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The following selections are representative of the works of some poetry friends. Many (though not all) are long dead, but their company is enjoyed by this editor anyway. Consider the following by Countee Cullen --- A poem likely to leave a mark on the heart of the all but the most damaged and demented racist. jrg

 

Incident

 

Once riding in old Baltimore,

            Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,

I saw a Baltimorean

            Keep looking straight at me.

 

Now I was eight and very small,

            And he was no whit bigger

And so I smiled, but he poked out,

            His tongue and called me “Nigger.”

 

I saw the whole of Baltimore

            From May until December;

Of all the things that happened there

            That’s all that I remember.

 

§

 

Anne Sexton (1928-1974)

 

Her Kind

 

I have gone out, a possessed witch,

Haunting the black air, braver at night;

Dreaming evil, I have done my hitch

Over the plain houses, light by light:

Lonely thing, twelve fingered, out of mind.

A woman like that is not a woman, quite.

I have been her kind.

 

I have found the warm caves in the woods,

Filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,

Closets, silk, innumerable goods;

Fixed the supper for the worms and the elves:

Whining, rearranging the disaligned.

A woman like that is misunderstood.

I have been her kind.

 

I have ridden in y our cart, driver,

Waved my nude arms at the villages going by,

Learning the last bright routes, survivor

Where you flames still bite my thigh

And my ribs crack where your wheels wind.

A woman like that is not ashamed to die.

I have been her kind.

  

§

 

Geoffrey Chaucer

Eds. Note – I studied Chaucer (ca. 1342—1400) in a graduate course at Harvard University. At first intimidated and grade-scared by his Middle English, I soon realized if I read it aloud, slowly, this voice from 700 years ago was not only comprehensible, but often more intensely honest than many contemporary ones, and served to affirm our common  humanity. In addition, the language, even without glossing, was generally rich, lovely and comprehensible as it addressed all matters of the human heart. With the following example, (it sets the New Orleans blues classic, “St. James Infirmary” echoing.) Try the reading aloud technique. You may like what you hear. jrg

I have of sorwe so grete woon (“I have of sorrow so great {a} wound”)

 

I have of sorwe so grete woon

That joye I get I never noon

Now that I see my lady bright

Which I have loved with al my might

Is from me deed and is a-goon.

 

Alas, Deeth, what ayleth thee

That thou toke my lady sweet

That was so fayr, so fresh, so fre,

So good that men may wel se

Of al goodnease she had no mete.

 

§

 

  The following two poets are anything but long dead.

 

MARY OLIVER AT CLAREMONT MCKENNA COLLAGE (jrg)

Mary Oliver's reading at picturesque Claremont McKenna College on October 23rd was a rare delight. Her poetry emphasized, as did her book Twelve Moons, the mystery and certainty of nature. (See "Wild Geese" below.)

A poem on her affectionate small white dog Percy, shifted to the political, and posits what peace might occur if loving Percy could be seen in Iraq, in Darfur-- or in DC where Donald Rumsfeld, moved to get on all fours in the oval office and schmoozing with Percy, "for once, becomes a rational man." This evoked laughter -- even from this rather staid audience. Mary Oliver (1935- ) now lives on Cape Cod.

One is left with the impression ,not just of an exemplary poet, but of a person of profound wisdom, insight, and compassion.

As in Blue Pastures, the poet emphasized the need for discipline in writing--keeping an appointment with the writer within, the subconscious,and writing daily at the same time each day.  

One of the poems Oliver read is as follows: 

 

WILD GEESE

 

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

 

 

§

The Road to St. Andrew’s Abbey

 

The road that crawls through pachyderm hills

Eagles in the unending turquoise vault.

the sparse dry chaparral

the dead and yellow grass made brittle by the sun

 

In a small valley

a stream of water flows like mercies

through sycamore shading the yard,

aspen leaves waving their trembling hello,

Joshua trees, spiked bent limbs

writhing upwards like spinning dervishes,

as dry and glabrous mountains,

peer down jealously.

 

Yellow tips strain toward the sun,

Crisp leaves abut the windfall limbs

scoured smooth by desert wind and sand.

On the apple trees beside the road,

leaves yellow, stiffen and curl

to return to the earth below.

Mute monks, mute,

hands folded within their cassock fronts

Walk to mealtime prayers.

Humankind,

naked and unknowing,

entered the world

In a place such as this.

 

 

                                    John R. Guthrie

 

 

 

 

The Chickasaw Plum  -  Volume III - Number 11 - November 2006

 

 

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