparently, the length
of a grown-up’s
growing-up story
is determined
by the difference
between immigration
and escape.
Response: The poem elaborates on two sides of the poet’s family. The poet’s mother, when discussing her family stories, they are long and detailed with imagery and happy scenes. In contrast, the dad’s side of the family tells stories of violence as they were forced to flee Ukraine. The dangerous trip caused many sad memories allowing them to be limited during sharing. When asking the grandma, she can recall one happy moment that stuck with her. The poem compared both sides of the family and their individual stories. I like that last few lines stating, “Apparently, the length of a grown-up’s growing-up story is determined by the difference between immigration and escape.”
won’t you celebrate with me
BY LUCILLE CLIFTON
won’t you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.
Response: The poem opens up with a question. It is written with a sense of almost apologetic writing. The poet wants us to celebrate a kind of life with them rather than life itself. It is a form of life that the poet has shaped and created in their own image. It provides a poem of self-awareness. The poem includes a biblical reference as they include Babylon. The poet is coming to terms with themselves? I find it interesting that rather than saying black or African American, “non-white” and a “woman”, both becoming main points of the poem. In the end, the poet is standing strong, through all that life has thrown at her, she still stands tall.
Miz Rosa Rides the Bus
That day in December I sat down
by Miss Muffet of Montgomery.
I was myriad-weary. Feets swole
from sewing seams on a filthy fabric;
tired-sore a pedalin’ the rusty Singer;
dingy cotton thread jammed in the eye.
All lifelong I’d slide through century-reams
loathsome with tears. Dreaming my own
silk-self.
It was not like they all say. Miss Liberty Muffet
she didn’t
jump at the sight of me.
Not exactly.
They hauled me
away—a thousand kicking legs pinned down.
The rest of me I tell you—a cloud.
Beautiful trouble on the dead December
horizon. Come to sit in judgment.
How many miles as the Jim Crow flies?
Over oceans and some. I rumbled.
They couldn’t hold me down. Long.
No.
My feets were tired. My eyes were
sore. My heart was raw from hemming
dirty edges of Miss L. Muffet’s garment.
I rode again.
A thousand bloody miles after the Crow flies
that day in December long remembered when I sat down
beside Miss Muffet of Montgomery.
I said—like the joke say—What’s in the bowl, Thief?
I said—That’s your curse.
I said—This my way.
She slipped her frock, disembarked,
settled in the suburbs, deaf, mute, lewd, and blind.
The bowl she left behind. The empty bowl mine.
The spoiled dress.
Jim Crow dies and ravens come with crumbs.
They say—Eat and be satisfied.
I fast and pray and ride.
Response: The poem recognizes a historical moment in time. It recognizes a woman who fought against racial segregation and worked long hours to get through life in society. At the beginning of the poem, the poet paints a picture for us, allowing us to visualize and understand the harsh working conditions that Rosa Parks worked under. It is described that Rosa Parks was ‘hauled out’ the bus and held down, but she never gave up. Rosa continued to kick and fight for what she believed, and I find that extremely important. Rosa created the garment that Miss Muffet wore and I was a little confused about what she meant by the bowl.
Turtle Came to See Me
The first story I ever write
is a bright crayon picture
of a dancing tree, the branches
tossed by island wind.
I draw myself standing beside the tree,
with a colorful parrot soaring above me,
and a magical turtle clasped in my hand,
and two yellow wings fluttering
on the proud shoulders of my ruffled
Cuban rumba dancer’s
fancy dress.
In my California kindergarten class,
the teacher scolds me: REAL TREES
DON’T LOOK LIKE THAT.
It’s the moment
when I first
begin to learn
that teachers
can be wrong.
They have never seen
the dancing plants
of Cuba.
Response: This poem talks about the poet creating an image of a tree, themselves, a parrot, and a turtle, as well as a Cuban dress. The poet drew this image in Kindergarten class when the teacher denied and discouraged the poet’s image. The poet does not get down on themselves but they learn a lesson, saying that teachers can be wrong. The poet has a strong belief in what they drew as it relates to the dancing plants of Cuba.
Frederick Douglass
When it is finally ours, this freedom, this liberty, this beautiful
and terrible thing, needful to man as air,
usable as earth; when it belongs at last to all,
when it is truly instinct, brain matter, diastole, systole,
reflex action; when it is finally won; when it is more
than the gaudy mumbo jumbo of politicians:
this man, this Douglass, this former slave, this Negro
beaten to his knees, exiled, visioning a world
where none is lonely, none hunted, alien,
this man, superb in love and logic, this man
shall be remembered. Oh, not with statues’ rhetoric,
not with legends and poems and wreaths of bronze alone,
but with the lives grown out of his life, the lives
fleshing his dream of the beautiful, needful thing.
Response: I believe that Robert Hayden is referring to the idea that freedom and liberty are not only values that should be acknowledged and respected, but rather necessities that all should have in order to live. The poem states the idea that everyone deserves freedom without any limitations due to race. At the same time, the poet dedicates his poem to a historical figure that he who himself, fought for the need for freedom. The poet may tribute to Douglass as he states, “This man shall be remembered. Oh, not with statues’ rhetoric, not with legends and poems and wreaths of bronze alone, but with the lives grown out of his life, the lives fleshing his dream of the beautiful, needful thing.” Through all that challenges that Douglass faced, he conquered and pushed through them to fight for his liberty and freedom, allowing him to become a legend that positively affected the lives of many others.
A Center
You must hold your quiet center,
where you do what only you can do.
If others call you a maniac or a fool,
just let them wag their tongues.
If some praise your perseverance,
don’t feel too happy about it—
only solitude is a lasting friend.
You must hold your distant center.
Don’t move even if earth and heaven quake.
If others think you are insignificant,
that’s because you haven’t held on long enough.
As long as you stay put year after year,
eventually you will find a world
beginning to revolve around you.
Response: Ha Jin writes this poem in my perspective, to portray the image that you must hold on to something that is internally stable. You must only depend on yourself as it is the only thing that you can depend on for eternity. As others around you attempt to test you, you must stand strong and look toward that quiet center ad stand frim with it. The poet states that remaining in this quiet center will result in everything around you moving while you remain still. The author writes, “As long as you stay put year after year, eventually you will find a world beginning to revolve around you.”
Silence for My Father
This is the silence around the poem of the death of my father.
This is the silence before the poem.
While my father was dying, the Challenger was exploding on TV
Again and again. I watched it happen. In his hospital room,
I followed his breath. Then it stopped.
This is the silence in a poem about the dying of the father.
We’re burning the earth. We’re burning the sky.
Here is another silence in the middle of the poem about the immolation of the Fathers.
The pyres of bodies in Saigon.
The burned air
The charred limbs.
Ash.
Rancid flames.
Heat
Light
Fire
We turn away.
Here is another silence within the poem about the burial of the fire.
When my father died, the rains poured down the moment I picked up the shovel of earth.
I staggered under the weight of the water.
Another silence please.
I have always wanted to be a woman of fire.
I will have to learn how to rain.
Gently, I will learn how to rain.
I have set fire to your green fields,
May I be water to your burning lands.
Please join me in this last silence at the end of the poem of fire.
Response: On behalf of the passing of her father, as well as the other fathers who were aboard the Challenger, the poet takes multiple moments of silence throughout the poem. The father and his crew passed away at the same time that the Challenger, a space shuttle in 1858, destroyed on January 28, 1986, with loss of its seven-member crew, exploded. The poet witnesses both, the death of her father, and the death of those aboard the Challenger at the same time, from her father’s hospital room. Silence is given, as well as the immolation of the fathers. The poet states that she has always wanted to be a woman of fire and that she will have to learn how to rain. Maybe referring to destruction and peace. I really like these two lines, “I have set fire to your green fields,
May I be water to your burning lands.” These lines bring a sense of the poet trying to bring peace to the disturbance that she has created in the past. She may be trying to fix something, a mistake that she had made. Again, the poet, asks for a moment of silence.
Prayer Rug
Those intervals
between the day’s
five calls to prayer
the women of the house
pulling thick threads
through vegetables
rosaries of ginger
of rustling peppers
in autumn drying for winter
in those intervals this rug
part of Grandma’s dowry
folded
so the Devil’s shadow
would not desecrate
Mecca scarlet-woven
with minarets of gold
but then the sunset
call to prayer
the servants
their straw mats unrolled
praying or in the garden
in summer on grass
the children wanting
the prayers to end
the women’s foreheads
touching Abraham’s
silk stone of sacrifice
black stone descended
from Heaven
the pilgrims in white circling it
this year my grandmother
also a pilgrim
in Mecca she weeps
as the stone is unveiled
she weeps holding on
to the pillars
(for Begum Zafar Ali)
Response: The poet writes about a custom. They write about something that happens maybe yearly, as this is a specific memory. Told from the perspective of someone who knew about or witnessed it all. The people described are pilgrims in Mecca. Throughout the day, the women work in the gardens or inside weaving through vegetables. As they go through their day there are intervals in which they put a lot on what their doing, roll out their mats, and begin to pray, They bow as they place their heads on a silkstone of sacrifice, is it meant in a literal or figurative way? This prayer interval is important to them, but in this specific year that is described, their Grandmother is upset and holds on to the pillars in search of support.
Separation
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
Response: The poet relates the absence of someone or something they care about to thread and a needle. It seems that the poet misses this person or object. The poet writes and portrays that through everything they do, the person or object is present, even if it is physically not there. I know this because the author says that everything they do is stitched with color.
Seventh Street
Money burns the pocket, pocket hurts,
Bootleggers in silken shirts,
Ballooned, zooming Cadillacs,
Whizzing, whizzing down the street-car tracks.
Response: The poet describes Seventh Street. When going deeper into the meaning through research, it is discovered that Seventh Street is present during the Prohibition and the War. The prohibition is periods during which the manufacture, transportation, import, export, and sale of alcoholic beverages were restricted or illegal. The poet may be referring to the challenges of having money during these times, how people make money, and cars still driving through, maybe going against the rules they’re given.
“Alone I stare into the frost’s white face”
Alone I stare into the frost’s white face.
It’s going nowhere, and I—from nowhere.
Everything ironed flat, pleated without a wrinkle:
Miraculous, the breathing plain.
Meanwhile the sun squints at this starched poverty—
The squint itself consoled, at ease . . .
The ten-fold forest almost the same . . .
And snow crunches in the eyes, innocent, like clean bread.
Response: This poem recognizes the snow that has fallen upon the plain, and how smooth it is. The poet identifies the snow’s interaction with the sun and how the sun opens up to the snow. The poet gives personification to things in the poem to provide a deeper understanding and provide more imagery for the reader. I’m still having trouble understanding what the poet is referring to when they say “Meanwhile the sun squints at the starched poverty.” Is the meaning of poverty altered in this line?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Voyage
I was the fourth ship.
Behind Niña, Pinta, Santa María,
Lost at sea while watching a seagull,
Following the wind and sunset skies,
While the others set their charts.
I was the fourth ship.
Breathing in salt and flying with clouds,
Sailing moonbreezes and starvision nights,
Rolling into the wave and savoring its lull,
While the others pointed their prows.
I was the fourth ship.
Playfully in love with the sea,
Eternally entwined with the sky,
Forever vowed to my voyage,
While the others shouted “Land.”
Response: The poem includes the repetition of the poet saying that they are the fourth ship. They then describe how they were more open and free compared to the others. The poet enjoyed being lost at sea, they took in the beauty and calmness of it all. In comparison, the others looked for land, doing what they could to get home. I enjoyed this poem because what I took from it was a sense of uniqueness, how important it is, and that you can find peace even in the roughest of places.
October
O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.
Response: Amethyst is a gemstone. The poem talks about October coming and the appearance of it. A line that sticks out to me is, “Thy leaves have ripened to the fall” (line 2). It’s a phrase portraying maturity as the leaves begin to charge and adjust from summer to fall. His choice of using the word ripened was very unique because we don’t typically think of the word being used to describe leaves falling. The next two lines say that if the next day, the wind roughly blows, all the leaves will fall and be gone. I had trouble understanding line 15: “Retard the sun with gentle mist” but the author is simply saying to hold back or delay the sun. I found the use of that word very interesting.
A Farewell to False Love
Farewell, false love, the oracle of lies,
A mortal foe and enemy to rest,
An envious boy, from whom all cares arise,
A bastard vile, a beast with rage possessed,
A way of error, a temple full of treason,
In all effects contrary unto reason.
A poisoned serpent covered all with flowers,
Mother of sighs, and murderer of repose,
A sea of sorrows whence are drawn such showers
As moisture lend to every grief that grows;
A school of guile, a net of deep deceit,
A gilded hook that holds a poisoned bait.
A fortress foiled, which reason did defend,
A siren song, a fever of the mind,
A maze wherein affection finds no end,
A raging cloud that runs before the wind,
A substance like the shadow of the sun,
A goal of grief for which the wisest run.
A quenchless fire, a nurse of trembling fear,
A path that leads to peril and mishap,
A true retreat of sorrow and despair,
An idle boy that sleeps in pleasure’s lap,
A deep mistrust of that which certain seems,
A hope of that which reason doubtful deems.
Sith then thy trains my younger years betrayed,
And for my faith ingratitude I find;
And sith repentance hath my wrongs bewrayed,
Whose course was ever contrary to kind:
False love, desire, and beauty frail, adieu!
Dead is the root whence all these fancies grew.
Response: This poem talks about the poet’s relationship with someone who they felt betrayed them. The poem talks negatively about their relationship with their partner. They talk about how much it impacted them and how upset they were. False love, a love unreal. A love that only brought despair, no joy. Saying goodbye to it all.
Bessie Dreaming Bear
Bessie Dreaming Bear
BY MARNIE WALSH
Rosebud, So. Dak., 1960
we all went to town one day
went to a store
bought you new shoes
red high heels
aint seen you since
Response: This poem by Marnie Walsh is short and simple in context, but the relationship between it and the title is a little confusing. The poem first discusses how a group of people went and bought one person a pair of high heel shoes, after that, they didn’t see that person ever again. It’s talking about the absence of someone. When they disappeared. What happened before they disappeared. Maybe the title has something to do with a personal connection between the group or author and person who left. Not sure.
The Rebuttal
By John Lee Clark
Guide, passion, catch what
Hath no speech. Unknown
Joys, power, and meditation’s
Unfolding sky. Feeling draws
Heart and wildering language
Still without speech to
Mind. Philosophy fails to
Sway this future child.
Response: John Lee Clark is a blind and deaf poet. Having this knowledge allows me to understand the poem in more depth. It portrays that all these emotions are unfolded and released and the feeling of language is presented without speech. It does not have to be spoken but shown. Guide and passion lead the way, it is a tool that does something that speech cannot. The philosophy of it all does not move, inspire, or affect him. This is what I’ve interpreted from his poem.
Perhaps the World Ends Here
BY JOY HARJO
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table, we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.
Response: The poet is writing about a kitchen table. They use this simple object and give it meaning. They describe it’s purpose with great detail, and they tell us how they interact with the kitchen table. Memories are shared, describing how they’ve grown up with the table. It has so much purpose behind it that wee all just don’t understand or think about on a day to day basis. This poem stuck out to me because it turns something small into something big. It makes you think, relate, and look at things from a new perspective.
Day in Autumn
BY RAINER MARIA RILKE
TRANSLATED BY MARY KINZIE
READ THE TRANSLATOR’S NOTES
After the summer’s yield, Lord, it is time
to let your shadow lengthen on the sundials
and in the pastures let the rough winds fly.
As for the final fruits, coax them to roundness.
Direct on them two days of warmer light
to have them golden toward their term, and harry
the last few drops of sweetness through the wine.
Whoever’s homeless now, will build no shelter;
who lives alone will live indefinitely so,
waking up to read a little, draft long letters,
and, along with the city’s avenues,
fitfully wander, when the wild leaves loosen.
Response: The poet is writing and talking about how they picture autumn. Their personal perspective on it. They are asking God to make autumn come and look the way they are describing it. The poet is giving suggestions and a description of what they think autumn should look like.
Frederick Douglass
When it is finally ours, this freedom, this liberty, this beautiful
and terrible thing, needful to man as air,
usable as earth; when it belongs at last to all,
when it is truly instinct, brain matter, diastole, systole,
reflex action; when it is finally won; when it is more
than the gaudy mumbo jumbo of politicians:
this man, this Douglass, this former slave, this Negro
beaten to his knees, exiled, visioning a world
where none is lonely, none hunted, alien,
this man, superb in love and logic, this man
shall be remembered. Oh, not with statues’ rhetoric,
not with legends and poems and wreaths of bronze alone,
but with the lives grown out of his life, the lives
fleshing his dream of the beautiful, needful thing.
Response: The poet is writing about Frederick Douglass, who he was as a man, what he was like, and more. Fredrick Douglass worked hard. He was a hard-working man who did what he could to get out of slavery. He became an icon, a legend. That’s inspirational. Coming up through hard times, with difficult challenges. It is incredible to see how far we’ve come from history. We are strong and this poem allows me to relate to life in a sense.
The faintest memories can be the most powerful.
SaNaya's Poetry Blog 