Poem Post #8; Responding to: William Wordsworth, “The world is too much with us”

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be

A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

       This poem is straight up criticizing the place that humanity holds in this earth. It starts up by being explicit and to the point. There is no room for us in this world, we simply don't fit. We just take and take, we give up our power to make. There is nothing in nature that really is ours, we have to break down and rebuild to our needs, the earth wasn't made for us. We made the earth to kind of work for us. We bring down forests, we litter the sea, we kill the real owners of this earth, the animals, and once again, use them to feed us and keep us alive. We are selfish and needy. We are all united, but still hurt the planet with our wars. We simply do not fit in. The author would rather be spiritually enlightened, and escape the human body. That way, he would be able to witness and appreciate the beauty and majesty and wondrous features that humans have gone blind to. That's why the author addresses mythical figures such as Proteus. To represent the wondrous ideas we can't see, but would be able to if we became spiritually enlightened. I believe that in the eyes of the author, we need to stop being human to finally fit in this beautiful earth, and stop biting the hand that feeds us. Thinking about it, there is really no planet we can belong to, because the same would happen. Humans are just a coincidence.

Poem Post #7: Responding to: "Sonnet 29" Shakespeare, William

       When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

(Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

       For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

       That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

       This poem takes a turn on the idea "money doesn't bring you happiness". As a matter of fact, this poem actually says "money will make you sad and excluded". My paraphrasing of the poem goes as follows:

       When I'm drowning in money and the jealousy of others,

I am alone in my own island, 

And I ask for mercy when I deserve no pity,

And I damn myself for being rich,

Wishing to be as rich in hope as I am in wealth,

To be known like him, to have friends like him,

Desiring to have meaning in my life other than money, 

Getting the least money from what I enjoy the most; 

I hate my decisions,

I think about you, and how I am,
I'm still asking for mercy;

       Because you loved me for my money

       I want to be poor. 

       

       These emotions may be coming from Shakespeare as a justification for his decision to do what he loves, writing, instead of what would give him the most money. He expresses that had he followed the money instead of his dreams he would be miserable, lonely, and an outcast. It's almost like one of those stories about wanting to fit in, and in the real world, fitting in means being average. With average amounts of money and a life lacking luxurious assets. To Shakespeare, fitting in economically means being rich in spirit and hope, as he described in the poem. He believes that his happiness will come from not being alone and from doing what he really wants to do with money aside.

Poem Post #6; Responding to: Randall Jarrell, “The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner”

From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

       This poem attempts to point out how meaningless and worthless the people are to the government and the army. This unnamed gunner (the fact that it is unnamed is an attempt to allow the character to represent everyone in this situation), was taken away from home, from its family, from its planet, to be cannon meat and put in the nightmare of war. Everything had been taken away from it to fight a fight it had nothing to do with. After the gunner was abused and mutilated by the flame of the rage of the powerful people, not even its honor was granted to it, as it was washed away with a hose like trash that is in the way. 





This is what it looks like to be in a ball turret. The gunner was squeezed in there because his comfort is meaningless to the people in power. After all, he is expected to die. This poem makes me think of the famous lyrics from System of a Down: "Why don't presidents fight the war? Why do they always send the poor?", since it feels like it is also a call out to the people creating conflict and death while keeping themselves safe and sheltered. A leader isn't supposed to boss people around, a leader goes with the people and guides them and puts itself in the front lines, and its people over itself. If this was the way war was fought, there wouldn't be so much war to begin with; because all our "leaders" care about is their own skin.

Poem Post #5: Reflecting on: Gwendolyn Brooks, “We Real Cool”

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

       The brief and quickly escalating poem, made up of fragments and phrases, that is We Real Cool, serves as a warning for kids that delivers the commonly known message "Stay in school, kids". It is quick and to the point when asking the question: "Do you really want to live fast, die young?". Looking at the historical context of this poem readers can quickly see that it is from what we would call the "post-modern era", where narrators drift away from common rhythmic tradition and deliver messages more known to the current audience. A particularly interesting aspect of the poem is its consistent, catchy rhythm; with the lines being able to be delivered like a rap song with beat boxing behind it. This effect is created by the use of an artificial pause caused by a line break after the first word of each sentence (except the very first one). This poem has proved to be complex and difficult when attempting to pinpoint a certain kind of foot and meter to it. Although the rhythm stays consistent, the syllables and stressed in each line don't BECAUSE of this artificial rhythm founded on line breaks. I find it very interesting how it is possible to create a stable and consistent rhythm from LACK of measurable rhythm. It's almost paradoxical in a way. I can't help but think about the possibility of meaning hidden behind this complex paradox. The poem is quick and unmeasured... Is that how the "real cool" kids live their lives?, and could this perceived stability represent how common it is for kids to experience this?

Poem Post #4: Reflecting on: John Donne, “Death, be not proud”

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.      


I really like this sonnet. It empowers mortals, and with a few silly logical fallacies, it actually presents itself as an expression of bravery, fearlessness, and courage. At first glance, it seems like a desperate attempt to deny the reality of death, but after reading it a few times, we can see that the narrator does not exactly deny death, but minimizes it instead. Personifying death and then bringing it down like you would a human is precisely what Donne is going for here. He claims that no matter how much death hurts us, it will eventually die off. This, of course, is silly to say when talking about death mainly because it is not a tangible force with feelings or reasoning, but it can be related to human beings in circumstances that reminisce the acts of "death". Look at dictators for example, they might as well be death; undeniable, all powerful, and give off an ominous feeling from their wrathful aura. Now picture a man using the same argument Donne uses to ridicule death to ridicule a dictator. This is what I feel Donne is aiming for. He is exclaiming that the abuse of power senselessly might as well be meaningless because in the end, the abuser will die, and the human race will still go on. "One short sleep past, we wake eternally And death shall be no more; Death [abusive being causing senseless killing], thou shalt die." I feel that this quote successfully summarizes what I'm trying to get at.

Poem Post #3: Responding to: Robert Herrick, “To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time”

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
   Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
   Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, 
   The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
   And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
   When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
   Times still succeed the former. 

Then be not coy, but use your time,
   And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
   You may forever tarry.

       This particular poem is, funnily enough, extremely reminiscent of "To His Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell, which we analyzed in class not too long ago. If this was Perrine's style of literary fiction, he would refer to it as the commercial kind. Similarly to Marvell's poem, the sole purpose of this text falls on entertaining and bringing a smile to the audience Herrick may be addressing. Actually, thinking about it, Herrick may have not meant for this to be funny at all, and perhaps he is just trying to get laid. I've made this remark because of the time period in which this was written. 1591-1674, which is the age in which Herrick lived, reveals that he was unaware that his writing, read in today's times, is offensive and kind of hurtful for women, since it lacks the sensitivity towards the awareness of women's problems. The reason why we can find a comedic light in this piece of writing is because the interpretive audience has increased from just women, to everyone with a fair understanding of the process of life. With that being said, the once insensitive and pretentious message that this poem possessed, has transformed into a comedic message fueled by ignorance backed up by a time gap. Elementally, this poem is funny because it seems like a sex-ridden individual is attempting to use fine speech and poor rhetoric to convince women to sleep with him. The poor rhetoric part comes not from the argument of time, which would make it a good argument since there is no counter to time, but because he never expresses that he doesn't want the women to just have sex, but to have sex with him, which is the perceived overall intention of the poem.

How pathetic will our writing and rhetoric mechanisms look to individuals 100 years from now?

Poem Post #2: Responding to "The Negro Speaks of Rivers" by Langston Hughes

       I’ve known rivers:

I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
     flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln 
     went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy 
     bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
 

My soul has grown deep like the rivers. 

      This poem, to say the least, is interesting. The body of the poem is completely reminiscent of the title, and there doesn't seem to be any specific revelation of meaning through the body of the poem towards its title. It's almost like an anti-joke, not in the way that it is amusing or entertaining, but that it doesn't take any unexpected turns or have a specific line that illuminates meaning. This is really complex because at this point in time, a poem that is predictable is unexpected. In a way, the fact that we expect the unexpected, also means that we do not expect the expected. It's difficult to explain but I hope you follow what I mean... I also feel like this surprising lack of surprise is intentional by the author of the poem. Perhaps it contributes to the intended meaning of the body of the poem. Judging by the time period in which Langston Hughes lived (1902-1967), he probably experienced a good amount of racism and witnessed first hand what segregation was like at the time. From this information, it can be derived that his poems have to do something with the grim past of his ancestors, and perhaps in this specific poem, he is taking the role of an African  being taken away from his family through the rivers around the world whose only option to cope is to talk about his surroundings to forget about what he is going through. At least for a sole instant.

Poem Post #1: Responding to ¨Pass/Fail¨ by Linda Pastan

You will never graduate

from this dream

of blue books.

No matter how

you succeed awake,

asleep there is a test

waiting to be failed.

The dream beckons

with two dull pencils,

but you haven't even

taken the course;

when you reach for a book - 

it closes its door 

in your face; when

you conjugate a verb - 

it is in the wrong 

language.

Now the pillow becomes

a blank page. Turn it 

to the cool side;

you will still smother

in all of the feathers

that have to be learned

by heart.

       What is it that is stopping us from ¨graduating from our dreams¨ but ourselves? Why is this test determined to be failed? Perhaps this poem is about the physical body growing up and letting go of its past, and about the spirit never actually growing old.  ¨You will never graduate from this dream of blue books¨ could mean, ¨You will never let go of this goal or depression that is bothering you¨, hence the color blue. No matter how good you are while you are awake, when you're asleep you are vulnerable and exposed to who you really are. Sort of reminds me of ¨Mirror¨ by Sylvia Plath, since when you see yourself, you see the absolute truth. When you're asleep, you can't hide anything. You aren't prepared for the truth, hence why Pastan says ¨you haven't even taken the course¨. Also, Pastan points out that when you ¨reach for a book - it closes its door in your face, meaning that there is nothing that will help you except experience. You can't learn or read about how to face the truth, you can only experience it. ¨Wrong language¨, meaning misunderstanding. We won't be able to understand what we see in our dreams, or come up with an appropriate reaction to what we see, because we are not in control. ¨... All of the feathers that have to be learned by heart¨, once again reinforcing the thought that learning is only achieved through experience. Through reading this poem while in school, I feel like it touches on how we test ourselves, and those tests are the most accurate when it comes to reflecting who we are.

Reflecting on "Danse Russe" by William Carlos Williams

       While reading this poem I found myself thinking about how the narrator cherishes his time better when he is alone and everyone else is asleep. The sun is a flame-white disc, it is a beautiful day at nighttime for the narrator, and he can love himself the most while he is alone, because nobody can contradict him. My experience with the poem revolved around how easily I can relate to this poem, suddenly I believed that it had to do with introverted thinking. Perhaps this poem is about introverted people, and how they can regain energy by being alone and find bliss in silence. There is quite a lot that can be extracted from these poems, and most of it comes from within ourselves, just like the happiness of introverts.

Reflecting on "Mirrors" by Sylvia Plath

       First of all, I found this poem to be very very "Plath". Having read the bell jar, I could see her very characteristic writing style and purpose reflect a lot in this poem. It was reflecting to common emotional struggles specifically females find themselves in.  In this specific poem I saw the struggle of self appreciation and the weight put on appearance by society. Plath touches on the complexity of the truthfulness of the mirror and called anything that might affect the image on the mirror "liars" (candles and the moon). My specific experience while closely reading this poem was realizing how much the TPCASTT approach actually helps understand a poem. I've never studied poems closely so I am very inexperienced and found myself always guessing when it came to understanding the meaning of poems, but going through the TPCASTT process I was actually surprised when I noticed little key details that carried the story through and led to properly understanding what's going on. I am finally beginning to really appreciate poetry as a powerful tool of communication and I finally feel like I can really understand the complex thoughts these authors are conveying through their poems.