I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with a rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
Billy Colllins, "The Apple That Astonished Parts"
I hoped that he would love me,
And he has kissed my mouth
But I am like a stricken bird
That cannot reach the south.
For though I know he loves me,
Tonight my heart is sad;
His kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams I had.
By Sara Teasdale
Salvage This
By: Jerry Martien
This poem needs to be
saved from itself.
It is way over the hill.
Words on dead wood.
Long ago it
ceased to be profitable.
You would be
keeping it
from being taken
by its own
dark and useless powers.
There are words in here
over a thousand years old.
They have conspired
with other creatures
and been spoken
with air
that has been inside
the leaves of trees.
These words
when spoken
are an ancient forest.
Some of the words
they say
are no longer productive.
Truth. Love.
Compassion for all beings.
Hey--
call the operators.
Haul them away to the mill.
But say--
isnąt that a trace of
human wisdom
in among those words?
And down there isnąt that a
vole digging for buried
meaning in the
decay and duff of a
culture that long ago
knew how to say, Enough--
donąt be taking
what you havenąt created
and canąt pay back.
There is blood here.
An owl is eating the vole.
There is life here.
These words are
inside the trees again.
What happens
to our words
happens to the forest.
What happens to the forest
Happens to us.
We should be cutting
lies instead of trees.
Assignment:
1. This speaker brings to our attention that a poem is really no more than words paired together that have all been used before. If that is true, then why is it so hard to write a poem? With that question answered, write a 20-line poem on the difficulties associated with doing something you don’t like doing.
The Lesson of the Moth
I was talking to a moth
The other evening
He was trying to break into
An electric light bulb
And fry himself on the wired
Why do you fellows
Pull this stunt I asked him
Because it is the conventional
Thing for moths or why
If that had been an uncovered
Candle instead of an electric
Light bulb you would
Now be a small unsightly cinder
Have you no sense
Plenty of it he answered
But at times we get tired
Of using it
We get bored with the routine
And crave beauty
And excitement
Fire is beautiful
And we know that if we get
Too close it will kill us
But that does that matter
It is better to be happy
For a moment
And be burned up with beauty
Than to live a long time
And be bored all the while
So we wad all our life up
Into one little roll
And then we shoot the roll
That is what life is for
It is better to be apart of beauty
For one instant and then cease to
Exist than to exist forever
And never be apart of beauty
Our attitude toward life
Is come easy go easy
We are like human beings
Used to be before they became
Too civilized to enjoy themselves
And before I could argue him
Out of his philosophy
He went and immolated himself
On a patent cigar lighter
I do not agree with him
Myself I would rather have
Half the happiness and twice
The longevity
But at the same time I wish
There was something I wanted
As badly as he wanted to fry himself archly
Questions:
1.How does the moth sum up his attitude toward life?
2.What is the speaker’s attitude toward life?
By: Carole Gregory
That phone call, the one that you wait for
But never expect to come
Was phoned today. And
That voice, the voice you ache for
But seldom expect to hear
Spoke today. And that
Loneliness, the loneliness you hurt from
But always held inside,
Flies out like thin stones across water.
Questions:
1.What emotions does the poem express?
One
Year Later
By Eric Torgerson
For weeks, of course, the phone still rang for you;
Letters arrived with your name and my address;
Your weight stayed long in the chairs, and even now
Something of you in the mirror changes my face.
Questions:
1.Who is the speaker? Defend you answer by supporting it.
Life by the Drop
By:
Stevie Ray Vaughn
Hello there, my old friend
Not so long ago it was 'till the end
We played outside in th' pouring rain
On our way up the road we started over again
You're livin' our dream, wo you on top
My mind is achin', Lord it won't stop
That's how it happens livin' life by the drop
Up and down that road in our worn out shoes
Talkin' 'bout good thangs, singin' the blues
You went your way, I stayed behind
We both knew it was just a matter of time
No wasted time, we're alive today
Churnin' up th' past, there's no easier way
Time's between us, a means to an end
God it's good to be here walkin' together my friend
We're livin' our dreams
My mind stopped achin'
That's how it happens livin' life by th' drop
Questions:
1.What is the speaker’s attitude?
2.Who is the “we”?
Metaphor
By Eve Merriam
Morning is
A new sheet of paper
For you to write on.
Whatever you want to say,
All day,
Until night
Folds it up
And files it away.
The bright words and the dark words
Are gone
Until dawn
And a new day
To write on.
Questions:
1.What does the author mean in the first stanza?
2.What does “night” fold up and file away?
3.Does the poet’s metaphor offer an optimistic or pessimistic view of life? Why?
An
Ideal Woman
I know a man who put together an ideal woman
from all his desires: the hair
he took from a woman in the window of a passing bus,
the forehead from a cousin who died young, the hands
from a teacher he had as a kid, the cheeks from a little girl,
his childhood love, the mouth from a woman he noticed
in a phone booth, the thighs
from a young woman lying on the beach,
the alluring gaze from this one, the eyes from that one,
the waistline from a newspaper ad.
From all these he put together
a woman he truly loved. And when he died, they came,
all the women with legs chopped off, eyes plucked out, faces slashed in half,
severed hands, hair ripped out, a gash where a mouth used to be,
and demanded what was theirs, theirs, theirs,
dismembered his body, tore his flesh, and left him
only his long-lost soul.
Questions:
1.Discuss in a 50-word paragraph the role of women in society and what men want from them as portrayed in this poem.
Thumbprint
By: Eve Merriam
In the heel of my thumb
Are whorls, whirls, wheels
In a unique design:
Mine alone.
What a treasure to own!
My own flesh, my own feelings.
No other, however grand or base,
Can ever contain the same.
My signature,
Thumbing the pages of my time.
My universe key,
My singularity.
Impress, implant,
I am myself,
Of all my atom parts I am the sum.
And out of my blood and my brain
I make my own interior weather,
My own sun and rain.
Imprint my mark upon the world,
Whatever I shall become.
Questions:
1. What does the unique design of the speaker’s thumb represent?
2.What do you consider unique about yourself? How might your unique qualities lead you to make a mark on the world?
Grandfather never went to school
Spoke only a few words of English,
A quiet man; when he talked
Talked about simple things
Planting corn or about the weather
Sometimes about herding sheep as a child.
One day pointed to the four directions
Taught me their names
El Norte
Poniente Oriente
El Sur
He spoke their names as if they were
One of only a handful of things
A man needed to know
Now I look back
Only two generations removed
Realize I am nothing but a poor fool
Who went to college
Trying to find my way back
To the center of the world
Where Grandfather stood
That day
Questions:
1.When the speaker describes learning the four directions from his grandfather, what human value does he hint at?
2.What point is the speaker trying to make?
Lineage
By: Margaret Walker
My grandmothers were strong.
They followed plows and bent to toil.
They moved through fields sowing seed.
They touched earth and grain grew.
They were full of sturdiness and singing.
My grandmothers were strong.
My grandmothers are full of memories
Smelling of soap an onions and wet clay
With veins rolling roughly over quick hands
They have many clean words to say.
My grandmothers were strong.
Why am I not as they?
Questions:
1.The speaker compares herself with her grandmothers. In doing so, do you think she judges herself fairly? Why or why not?
2.Write a 20-line poem about a family member you admire.
Could Have
It could have happened.
It had to happen.
It happened earlier. Later.
Nearer. Farther off.
It happened, but not to you.
You were saved because you were the first.
You were saved because you were the last.
Alone. With others.
On the right. On the left.
Because it was raining. Because of the shade.
Because the day was sunny.
You were in luck--there was a forest.
You were in luck--there were no trees.
You were in luck--a rake, a hook, a beam, a brake,
a jamb, a turn, a quarter inch, an instant.
You were in luck--just then a straw went floating by.
As a result, because, although, despite.
What would have happened if a hand, a foot,
within an inch, a hairsbreadth from
an unfortunate coincidence.
So you're here? Still dizzy from another dodge, close shave,
reprieve?
One hole in the net and you slipped through?
I couldn't be more shocked or speechless.
Listen,
how your heart pounds inside me.
Deified
By Eileen Blas Schaefer
I think the moon
Must taste like mint
Cool and tingling
To the tongue
If I could
I’d hold it tight
Between my teeth
Breathe in its minty mist
Then swallow it whole
And hold it in the pit
Of my stomach
Change my name to Diana
And keep myself chaste.
Look in the plam of my left hand
Where the moon glows.
Touch me if you dare.
Question:
1. Explain the reference to Diana.