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.