Poetry

Visual arts, music, poetry and other forms of art.
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Mimesis
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Re: Poetry

Post by Mimesis »

Posting the following in such quick succession to the above because I feel they have a natural connection and meaning to each other. They coil around their meaning within themselves, but also tease the tails of the other. I have been reading one after the other, in the order as posted above and below, and find it difficult to separate them as part of the same reading now.
However, they remain independent in Hughes’ intention, and they do have a flow unique to themselves, which would be undermined by literally posting the two together....


The Knight

Ted Hughes


Has conquered. He has surrendered everything.

Now he kneels. He is offering up his victory

And unlacing his steel.

In front of him are the common wild stones of the earth-

The first and last altar

Onto which he lowers his spoils.

And that is right. He has conquered in earth’s name.

Committing these trophies

To the small madness of roots, to the mineral stasis

And to rain.

An unearthly cry goes up.

The Universes squabble over him-

Here a bone, there a rag.

His sacrifice is perfect. He reserves nothing.

Skylines tug him apart, winds drink him,

Earth itself unravels him from beneath-

His submission is flawless.

Blueflies lift off his beauty.

Beetles and ants officiate

Pestering him with instructions.

His patience grows only more vast.

His eyes darken bolder in their vigil

As the chapel crumbles.

His spine survives its religion,

The texts moulder-

The quaint courtly language

Of wingbones and talons.

And already

Nothing remains of the warrior but his weapons

And his gaze.

Blades, shafts, unstrung bows-and the skull’s beauty

Wrapped in the rags of his banner.

He is himself his banner and its rags.

While hour by hour the sun

Strengthens its revelation.
"We are such stuff. As dreams are made on, and our little life. Is rounded with a sleep."
obnoxion
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Re: Poetry

Post by obnoxion »

Mimesis wrote: Mon Jan 13, 2020 1:33 am To loosely follow on from, and perhaps even cause some interesting friction to Obnoxion's recent Sylvia Plath....
I suppose the poem by Plath had more relevance to those who were able to follow our discussion of Plath's poetry in Finnish. That discussion has been for me a turning point where my interest in Plath's poems evolved into outright fascination. It was also an incentive to read Hughes. I find that Hughe's talent and mastery of language is evident in all his writings. Though I've read of both poets' personal lives, and find their involvement in the occult of interest, I try to read both without considering much the possible confessional aspects of their poetry.
Mimesis wrote: Mon Jan 13, 2020 1:38 am they do have a flow unique to themselves
Indeed! The first one I find such effortless and flowing read. The second one makes one constantly pause.
One day of Brahma has 14 Indras; his life has 54 000 Indras. One day of Vishnu is the lifetime of Brahma. The lifetime of Vishnu is one day of Shiva.
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Mimesis
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Re: Poetry

Post by Mimesis »

obnoxion wrote: Mon Jan 13, 2020 1:01 pm

I suppose the poem by Plath had more relevance to those who were able to follow our discussion of Plath's poetry in Finnish. That discussion has been for me a turning point where my interest in Plath's poems evolved into outright fascination. It was also an incentive to read Hughes. I find that Hughe's talent and mastery of language is evident in all his writings. Though I've read of both poets' personal lives, and find their involvement in the occult of interest, I try to read both without considering much the possible confessional aspects of their poetry.

........

Indeed! The first one I find such effortless and flowing read. The second one makes one constantly pause.

I agree very much with all of this. Interestingly, I have always considered Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes to be quite similar in comparison to how you have written of Hughes' 'The Horse' and 'The Knight'. I sometimes adore how Ted Hughes writes, yet sometimes find it infuriating. His use of language, paradox and juxtaposition is pretty masterful. He therefore maintains the kind of jarring insecurity and unpredictability of 'The Knight'.
Plath on the other hand I find to consistently flow. She is persistently fascinating, utterly tragic. Much like what you have found in 'The Horse'.

The difficulty with considering the personal lives of these two is the abhorrent accusations against Hughes, which Plath's letters rather confirm. This should be left out of their poetic and literary contribution, but neither should be forgotten ethically.
"We are such stuff. As dreams are made on, and our little life. Is rounded with a sleep."
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Mimesis
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Re: Poetry

Post by Mimesis »

Thirteen Blackbirds Look at a Man
R. S, Thomas

1
It is calm.
It is as though
we lived in a garden
that had not yet arrived
at the knowledge of
good and evil.
But there is a man in it.

2
There will be
rain falling vertically
from an indifferent
sky. There will stare out
from behind its
bars the face of a man
who is not enjoying it.

3
Nothing higher
than a blackberry
bush. As the sun comes up
fresh, what is the darkness
stretching from horizon
to horizon? It is the shadow
here of the forked man.

4
We have eaten
the blackberries and spat out
the seeds, but they lie
glittering like the eyes of a man.


5
After we have stopped
singing, the garden is disturbed
by echoes; it is
the man whistling, expecting
everything to come to him.

6
We wipe our beaks
on the branches
wasting the dawn's
jewellery to get rid
of the taste of a man.

7
Nevertheless,
which is not the case
with a man, our
bills give us no trouble.

8
Who said the
number was unlucky?
It was the man, who,
trying to pass us,
had his licence endorsed
thirteen times.

9
In the cool
of the day the garden
seems given over
to blackbirds. Yet
we know also that somewhere
there is a man in hiding.

10
To us there are
eggs and there are
blackbirds. But there is the man,
too, trying without feathers
to incubate a solution.

11
We spread our
wings, reticulating
our air-space. A man stands
under us and worries
at his ability to do the same.

12
When night comes
like a visitor
from outer space
we stop our ears
lest we should hear tell
of the man in the moon.

13
Summer is
at an end. The migrants
depart. When they return
in spring to the garden,
will there be a man among them?
"We are such stuff. As dreams are made on, and our little life. Is rounded with a sleep."
obnoxion
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Re: Poetry

Post by obnoxion »

Mimesis wrote: Tue Jan 21, 2020 10:42 am Thirteen Blackbirds Look at a Man
R. S, Thomas
Should this poem be read in relation to Wallace Stevens' "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"...?

I've studied Stevens' poem a bit, and I find it of great interest. But I don't remember hearing much about R. S. Thomas before, (although I sometimes find books by poets I didn't remember knowing of from my own bookshelf...).
One day of Brahma has 14 Indras; his life has 54 000 Indras. One day of Vishnu is the lifetime of Brahma. The lifetime of Vishnu is one day of Shiva.
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Mimesis
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Re: Poetry

Post by Mimesis »

obnoxion wrote: Wed Jan 22, 2020 2:02 am
Should this poem be read in relation to Wallace Stevens' "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"...?

I've studied Stevens' poem a bit, and I find it of great interest. But I don't remember hearing much about R. S. Thomas before, (although I sometimes find books by poets I didn't remember knowing of from my own bookshelf...).
In truth, I have no idea, but thank you for mentioning it and bringing my attention to it. I wasn't familiar with Wallace Stevens' "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" before....in fact, other than knowing the name and a vague memory of having read something of him before, I am quite unfamiliar with Stevens in general.

The biggest difference between Thomas' and Stevens' two mentioned works is the perspective, it seem to me....Stevens is talking from the perspective of man, whereas Thomas is talking from the perspective of a Blackbird - or at least some kind of natural observer, of the wild and not of humanity. That is how I would read it. But there is a kind of playful mockery in both....

As for R. S. Thomas in general; I think in many respects he is a poet of the landscape that he was a part of. I feel very connected to his work because I can see and feel north Wales in everything that he writes. My connection to that part of the world is what first exposed me to his work, and so I think that largely contributes to my reading of his poetry. Further, the landscape, way of life and mood of the area is so invested and imbued in his poetry, that perhaps if one hasn't experienced that, it is hard to hold onto his writing (in any way) dearly.
"We are such stuff. As dreams are made on, and our little life. Is rounded with a sleep."
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Cancer
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Re: Poetry

Post by Cancer »

Rose Ausländer's work began to fascinate me greatly after I came across this small poem of hers. The translation is by Julia Samwer.


Mutter Sprache

Ich habe mich
in mich verwandelt
von Augenblick zu Augenblick

in Stücke zersplittert
auf dem Wortweg

Mutter Sprache
setzt mich zusammen

Menschmosaik


Mother Tongue

I changed myself
into myself
from one moment to the next

splintered to pieces
on the way of words

mother tongue
assembles me

human mosaic



For poets, being splintered to pieces on the way of words is an occupational hazard on the one hand, a necessary experience on the other. One must be broken and reassembled countless times, find ones voice by letting it crack. "Changing oneself into oneself" can be either desperate, overly self-conscious striving after one true form, static perfection, or the liberating admission that gradual change itself is what constitutes a self, a voice. Making any art is paradoxical in that it requires great discipline and great spontaneity mediated through each other; making art of language perhaps even more so, since language is so closely related to self-consciousness. For me at least it often appears miraculous that "mother tongue" - the healing, whole-making aspect of language - even exists, let alone as capable of countering the disjunctive forces speaking nearly always also unleashes.

So okay, in simpler terms, I think this poem is about the tension between conscious work and inspiration in writing, and in a poet's life in general. It is especially appealing to me since I often experience writer's block due to over-analyzing my texts.

Also thanks for the Hughes poems, Mimesis! I've also been reading a lot of Plath lately and can't not be interested in Hughes as well, although one should probably be wary of letting the personal lives of poets affect ones reading too much.
Tiden läker inga sår.
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Cerastes
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Re: Poetry

Post by Cerastes »

Cancer wrote: Wed Jan 29, 2020 1:25 pm Mutter Sprache

Ich habe mich
in mich verwandelt
von Augenblick zu Augenblick

in Stücke zersplittert
auf dem Wortweg

Mutter Sprache
setzt mich zusammen

Menschmosaik

This is wonderful and your interpretation was quite close to what came to my mind.
But something that I find very interesting get’s lost in the English translation.
Unlike in English, "Muttersprache" is usually written in one word.
Separating „Mutter“ and „Sprache“ is grammatically wrong.
The autor splits the words into two pieces and writes „setzt mich zusammen“ (= puts me together) right below.
This gives a whole new dimension to the poem.
“Granny Weatherwax was not lost. She wasn't the kind of person who ever became lost. It was just that, at the moment, while she knew exactly where SHE was, she didn't know the position of anywhere else.”
(Terry Pratchett, Wyrd Sisters)
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Cancer
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Re: Poetry

Post by Cancer »

Cerastes wrote: Wed Jan 29, 2020 4:54 pmThis is wonderful and your interpretation was quite close to what came to my mind.
But something that I find very interesting get’s lost in the English translation.
Unlike in English, "Muttersprache" is usually written in one word.
Separating „Mutter“ and „Sprache“ is grammatically wrong.
The autor splits the words into two pieces and writes „setzt mich zusammen“ (= puts me together) right below.
This gives a whole new dimension to the poem.
Thank you for the clarification! I missed the difference although in theory I know enough German to be aware of it. It's always interesting when a poem brings heightened attention to the medium of writing through "mistakes" or other features that would not be perceptible in speech.

Come to think of it, this might be read as further commentary on the theme of difference in identity that is introduced in the poem's first and second lines (...changed myself / into myself...). The poem as written and the poem as spoken are and are not the same, much like the poem and its translation.
Tiden läker inga sår.
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Cerastes
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Re: Poetry

Post by Cerastes »

Cancer wrote: Wed Jan 29, 2020 5:22 pm Thank you for the clarification! I missed the difference although in theory I know enough German to be aware of it. It's always interesting when a poem brings heightened attention to the medium of writing through "mistakes" or other features that would not be perceptible in speech.
Dann kannst du aber gut Deutsch.
That’s impressive because I think it is quite hard to learn.
Another thing just came to mind.
„setzt mich zusammen“ can be read in two very different ways.
It either means that she (the author) is put together by Mutter Sprache or it means that the readers (plural) should put her (the author) together.
Hm, I think it is almost impossible to translate a poem without losing a lot of it’s dept.
I’d love to learn more languages just to read poems and literature in original words.
Cancer wrote: Wed Jan 29, 2020 5:22 pm Come to think of it, this might be read as further commentary on the theme of difference in identity that is introduced in the poem's first and second lines (...changed myself / into myself...). The poem as written and the poem as spoken are and are not the same, much like the poem and its translation.
Yes, that's a good point.
“Granny Weatherwax was not lost. She wasn't the kind of person who ever became lost. It was just that, at the moment, while she knew exactly where SHE was, she didn't know the position of anywhere else.”
(Terry Pratchett, Wyrd Sisters)
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