Not an end, but a new beginning.

Oh No

Robert Creeley

If you wander far enough

you will come to it

and when you get there

they will give you a place to sit

for yourself only, in a nice chair,

and all your friends will be there

with smiles on their faces

and they will likewise all have places.

I felt that it would be extremely appropriate for my last blog to be about a poem explaining more so a journey. When we read this poem in class many people thought of this as being Heaven, but as I looked further into it I realized that I saw it as a poem explaining purgatory, or further, a waiting period.
Upon these next coming months I will be in the transition of moving from high school to college, but this poem is welcoming in the fact that there's no need to be afraid of transitions. It's really approriate to have endings because that just means that beginning is coming right after.
"and all your friends will be there with smiles on their faces..." A smile is a universal sign of happiness and can be seen without any language barrier at all, and so the simple sign of a smile is the comfort that everything will be OK, and that even if fear comes that is only appropriate because change is coming as well.
In the beginning he talks about "if you wander far enough- you will come to it," we wander to find a place where we belong and right now I am in the "wandering" stage just waiting for my life to fully begin. I haven't made my mark on the world but I am ready to do that in full force as I exit one door- only to be led to another. 
To finish of my poetry blog I would like to thank you Mrs.White for giving me the opportunity to speak my mind on here, many times it's hard to allow ourselves to fully show our true colors in school because we're afraid of the oppositions that it may cause, but I have thoroughly enjoyed writing every weekend and will continue to write as I journey through my college life.
Thank you very much. :)

Words within a picture.

this is a photograph of me

Margaret Atwood

It was taken some time ago.

At first it seems to be

a smeared

print: blurred lines and grey flecks

blended with the paper;

then, as you scan

it, you see in the left-hand corner

a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree

(basalm or spruce) emerging

and, to the right, halfway up

what ought to be a gentle

slope, a small frame house.

In the background there is a lake,

and beyond that, some low hills.

(The photograph was taken

the day after I drowned.

I am in the lake, in the center

of the picture, just under the surface.

It is difficult to say where

precisely, or to say

how large or small I am:

the effect of water

on light is a distortion

but if you look long enough,

eventually

you will be able to see me.)


Upon reading this poem and going over it in class I had awhile to think about it and figure out what I was going to say when I wrote about it in my blog.
Sometimes we have situations that arise that we seem to step outside of ourselves and can see the destruction we have cause for others, and mostly for ourselves. As the speaker is gazing into the picture and notices that she is "in" it, she could be speaking from a memory or again- she's stepping out of herself and noticing the death that she has brought upon herself.
"the effect if water on light is distortion..." This line made me think of at times the reflection that we may see in the mirror, or water, and how it seems to distort anything beautiful and turn it into a pure disgrace.
Through the fog the audience is able to understand that this is a picture worth "a million words..." but rather something that the speaker is highly regretting.
The authors purpose for placing the "deceased" in the middle of the lake also is for a purpose, because as normal human beings ( not superheros) we would be unable to see the body in the middle of the lake but as we persist to look we may be find exactly what we were trying to find- and that could be our own destruction. We have to look in the center in order to find the problem as to further bring the hope of fixing it at some point.

This is a reflective poem of the destruction that we may cause ourselves....

drowning in the sea of hopeless-ness.

Not Waving but Drowning

Stevie Smith

Nobody heard him, the dead man,

But still he lay moaning:

I was much further out than you thought

And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking

And now he’s dead

It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,

They said.

On, no no no, it was too cold always

(Still the dead one lay moaning)

I was much too far out all my life

And not waving but drowning.


I really really like this poem! We went over this last semester and I was wanting to write about it, but didn't know exactly what to say- I now have an idea of what I want to say.

Every single one of us have been in times of pure darkness and distress. This poem, I believe, is not about the literal sense of ACTUALLY drowning. In the final couplet of the poem it states, " I was much too far out all my life and not waving but drowing." The person in the poem may not be in a literal death situation but rather a more mental one, because many times we find oursleves etched within a habitual lifestyle that leads to the feeling of "drowning", meaning; this is a CAUTIONARY poem warning that we must not conform to what is comfortable but rely on what is not comfortable. I relate this poem much to the lives of the saints I have read, they released themselves from the "drowning" to which the world has adjusted to but yet- they are sitting amongst the shore relying on the holiest of lives.

The point of view shifts in the poem and is taken from the shore, and then from the water. Those two shifts give the reader a way of looking at the drowning and the serious-ness of the subject as- well. The view taken from the shore looking out to the person drowning is seemingly ironic, because while the person  is safe on the shore looking out, they're thinking that the person is just "waving" to them. Many of us look to those who are seemingly in trouble and seem to just pass it right by, unable to think that we could do anything to help.. the problem of that? We can always do something to help the drowning.

falling leaves.

Lesson of the falling leaves

Lucille Clifton

the leaves believe

such letting go is love

such love is faith

such faith is grace

such grace is god

i agree with the leaves

After 3 quarters of reading poems and interpreting them I have realized which styles I take to the best and understand, and I have to say that every poem that I've read of Lucille Clifton I have really enjoyed.

This particular poem I especially enjoyed it because of all the different angles it takes.

Clifton begins with personifying the leaves and stating that their beliefs are falling much like they do in the fall.

As each of the lines progress, the ideas are progressing as well and showing that each one of those virtues builds off of one another.

Clifton, in both of the poems I have read of hers, uses extremely simple structure as far as the stanzas go. They consist of one stanza but in that one stanza the reader is filled with such an understanding of the poem, that it does not need any further explination or detail.

Every blog needs a fine tune.

Frances Cornford

With what attentive courtesy he bent

Over his instrument;

Not as a lordly conqueror who could

Command both wire and wood,

But as a man with a loved woman might,

Inquiring with delight

What slight essential things she had to say

Before they started, he and she, to play.

I liked this poem for a few reasons; its length, and that it has to do with music. Cornford in this piece is looking at the relationship that the guitarist has with his instrument- but then using that to also look at the way the guitarist looks at the woman.

'With what attentive courtesy he bent over his instrument...". The diction that Cornford uses to describe that grace that the guitarist uses with his instrument seems almost parallel to the way he is seemingly looking at the woman he loves. I am not saying that he is loving her as if she is an object, although it may sound that way, I am saying as a musician myself that the love for that music is definitely something that is irreplacable... and is absolutely fantastic.

As far as structure goes with this poem, it is set up in one big stanza but is almost set up in couplets because of the rhyme scheme, each of the pairs of lines have a rhyming scheme at the end which adds a noticable rhythm. The rhythm is not just by accident obviously, especially if this poem is about music itself there will definitely be a slight musical "tune" to it you could say.

With the combination of rhythm, and overall theme, I would have to say that this would be one of my favorite poems all year. :)

The Guitarist Tunes Up

Waging War.

The following blog does not having anything to do with poetry so I am very sorry if that is what you were expecting, but I feel the need to write down an experience that I went through this spring break. In the wake of the 40 days for life campaign, Catholics all around the nation have been on a 24 hours of prayer and fasting in front of an abortion clinic. Last Saturday at 11 o clock I made my way to the planned parenthood in Fort Collins to join the prayerful fight, when the 40 days began my family and I decided we would go pray on Sundays because that seemed to be the only day that wasn't filled from top to bottom but Sundays were also a day that the clinic was closed.

Fridays and Saturdays are known around the pro life movement to be "bloody" Friday and Saturday- so I knew that at least once through these 40 days I need to be out visibly praying in front of the "mill" on a "bloody" day. Father Dave, our priest, calls the abortion clinics "mills" because clinics have the connotation of being helpful, or saving lives, so we would rather call them mills to expose the true fact that they choose to save one life but than kill another.

As I am walking towards the mill my prayers seem to flooding in...
"Lord please watch over me... Lord I hope I can help....Lord I don't know HOW to help..."
This went on for 10 minutes as I neared the big blue sign of planned parenthood. I walk up relieved to find four other women praying fervently. I introduce myself but to my surprise- they already knew me! Well I guess not really ME - but my sister who is a big part of who I am. The women started saying "you're Dana's sister right? Oh you look just like her!"
I have never been more proud of my sister in my entire life. I looked at them and said with all the joy I could possess "yes I am Dana's sister.."
One of the ladies began to tell me of the pro choice protesters that began to show up because of our presence in front of the mill, and to our dismay they slowly began to show as I began the rosary. Ironically, one of their signs said "keep your rosaries off our ovaries!" I couldn't help but laugh because that was the exact moment I began to start my prayers. The other signs were telling the public to 'honk for choice!' and they began waving their signs screaming and yelling. The funny thing is? If someone were to look over to the pro life group they would find our silence much louder than the yelling of the pro choice group. That's when I realized...

This is a full on war.

Opposing sides fighting for different purposes, one side fighting for the right to LIFE and the other a right- that was given a long time ago- for CHOICE. The pro life movement has evolved from the scare tactics and grotesque images to that of silent vigil and prayerful circles, and which I am proud to say I am involved in. As I gazed over to the pro choice advocates gathering at the other side of the wall I realize that you cannot fight fire with fire- we didn't respond to their bantering but stood firm in silence. What they [pro choice advocates] failed to see were the women coming out of the abortion clinic and the pain that they already felt. I stood facing that fateful door that has locked millions of children's lives' away- but yet held no anger or hate... only sadness. As the women looked over after exiting those two double doors all we wanted to tell them is that they are loved and we are here to help them!

This war will continue wage... and with that we will continue to get stronger. With each weekend our numbers increase and mostly our prayers as well!

50 million lives have been claimed.... but we have extremely powerful prayer warriors... and that is what I am. A prayer warrior for the unborn, and my fight has only just begun.

New Quarter!!!!

The poem I chose to do this week was one that I felt was extremely abstract. It was the poem written by Margaret Atwood.

You Fit into Me

You fit into me

like a hook into an eye

a fish hook

an open eye

This poem is very short, but in the short lines the author, atwood, was able to give the reader a poem for how this person fits into her. She could've chosen to write intense detail, filled with imagery in order to figure out how that "person" fits into her.

The first stanza was a phrase that is seemingly familiar, but she takes it beyond by explaining which hook it is and how the eye is looked upon. The detail of a fish hook could have been used because if you have ever seen a fish hook it has jagged ends on it and obviously the round tip in order to ensure the bait will remain on it, therefore; if something gets caught it will have an extremely hard time trying to get released. This symbol is further explaining how he "fits into her", because that open eye will have an extremely hard time getting away from the jagged hook.

Atwood wrote the poem in 2 short stanzas because, I believe, that there was nothing else she needed to describe in order for the reader to understand what she was saying. Or, that she wanted to remain seemingly abstract as for the reader to interept the poem in whichever way they choose.

Farewell to Comfort.

Farewell to mornings spent learning about the human mind.
Farewell to a teacher seen as an inspiration in history.
Farewell to the consistent wobbly desk in room D205.

Farewell to the stage that gave me a place to let my true voice come through.
Farewell to the loving teachers that guided without haste.
Farewell to those precious moments of comfort.

Farewell to the comfort felt when huddled between my parents watching a movie on saturday nights.
Farewell to the high jump pit that inspired a track athlete within me, and inspired a goal.
Farewell to the hallways that filled with familar faces.

Those moments give me the strength to grasp the unknown by the hand,
and gently walk with it,
unafraid
and untaken.

Farewell to Comfort.

To Suffer...

Questions about Suffering

Why is it that everyone has to suffer?

How are we so blind to it in other people?

Why do we feel we suffer more or less than others?

Why must we suffer to attain lessons?

Why do we sometimes turn the other when we someone suffering?

How is it that suffering is the true example of humanity?

Is suffering better than feeling nothing at all?

Why do some who have everything still suffer?

When will it end?

Would we have humanity and compassion without suffering?

What is true suffering, is it ceasing to have any emotion?

Country filled cotton.

Cottonmouth Country

Louise Glück

Fish bones walked the waves off Hatteras.

And there were other signs

That Death wooed us, by water, wooed us

By land:  among the pines

An uncurled cottonmouth that rolled on moss

Reared in the polluted air.

Birth, not death, is the hard loss.

I know.  I also left a skin there.

      Cottonmouth Country is amongst many poems that I initially just do not get. Such as, "hatteras" had no meaning to me what so ever until I looked it up that it had to do with the exact sentence- fishing. There are two deep aspects of this poem, its purely birth and death. "Death wooed us, by water, wooed us by land..." The overall idea that death is completely unsurpassing, it calls out to the depths of the sea to the parched land, no matter what they hear it calling them (almost as if by name).

     I see the cottonmouth being a symbol for frustaration, and almost a haunting. I say that because this obviously ceases to be a very "happy" poem but it's telling something beyond just the birth and death and it does so by using the cottonmouth. The cottonmouth is the pivotal time in the poem where the audience is able to understand what is ACTUALLY going on, like me, many readers will not understand the poem until the meaning behind the title is revealed. The title of the poem "Cottonmouth Country", the author using country after cottonmouth could mean that the symbolic meaning behind the cottonmouth is so vacant and widespread sometimes we feel as if we are actually living in it.

     Backing away from the writing and just simply putting it into words for each ones individualized self is where a true meaning comes from poetry, and thank goodness for that! Because if there was a specific way to look at poetry, well... I would surely fail.

Looking back from the beginning.

Good ol' introduction to poetry!!!!

Well I decided to go through this poem again (to be honest) because intellectually I'm quite brain fried from working on the independent reading assignment.
This poem is of huge significance to our class because we did EXACTLY what the poem says that people do when they begin to read poetry, they simply try to beat the sense out of it. Trying to make sense of words that seem to not make sense is a hard task to do, but I firmly believe that our class has done a good job of trying to move forward from the difficult task of beating out the sense.
Poetry is meant to  be enjoyable whether it may be a happy poem or sad poem - that doesn't lack the enjoyment out of it.
If I can be completely honest? Poetry has significantly grown on me. Once I learned to let go of trying to make sense of the "un" sensable (lol) I was able to actually enjoy the strange and different way that poetry enables us to think.

HumanCoverings.

The Book

Miller Williams

I held it in my hands while he told the story.

He had found it in a fallen bunker,

a book for notes with all the pages blank.

He took it to keep for a sketchbook and diary.

He learned years later, when he showed the book

to an old bookbinder, who paled, and stepped back

a long step and told him what he held,

what he had laid the days of his life in.

It’s bound, the binder said, in human skin.

I stood turning it over in my hands,

turning it in my head.  Human skin.

What child did this skin fit?  What man, what woman?

Dragged still full of its flesh from what dream?

Who took it off the meat?  Some other one

who stayed alive by knowing how to do this?

I stared at the changing book and a horror grew,

I stared and a horror grew, which was, which is,

how beautiful it was until I knew.

Fortunately near the end of the poem the realization that the author isn't talking about an actual book made from human skin  was very helpful in trying to figure out what this poem is saying.
"I held it in my hands while he told the story..." The significance of this beginning is in the simplicity of it, automatically the author has the reader glued in on guessing what the story may be about and what the end of it will conclude.
As the poem furthers in stanza 4 the drama of the poem enfolds, the book that he held was of human skin. He wondered who's could it be a child? A man? A woman? But prior the knowledge he had recieved the book had been a thing of beauty that he could look at.
The authors structure with the poem has an emphasis for dramatic elements, he places the spaces where they are to dramatize the piece. Williams also consistently is asking questions of why? how? and who?
Which really puts it on the reader themselves to answer for him, although there may not even be a sufficient answer to the question.

Again, the book is not of ACTUAL human skin, that would be quite horrifying- but rather the book is his life. The life that he is looking at could give him disgust and horror because he refused to do anything of real merit. The book was "found in a fallen bunker", it had been mistreated and forgotten, until the realization of someone else brought about the idea unto the person whos life is written on those pages.
The book is a symbol of cruelty, being that the person who is holding the book finds its past to be horrifying, which could also be a metaphor for someones life.

What the poem chooses to focus on isn't the content of the book, but rather the cover of it. The cover which binds this book is the importance.

Mirror mirror on the wall..

It was a dream

Lucille Clifton

in which my greater self

rose up before me

accusing me of my life

with her extra finger

whirling in a gyre of rage

at what my days had come to.

what,

i pleaded with her, could i do,

oh what could I have done?

and she twisted her wild hair

and sparked her wild eyes

and screamed as long as

i could hear her

This.  This.  This.

Lucille Clifton lived her life for her poetry, she was awarded countless prizes and in 1999 became the chancellor of the academy of American poets, unfortunately in 2010 Clifton passed away to the killer disease- cancer. The reason I feel this background knowledge is essential, is that upon reading ABOUT the writer, I understoof more fully the meaning as the reader.

The title of the poem was merely a first line of the poem itself, without the title the readers would be completely lost. The other interesting observation about the poem is that she did not separate the lines into separate couplets or stanzas, she just kept it in one neat and tidy stanza. Her reasoning could have been that she feels that the poem will explain itself, there's no need for extra detail or fluffiness, the poem will work better under the readers interpretation.

I am pretty sure that everyone has had those moments with their parents when one lecture seems to ultimately become their day job, or the fact that you refuse to make your bed turns into- " you're always late to class, you aren't focused enough, you can't take things seriously..."
At then end of the poem what Clifton is trying to emphasize our own ability to do that to ourselves, " This doesn't look right, this can't be helpful, this is merely a waste of time."
We need to reflect upon ourselves but not in a negative way, there is a way to look at things with the glass half full and I think that Clifton was taking a round about way at looking at that.

The beauty in a poet is there sense of understanding that they will have to leave it up to the reader to think for themselves, and not let a mirror do it for you.

Desert Places.

Robert Frost seems to always fascinate me with his figurative language, the imagery seems to float off the page and seemingly- in front of you.

The snow which primarily in the first stanza could symbolize a coldness that seems to be covering the entire plain, on the other side, snow is also something that is very pure and bright. In a poem named Desert Places, many would think of the arid and sunny desert, but in this situation Frost is using the desert as a forgotten arctic wasteland. This wasteland is torn up with his lonliness and sorrow, but he refuses to be frightened of the empty space he see's out in front of him because he knows that this is a place in his OWN mind.
A desert has been referred to as a place which may take a very long time to leave, therefore; he is having problems leaving the own loneliness of his mind.

I know this may sound cliche but the man is having a self reflection. Reflection seems to make the best story because that is when we entirely figure out (obviously) who we are, and where we're supposed to go. Someone else pursuing self reflection serves as a beginning point for others to look at themselves as well. We learn best from others, but uiltimately it is up to us to change our lives....

Poe Poe Poe.

Edgar Allan Poe never has ceased to amaze people with his elaborate way of telling a story in a poem form, and in such a bleak tone. Poe has always been an author that has seemed so strange to me, not only because of WHAT he writes about but the tone he sets nearly every single one of his writings in.

The poem Alone, isn't very hard to suggest why he chose to title it in the way that he did, is an detailing the way in which a person who has been alone may think but the detail is in such a way that adds such depth and heartbreak, which in turn brings the reader in. There were several lines that depicted the "angst" in which the title suggests he is in such as,"My sorrow- I could not awaken", the loneliness that he is feeling cannot be dismissed nor hidden. He compares that of many things in nature, including; the storm, lightning, and mountain, which could suggest that he feels as if his life is one that he is unable to control much like the roaring of the storm or cliffs of a mountain we cannot fathom to posses.

The ending of the poem is usually always the most important and that remains true with this poem. "And the cloud that took form ( When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view."
This analytically suggests that near the end of this life reflection- he cannot find a way out of his sadness and feels as if the only view he can see is the demon. A demon is are those beings cast out of Hell sent to earth to dwell and grow stronger from those mistakes done by humankind, demons are believed to be strong beings that rely on the doubting emotions to make them stronger because all negative attitudes done by humans are done by Satan and only seek the bad. With the background knowledge of demons made known by my church I can further understand the depth of the mans loneliness, and sorrow. By using the ending of the poem relating to the evil beings suggests his sorrow.... will never leave him.

To be KNOWN is to be LOVED, and to be LOVED is to be KNOWN.

This is a friendly reminder of how much God loves us, and beyond that

how much he wants us to come to Him with every longing in our hearts.

"I Thirst" is what he said on the cross of Calvary, he wasn't speaking

of  a physical thirst but rather a thirst of love that can only be found in His children.

I Thirst for you....

Bitterness.

The poem Untitled by Stephen Crane had a very dismembered meaning behind it. This poem was not read to be analyzed as literal, meaning that the "being" is not actually eating his REAL heart but rather looking inside the soul. The author looks at this creature amidst the desert, and many times the desert (as in the bible) is looked upon a place that ceases to have hope...the bitterness would be easy to gain insuch a desolate place. The creature that the author is looking at is holding his heart.
HOLDING HIS HEART.
 Automatically the human reaction is disgust, repulse, and even pity. As we look further into the "holding" of his heart and ultimately eating it that is the refelction of human kind on their character and what may be held deep inside the heart.
"I said: 'Is it good, friend?"'
This line is the potential we have as humans to pass by the anguish of another, many times we would rather ignore the helpless than help them get through the day. The answer of the "creature" is simple, "It is bitter..".
Poems are meant to be symbols, and this line is a deep reflection of what the human character has to reside to when they have seen no love. No love causes us to grow bitter, and see ourselves as though creatures growing bitter against everything throughout the world.
The structure of the poem is simple and short, it requires no further explination of the story. Along with the title of the poem being "Untitled" could go from the story being untitled.. or even the creature. The creature being unknown, unloved-and further- untitled.