Extra blog- Erin Belieu

This week I chose Erin Belieu to write a few lines about. In her poem entitled “Of the Poet’s Youth”, she is speaking about her past, tries to recollect her past memories, events and friends. She is talking to Sandy, who used to be “the deluxe doll, modish and pert”, and she calls their past “our halcyon days”. Were these days really so special and unique? We get to know that they were eating hash brownies; they were having sex all the time, so their life was similar to that of the hippies in the 60s. Interestingly, El Camino, this very religious way of pilgrims is mentioned. It is strangely connected to their dissolute life, where no one was looking for the possibility of a purer heart and soul—as it would be expected during a pilgrimage. Compared to the present, “Those were immortal times, Sandy! Coke wasn’t addictive yet, condoms prevented herpes / and men were only a form of practice for the Russian novel / we foolishly hoped our lives would become.” So her present must be very bad and annoying if she wants to get back these old days, where nothing was real, even hopes were fakes, obviously Coke was addictive that time as well, and men did not just die as they do in Russian novels. After the description of the past, we have some present day situations, and we know that sixteen years have passed since the good old days. “My estranged husband house-sits for a spoiled cockatoo while saving to buy his own place. My lover’s gone back / to his gin and the farm-team fiancée he keeps in New York.” So after sixteen years, she has an estranged husband, who wants to be separated from her and at the same time, she has a lover who has a fiancée. Her life is not much better than it used to be in the past, but the worst thing is that now she is emotionally alone, no one is willing to be with her forever, and presumably her lover is going to leave her, this is just the matter of time. The next line tells us she is a mom, and strangely she reads Frank O’Hara to her three-year old child before he goes to bed. Why O’Hara? He is not supposed to be read for little children like hers, I think he would rather listen to some fairy tales and not O’Hara. This may express that his mother does not believe in fairy tales anymore, her life is in ruins, everything is against her, so she does not want her son to believe in miracles and fairies, as they do not exist and will never help him in his life. She does not want her son to have the same kind of life she has now. The next lines say “Tonight, I find you in a box I once marked ‘The Past’. Well, / therapy’s good for some things, Sandy…” Putting our past in an imaginary box and not dealing with it for a while is sometimes suggested by psychologists, but she is not sure if this method really works, as the last line says: “I don’t know anything.” And also, she does not expect anything from her life, things will not change.

Make up blog

This week we had an interesting survey on multicultural poetry and we had authors coming from many different countries, bringing their differences, belief and hopes to the US. It was interesting when you were talking about the “constraint” which “forces” immigrants to learn English to be able to communicate with others and have a better life. Sometimes, I think, this is not the case. I can easily imagine Chinese or Mexican immigrants in big cities who cannot speak English, simply because they are surrounded by other Chinese or Mexican people, they have their own newspapers, TV channels, and even schools. This way they do not have to assimilate, to learn English and they are not forced to lose one part of their selves. Of course, this is the result of the second part of the 20th century which made the US (and the world as well) more multicultural, in the past immigrants really had to assimilate (just think of Polish or German immigrants who became real Americans in the course of one generation). And this is what Lorna Dee Cervantes is talking about in her poem entitled “Refugee Ship”. Although born in California, she is like an outsider; her family is not part of the dominant English-speaking Anglo-Saxon society. She is forced to learn English, and unlike her grandmother, she is going to assimilate into the dominant culture. Her grandmother still reads the Bible- religion is a very important part of the lives of Mexican Americans. She has to notice that, although she speaks English, her appearance is different from that of the other English speakers: “bronzed skin, black hair”. In other words, she is a typical Mexican (a “Chicana”- with all the discrimination and disadvantages of this origin); everyone can notice that from a mile. She feels a captive on a refugee ship maybe because of her low-class Mexican origin, her mother tongue or her “barrio” in which her family lives. The fact that the last line is written in Spanish just strengthens her bilingual origins and her inability (or impossibility) to decide between the two competing cultures. The poetry of Li-Young Lee has of course, similar features. In his poetry, we can even witness his struggle with the English language, like in the poem entitled “Persimmons”. I can easily imagine that struggle, not because I am not a native speaker of English, but because Asian people are coming from a really different world. Their languages (even their names) are very different from English, they grew up reading Eastern philosophers, their languages are not full of Latin (or Greek) borrowings, and this makes their language learning process much more difficult. This is recorded in “Persimmons”, the struggle with the new language, with the new culture (just think of Mrs. Walker who brought an unripe persimmon to class calling it “Chinese apple”, he knew the difference but could not say it). Towards the end of the poem we can see the importance of art; maybe that could help the father survive his first times in the US and brought back the nostalgic days spent in his native country.

The poetry of Ferlinghetti and Ginsberg

I have a few thoughts about “Dog” written by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. We may say that in this poem the dog stands for the author, as he passes through the streets of San Francisco and sees “things” that are bigger and smaller than he is and “things” that smells like he smells. This triple division is interesting, just like the recurring phrase, “The dog trots freely in the street”, which is like a refrain in the poem. We can easily imagine this freely trotting dog as he sees the city landmarks like Chinatown, the Meat Market, the Romeo Ravioli Factory and Coit’s Tower. Besides the usual cityscape (drunks in doorways, fish, ants, puddles, cats, cigars, babies) he can see many other, obviously more interesting, things as well. Just like policemen. Here we can see the poet’s opinion about policemen, he does not hate them, “He merely has no use for them”. After this allusion comes another, even more interesting one, referring to the atmosphere of the 50s in America, to the “Un-American Committee”, persecuting suspicious Communists in the country. Strangely, the dog is not afraid of the Committee (and of its leader, Congressman Doyle). This could show us the opinion of the poet as well; the counterculture supports revolutions and does not afraid of the power of the leaders. However, this dog is said to be “sad” and “serious” at the same time. These two adjectives may show us that the revolutionists are sad because of the bad conditions they have to live in, and they are serious as well in their decisions and revolutions. He is free and has his own life to live and his own fleas to eat (i.e. his own issues and problems) and “He will not be muzzled”, so he will not be silenced by the government or some “stronger” people. The most provocative part is coming up: “Congressman Doyle is just another/ fire hydrant/ to him”, i.e. he is not interested in him, and in his decisions or orders, he is just urinating him. I liked the pun with the homophonous words “tale” and “tail”, they just spiced the poem up. The next lines must be making fun of politics; I do not think the poet was interested in these things: the dog is democratic and “engaged in real free enterprise”.
My other choice is the famous “A Supermarket in California” by Allen Ginsberg. The evocation of Walt Whitman in a California supermarket is very surprising, what would he do in a modern store full of people, where “whole families shopping at night!”? Federico García Lorca seems to be out of place as well, but we should know the only thing linking these three poets: they were all homosexual; I think this is the reason why Ginsberg puts them together. Whitman is said to be lonely and childless, he is eying the grocery boys- one more allusion to homosexuality. Then Ginsberg addresses Whitman, they should decide where to go, their journey is said to be an “odyssey”. Besides this classical allusion, we have one more in the closing lines, speaking about Charon and the Lethe.

Modeling Poem #3

66. Write a poem made up entirely of excuses

Funny excuses for being late for work

Do you know how long it takes to give a dollar to every Santa you see?
I had to show the new worker something.
Your watch must be fast.
I wasn’t late. I just failed to be on time.
Want to talk about it over a bite to eat?
I fell asleep in the shower.
I ran into a parade.
I was too busy sleeping to be on time.
I had a top level meeting with George Bush.
Could you please repeat the question?
I saw Elvis.
I had to catch a Pokemon.
I couldn’t find my clothes.
(Source: http://www.toddolivas.com/blog/48-Funny-Excuses-For-Being-Late-For-Work.asp,m, last visited Sun, November 16, 2008)

Funny school excuses

My alarm clock didn't go off because it was upset with me. It felt that I was ignoring it and that I didn't give it the time of day.
My foot went asleep this morning. It refused to wake up. I ended up hopping on one foot to get to school.
My son is under a doctor's care and should not take P.E. today. Please execute (sic!) him.
Dear School: Excuses
Please ekscuse (sic!) John being absent on Jan. 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, and also 33 (!).
Please excuse Jimmy for being. It was his father's fault.
Please excuse Jennifer for missing school yesterday. We forgot to get the Sunday paper off the porch, and when we found it Monday, we thought it was Sunday.
Sally won't be in school a week from Friday. We have to attend her funeral.
My daughter was absent yesterday because she was tired. She spent a weekend with the Marines.
I didn't come to school yesterday because I was feeling like I was going to be sick, but thankfully I wasn't!
Please excuse my daughter for being late. Her broom won't start so I had to send it back to Salem for repairs!
I'm sorry but my baby sitter flushed my homework down the toilet.
(Source: http://www.clown-ministry.com/Articles/funny-jokes/actual-school-excuse-notes.html, last visited Sun, November 16, 2008)

In this modeling poem I chose option 66, the “Excuses list”, so I wrote a poem made up entirely of excuses. There were so many options, it was very hard to decide which one to choose, I liked many of them, but I have to admit I am not really fond of experimental poetry. This is funny and entertaining in a way, but sometimes tiring and hard to follow. I know quite well the French OuLiPo movement; I have already participated in a workshop like that and heard a lot of “innovative” ideas about poetry, but I still prefer conventional forms and meters which is considered to be “high poetry” by people in general. Googlism is certainly funny, I have checked it out, but finally I chose the excuses. At first I wanted to write something “original” on my own, then I had to realize that it must have been very hard and almost impossible to do so, so I used Internet to help me find good excuses. Fortunately, some funny excuses popped up instead of the usual boring “Sorry, I can’t go here and there…” things. This seemed to be more interesting and inviting, so I just picked some of the funny excuses at random. I created two major kinds of excuses: excuses for being late from work and funny school excuses including some parent-written justifications which were even funnier than the “artificially” created ones as they contain parents’ mistakes. At first I was afraid of this Internet collage poetry, I felt that this is not “real” work or “real” poetry, but then I thought of Bruce Covey and his poetry and I had to establish that he did the same, and he was very entertaining. There is not a great difference between finding some interesting things on Google or Yahoo and compiling them to have a new work of art and finding some pre-written materials and putting them together to create poetry. As originality is not an expectation nowadays and Internet has greatly changed our world (and poetry as well) I think this is not a “crime” or plagiarism writing poems like mine. I indicated my sources, just in case you wanted go back and read more. Using this collage technique and the net, I think I greatly challenged notions of “mainstream”, traditional poetry. This kind of poem was hardly imaginable in the 19th century (or even in the first half of the 20th century). Not only because of the lack on Internet, but maybe because poets had a tendency to respect traditional forms and classical allusions, rhyme and meter. I know this seems to be a vague generalization, but I have not read this kind of poetry before the 20th century. I can imagine its earlier existence, but it must have been suppressed by mainstream poetry. I think it is always interesting to play around with language (until people are able to follow and enjoy it); the success of e.g. Queneau clearly shows it has its place among the classics in the canon. We should accept that art is constantly changing just like expectations; unified art does not exist anymore as it used to be earlier. Anyway, I have some favorite parent-written excuses, some are very funny, especially the ones where I put “sic!” between brackets.

Kenneth Koch's poetry

This week I chose Kenneth Koch to write a few lines about. I particularly liked his poem entitled “Geography”. This is a very inventive and interesting poem at the same time. It has eight stanzas, seven is dealing with different kinds of people from all around the world and the last one unites all of them and shows us (like a kind of a slideshow) what they are doing at the same time in different places of the world. Interestingly the first and the eight stanzas are the longest ones, giving the poem a framelike structure. In the first stanza we can get to know the fifteen-year-old Amba, from Africa (more exactly from the jungle of Congo). Here we have a beautiful synesthesia: “At morning Amba heard their pink music…”. Moreover, we have a lot of onomatopoeic words as well: “whether it be blue (thhhh) feathers” or “high trala to the nougat birds” or even “The moon (zzzzzz) shining down on Amba’s sweet mocked sleep”. I especially liked this last one as it expresses the sleep of the moon. The image of the sleeping moon can easily fit into the imagination of a fifteen-year-old boy. In the second stanza, we fly through the Ocean and go to Chicago to get to know Louis. He is a boy of seventeen and his life is not full of joy; he has to work as a milkman, probably to support his family or himself. Suddenly we turn to Frank, “a young outlaw”, who is “Crossing Louis’ path gently in the street”. Even the Holocaust is briefly mentioned with two onomatopoeic words (“whizz and burr”), quickly crossing Frank’s mind. We do not exactly know where the people in the third stanza are from, they have English names, but that does not reveal the country where they are. The characters in the fourth stanza must be from Antarctica, as they live in igloos and are spearing the whale. We have a beautiful simile as well: “the green crusty ice”. Ten Ko and Wan Kai in the fifth stanza must be from Korea or from Vietnam, they are working on the rice paddies. Here we have a synesthesia: “blue desire”. We do not know at all where Boon, Angebor and Maggia from the sixth stanza are from. Maybe they are from Africa, as the words “oona” and “zee’th” sound so African, but this must be misleading. The little prisoner in the seventh stanza lives in the desert, but we do not know much about him or his conditions. We do not know why he is incarcerated and who the mentioned lover is. The eighth stanza wonderfully unites the scattered, small “icons” from all around the world, everyone is here together. This is just like the end of a play: every actor and actress shows up once more before they go away. This way we have Amba once more together with a beautiful onomatopoeic word: “Amba arose. Thhhhhhh! went the birds, and clink clank went/ The leaves under the monkeys’ feet…”. We have Wan Kai, Ten Ko, Daisy, Louis, Roon, Maggia, Baba once more, like a great finale. However, the ending is not joyful; someone named Enna plunged into the gloomy lake while screaming. Her indentify remains a secret.

Frank O’Hara’s poetry

This week I chose Frank O’Hara to write about and I imitated him in my modeling poem. I really like his idea that poems should not contain any abstract or philosophical allusions (I think this way it is easier to understand it) and the idea that poetry should be amusement. In his lunch poems we can see the flurry of images and the cityscape of New York. In his poem entitled “A Step Away from Them” we can see the typical ingredients of a lunch poem. Even the first line tells us that. After this comes the description of the city itself. Basically he is just going around in the city and writes down what he can see. First we have some construction workers with their yellow helmets, then arrives the pop culture with Coca-Cola and a very subtle allusion to Marilyn Monroe (the flipping skirts). He even notices some cats playing in the sawdust. He sees the typical yellow New York City cabs and describes the weather (which was hot that day). After the exact designation of the place where he is (Time Square), he notices the famous “puffing billboard” which is also part of the pop culture. Racial issues and the question of integration became more and more important during the 50s, especially that Blacks are important “components” of the New York cityscape. In the poem a “Negro” stands down the street, representing his race. Then comes a girl, then some sudden honks, and we get the exact time and date of that day. This is quite unusual, in general poets do not give these data to their readers, but as this is a lunch poem, we can understand that. O’Hara’s great appreciation for neon appears in the poem, this must have been a new experience for people that time; he appreciated it even in daylight, when it cannot shine as bright as at night. He stops for a cheeseburger (pop culture again), when his mind gives out the names of some famous people, sort of randomly. We cannot even really understand how these names come here and what must be their significance in the course of the poem but this is what makes this poem a lunch poem, it is almost a stream of consciousness by Virginia Woolf. The representatives of another important ethnic group are to be noticed: some Puerto Ricans arrive down the avenue. And here comes the sudden change in the tone of the poem: the poet leaves his happy and easy-going style and becomes sad and deceived. He is talking about deaths, the deaths of some artists, artists like he is. After this change and his sorrowful thoughts, he has to come back to his real life, to his work. He even tells us he has papaya juice in his hands and a volume of poetry by Pierre Reverdy.
In “Personal Poem” we almost have the same pattern, as it is also a lunch poem. Here as well we have many places and people mentioned and the racial question comes up here as well (the handshake with LeRoi).

Modeling Poem #2

This time I chose Frank O’Hara to imitate. I like his poetry as it is “soft”, easy to understand and not fully overloaded with classical images and allusions. I like his idea that poetry should be amusement and it should not be abstract or philosophical. These characteristics made me easier to imitate him. As it is supposed to be a lunch poem, I put that fact into the poem as well. I even indicated that that time O’Hara worked for the Museum of Modern Art in New York and “he” wrote this poem during one of his museum breaks. Basically, I tried to put together everything he must have been thought and seen in New York in 1958 (I just made up the year); the same way he did it in his poetry. So I avoided every abstract or philosophical allusion and tried to focus on the amusement part of poetry and the whirling of images and names. Knowing his general appreciation for neon lights and every kind of fancy billboard, I put the “luminous neon advertisements” beside the indication of that hot summer day and the shining sun, showing that both of them do the same: give us hot. I even told it was 85 degrees, this must have been seen by a huge street thermometer down Madison Avenue. Now came the construction workers together with their helmets, like leitmotivs of his poetry. To give the whole a bit more advanced surrealistic ambiance, I connected the workers’ hats with the expensive and fashionable hats found in the exclusive San Francisco boutiques. Thus the inner and the outer world can kind of blend in the mind of the poet. Not only does he describe what he sees but he also tries to find connections between these things and his life experience, past memories of people and places. The next moment he notices the sign of a subway station, so just comes down to travel by it, but then he changes his mind and goes up. This can represent a possible roaming in a big city which is like a labyrinth in many cases, and where we have so many offered opportunities and possibilities. Another huge street billboard may show the time (probably the one showing the temperature), he must have been noticed that, so I put it into the poem just like the exact day of it. Speaking about racial issues, integration, segregation, different races, ethnicities, I put a “Negro” cab driver into the poem, who is not a very surprising character of the New York cityscape. The poet must have seen his delightful face, so he remarked it. This poem was “written” in 1958, when racial issues were treated differently than now, that is why I mentioned LeRoi and the handshake, which must have been shocked many people. I wanted another important minority group to be present in the poem; that is why I mentioned the “Chicanos” who are also significant components of the cityscape. I imagined them as laughing and funny people, probably having a break—just like the poet. Paul Claudel is briefly mentioned, maybe O’Hara knew him (he died in 1955), and I just referred to him because O’Hara mentioned a lot of French poets in his poems. The pop culture is present by his cheeseburger and Coke (and of course by the neon advertisements). Even though he avoided philosophy in his poetry, I could not help mentioning it in the last line (as he did that anyway in “A Step Away from Them”), referring to the brevity of life, connecting it to the “brevity” of the cheeseburger and the Coke.

Modeling Poem #2

Frank O’Hara, Poem

I work for a museum but now this is my lunch hour,
So I just go around in the city. This is supposed to be my recreation.
It is a hot summer, 85 degrees. The sun is shining just like the luminous neon advertisements.

While taking off my jacket I notice some construction workers down Madison Avenue,
Wearing their usual helmets with many different colors: red, yellow, silver…
I have seen similar hats in a San Francisco fashion boutique- but fashion is bizarre and capricious

I feel like traveling by subway, so I descend to the station, then I make up my mind and go up.
I cannot see many people down the avenue as it is 12:15 PM of an average Tuesday.
A Negro cab driver is getting on his car, he seems to be delighted- he must have had a good client.

This cab driver reminds me of LeRoi, once we were shaking hands and many people were shocked.
A group of laughing Chicanos is approaching me, giving the avenue a funny atmosphere.
Maybe they have lunch break too. I wonder what Paul Claudel may think about them.
But alas, I have already finished my cheeseburger and drunk my Coke and I have to go back to work.
Will life pass away as quickly as my lunch hour?

1958

Randall Jarrell's poetry

This week I chose Randall Jarrell to write a few lines about. In his poem entitled “Next Day” he surprisingly uses his technique of speaking on behalf of a woman. When I first read the poem, I was confused by the use of a female voice knowing he was a male poet.
This poem is basically a cry of an old and solitary lady who would like to have company by her, but who has to be alone and suffer from her constant loneliness. It is interesting to take a look at the use of pop culture in this poem: the listing of detergents serves this purpose. If we look at their names: “Cheer”, “Joy”, “All”, we have to notice that they are absolutely the opposites of this old lady’s desperate feelings and life. There is neither cheer, nor joy in her life, and she is not surrounded by all (i.e. a lot of people), she is alone. Then a usual mourning of past comes, she establishes she has changed a lot during the years (but who not?) and now she is troubled by “What I’ve become”—as she says. It is interesting to read the description of her young years, when she was “young and miserable and pretty/And poor”, that time her wishes were simple and humble. She just wanted a husband, a house and children. This list totally fits into the list of expectations towards an average mid-50s woman. She was expected to be a housewife and she even longed for it when she was young (unlike Plath or Adrienne Rich). Then come the desires of an old lady: nowadays she would be happy if she was noticed by the others (e.g. by the grocery boy), but she is not desirable anymore, it is only her dog which gets some attention (she is petted by the boy). She is not young anymore so she will not be noticed. I guess this section would attract Rich’s (or any other woman fighting for women’s right in the 60s or even today): for men women are interesting only if they are beautiful, young and desirable, but if not, no one ever cares for them. They are just subjects of desire, nothing more. As if the fact that the world looks over her (and she does look over them as well) was not enough, she is left alone (if not looked over) by her daughter, her son and her husband. Everyone has many other things to do; they do not have free time to care for her. “I wish for them”-she says, but her cry is not heard by anyone, she is desperately alone. No wonder then that some fanciful young memories come up from “some Gay/Twenties, Nineties, I don’t know…”. Then come some really shocking lines about her present days, she is afraid of her own face and even hates it when she sees it as it is saying to her that she is old. She shares with us her inner feelings about herself and the great dismays of her life. The end is more gloomy and depressive: she is waiting for her death and declares in a really resigned manner that she is not exceptional, and she is just anybody.

The poetry of Adrienne Rich

This week I chose to analyze a bit one of Adrienne Rich’s poems entitled “Seven Skins”. Although the poem was written in 1997, it takes place in 1952, in postwar America. The image of the paraplegic GI was not uncommon that days, the waste of several young men must have been a common experience known and shared by everyone. As Vic Greenberg cannot walk without his wheelchair, he has to use “the only elevator route”. This image caught my attention and I try to imagine how hard it must have been for him to run his chair in a time when the suitable equipment for people in need was not provided. As a veteran, he got free education from the government, but we may ask the question: what is more important: bodily soundness or university education. A university degree cannot compensate the loss of limbs or total or partial paralysis. The hypocrisy of the government legislature can be seen in this case. The harsh realities of paralyzed people are well depicted in the following lines:
“Dating Vic Greenberg you date
crutches and a chair”. So they are also deprived of having average (or normal?) relationships, they are looked at by others, and anyway, who wants to date with someone like him? He, and the others like him, will have many missed opportunities in their life, just because they are destroyed by a war which they did not want to participate in, which was none of their business, still they had to go there and either die or arrive home crippled. This reminds me of one of the scenes of the film Forest Gump, when on New Year’s Eve the captain (also in a wheelchair) is together with some prostitutes who are mocking at him when he falls out of his chair and cannot stand up. He also, went to war to defend the country and the reward is now some scoffing.
Going back to the poem, some lines below the quotation we have another example of the selfish and hypocritical society. I am speaking about the paraplegics’ conference for wives to facilitate their sex life with their husbands. As if their new situation was not enough burden for them… After this the poet asks about American civilization. Yes, this was an appropriate question, seeing the American destruction in Europe (see Dresden e.g.), the needless atomic bombs in Japan, and the crippling of her own sons who gathered around Uncle Sam to defend him.
Another hint at the contemporary conditions and Vic’s state: she was taken to a restaurant without stairs. I guess a restaurant like this was hard to found back in 1952. After the meal, the usual questions seem to arise, the usual conversation after a date but in this case one of them is not “usual”. Still they spend the night together, “nakedness without sperm” as she says. (Anyway I do not know if a paraplegic is able to have sex). For at least one night he can feel that he is a man and is able to seduce (and even put to bed) any woman he wants. And what about her and her “unusual” decision? Maybe she was solitary or felt sorry for him, we do not know, but still, she helped someone in need.

The poetry of Kim Addonizio

I have some thoughts about the poetry of Kim Addonizio. Her poetry is very shocking for the first time and the coarse words she uses surprised me, not to mention that she is capable of speaking about her sexual partners and her sex and night life in such an overt manner. (I do not know if she can still be ranked among the confessionalists or not).
In “One-Night Stands” we have a really very unusual and shocking beginning, relating her sexual habits while being drunk. We can imagine ourselves being in a bar with her, looking at her when she finally manages to find a partner for that night whom she will never see again in her life. She overtly says that
“These are people we’re meant
to lose, moments that rinse off.”
The last line is surprising however, she asks for love although she never wants to see her lover again. Maybe under the surface of a woman without emotions, she is full of love, full of passion, and she does not really want to be together with someone else every night and she is looking for a durable relationship.
Unfortunately, a long-lasting relationship may have many problems and conflicts and sometimes we are not able to find solutions to them. If we read the poem entitled “Collapsing Poem”, we can see the “side-effects” of being together with somebody. The sobbing and drunk woman outside and the man inside cannot find the point in their life and cannot really imagine why they are still together or how could they love each other in the past. By now, they do not have what to speak about “given the lack of context, given your own failures”. This must be the saddest moment in a marriage which is supposed to last forever and was concluded in the presence of God. Finally, she gets in, but instead of making up with her husband, she begins to hit him. This is the point when the poet addresses herself to the reader, evoking “pity and fear” among the audience and she asks us to take her away as soon as possible. So she runs away from constant relationships and from one-night relationships as well. What is the solution then? Being alone? No, we all know that anything is better than be alone.
We can also leave our existing partner; “Leaving Song” is about that. In it, the poet says goodbye to his lover, evoking some images of their past life. How they used to lie together, how he curled away her in sleep, the quick kisses and the drinks. Here drinking a lot, as a recurrent motif, comes back. She describes the process of how they became totally drunk. She admits she liked this situation as well, because he said such things he could not have said sober. She is constantly saying goodbye, and, as the symbols of drunkenness and alcoholism, the drained bottles appear which he should line up. She seems to quit forever and never wants to go back. That is why this is the leaving song.

Modeling poem #1

Sylvia Plath, Friday Night with my Family

Another dull Friday night with my husband and children
We are sitting in front of the TV and watching The Hathaways.
This bizarre sitcom makes me suffocate and die
Just like this room and Ted who must have a hidden affair.

But what should I do? Daddy, you must help me.
I wonder what you are doing right now. Are you a cherub or a damned soul?
I want to follow you, to be the next one to die after you---
Kids, stop pulling each other’s hair! --- Oh, you are like a bunch of bees.

I feel the relieving death so close to me, and now I am longing for it.
One day, you will wake up and you will not find me here anymore.
I will be like those in those German camps,
Breathing the black poison-gas while being laughed at by some dumb soldiers.

Then you can call Dr. Horder or anyone else you want,
No one will help you and me, the unique Easter miracle will not be observed again.
And I am going to be together with my Daddy,
We will be floating together towards Eternity.

1962

Modeling poem #1

I chose to imitate Sylvia Plath in this assignment because we had many poem of her so it was easier to imitate her this way. First I read her autobiography and collected her major ideas just like her fascination with death, her relationship with her father, her grief and rage. Among her ideas I also found her inclination to suicide, her confusion, the memory of her German ancestors related to the Nazi Holocaust.
I followed the aspects of confessionalism as discussed in class. So I let speak the “I” of the poem, i.e. the author herself. The whole poem is about her feelings, emotions and passions. I know that Plath had an inborn hatred for household chores and caring with a big family so I deliberately opened the poem with a Friday night “let’s watch TV together” scene. I suppose every Friday night to be alike, nothing ever changes in the life of the family and that is what kills Plath and makes her suffocate. The Hathaways were a short-run TV show on ABC in the 60s; it was about a suburban family and about its life. I deliberately chose it to symbolize Plath’s life and the circumstances she lived in. This way I could even make the pop culture appear. The boredom, the routine and the mediocrity of her life slowly makes her parish. This is my off-center opening as well. She does not immediately begin to speak about her long for death; first we are kind of introduced to her life.
The criterion of the autobiographical subject is absolutely achieved in the poem, I opened it with this TV scene, than I introduced her husband, Ted Hughes, and made and allusion to his affair which is not entirely known by Sylvia though she is still suspicious. The infidelity of her husband just makes the situation even worse, and by revealing her suspicion to the audience, she chose to speak about a taboo subject. The other autobiographical element was the evocation of her father (Daddy) who is the very person she wants to be with. I even made Dr. Horder, her M.D. of that time, appear to ensure the lifelike settings of the poem.
The Freudian scheme of irrelevant detail is also here, the children stand for it. We have a small allusion to their presence; they are just pulling each other’s hair and they need to be frowned on. I suppose her life to be full of events like this one; obviously this is not her dream and does not get very excited about bringing children up. I put here a free association concerning the children who are like a “bunch of restless bees”.
While writing the poem I did not forget to criterion of colloquial style. Its vocabulary is quite simple, the author addresses the audience and I did not put there any mythological element, only one allusion to Jesus’ Redemption and a cherub (but I do not know if she was religious or not).
The last two lines are supposed to be the final symbolic broadening, where everything finds its proper place and the author finds relief and peace, i.e. she finally dies.
As far as the free or open forms, I was happy to use them as I did not have to find rhymes or count the syllables.
Anyway this poem is from 1962, one year before her suicide, when everything is just collapsing around her and she cannot handle with her life anymore.

Sylvia Plath`s poetry

One of my favorite poems written by Sylvia Plath is the one entitled In Plaster. She must have written it after an accident when one of her legs or arms was broken and she had to stay in bed for a while with ``This new absolutely white person and the old yellow one`` as she says. The personification of the plaster runs through the whole poem, it behaves like a real human being, it has feelings, hatred and even fears. Plath even gives it a gender, she uses ``she`` when speaking about the plaster. Let us see then ``her`` qualities. She is strong and resists to the attacks ``like a true pacifist`` and as I have said, she has emotions; she wants Plath to love her that is why she began to warm up. She tries to please the sick person. She is even grateful as she can thank her existence to the fact that Plath broke her arm or leg and now, as a well-educated person, she tries to ingratiate herself with her owner. After a while, after the initial hatred being wiped out, they became good and close friends, and ``our relationship grew more intense`` as Plath says. I can easily imagine them while having some female, gossipy chitchat about the course of the world in a way good friends do this. However, I think Plath would not really appreciate this sexist attitude of mine. Interestingly, after a while this intimate relationship seems to be broken and the plaster is losing her temper and wants more than what is assigned for her. Strangely, she does not want to die, to vanish, instead, she wants to live forever and dominate then kill the sick person. She tries to break the order of Nature. This is the part I appreciate the most in this poem, Plath`s really rich imaginative power and force while describing the behavior of this `runaway` plaster. I have already had my arm broken, it was in plaster, but I could have never thought about the plaster the way Plath does (that is why she is a poet and I am not). This white ``torso`` thinks she is ``immortal``. She does not act overtly, she is just hoping that maybe one day her owner is going to die and then she will be able to cover her and destroy her. Another very attracting metaphor is the one when Plath says her relationship with the plaster is like a marriage as it was as close as a marriage is. As if it was a saint institution, based upon two persons` unanimous decision to spend their entire life together, as if they would never leave each other and she will always wear her plaster stuff. Of course, this is not the case, after having recovered she will throw the plaster away who is going to miss her. This part is very strange for me. I do not really know why the plaster would miss her former owner. Not to mention the fact that she will be destroyed after being removed from Plath`s body.
The poem The Colossus has some common features with the poem of Ted Hughes entitled Bride and Groom Lie Hidden for Three Days. The images of putting things together, that of mutilation certainly show that the two poets were having an impact on each other`s poetry.

Robert Lowell`s poetry

One of my favorite poems written by Robert Lowell is the one entitled For the Union Dead. Many important and significant issues and questions of the 20th century America are raised and answered in it by the author`s own (sometimes not PC or governmentally approved) point of view. First, we could mention his dissenting opinion about the demolition of the past in Boston in order to have a more modern, really 20th century city. He tries to justify the sense and the reason for existence of the old parts of the city by recollecting his far child memories, remembering the unforgettable moments he spent in the Aquarium. His efforts seem to be absolutely futile; people in the modern, capitalist America do not care about remnants of the old world, they want more and more garages, more and more space to their cars to park. In this poems cars and parking lots embody the `brave new world`, the modern America of the 60 s. The other relevant issue is, I think, the `sweet and glorious death for our homeland`. Is it really as sweet and as glorious as `advertised` by the all-time government propaganda? Taking a look at Colonel Shaw`s war monument, we may say, seeing that even the one-time so appreciated colonel is `hindering the necessary development`, no, there is no point in dying for our country, as sooner or later even the great winners will be disposed of. Eventually, he died for nothing; his name will not be noted later on but rather wiped out together with those of the common soldiers. The clashing of the past and the present is present again. Although this does not appear overtly in this poem (we only have some allusions to this), we should know, as Michael Thurston notices, Lowell`s `ambiguity` towards `negroes`. This issue should require a whole new entry; here it seems to be satisfying to claim the well known fact that the 60s were the era of the civil rights movements and the approval of Blacks` rights.
The great devastation caused by the atomic bomb in Hiroshima is also mentioned, but now, in the 60s, it is linked, as everything, to advertisements, this is just another tool in the hands of some great companies to attract people`s attention. The fear and the possibility of a similar blast seem to be excluded; only the happy parts of life are emphasized.
The same motive comes back in Fall 1961, but in this case there is no trace of happy advertisements but the cruel and harsh realities of an absolutely possible war are depicted. The title of the poem may be as well `End is Nigh`-so wake up and be prepared. A nuclear war could have easily happened, killing more people than in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, destroying our homes, people and cultural heritage piled up during long decades. Maybe due to Providence or human agreement, we managed to avoid the worst, but who knows, maybe in future, everything will be repeated again and that time we will not be able to get away with the huge blast…(I hope this will never happen, anyway…!)

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