Riddle Me This, Heraclitus

2011-07-18

The son has gotten into philosophy of late. Summer camp had a “philosophy buffet” or “philosophy lunch” or maybe it was “philosophy cafe” as an elective activity at which he was a constant diner. I have a tenuous relationship with Philosophy; even concepts I feel that I understand have been known to go spinning merrily away from my comprehension. The boy and I have spent a few nights discussing such lovely topics as Russel’s balding king of France, philosophical zombies, the exact meaning of “self”, and other esoteric constructs. I find some of these maddening in that it seems that understanding is just dancing off to the side as I grope for some sort of meaning.

In Soviet Russia....

2011-07-11

I’ve always been amazed by the multi-lingual poet or author; I have a hard enough time writing (and thinking) in the one language I know. An even more impressive feat - well, to me at least - is the translator who is able to take a poem in one language and re-work it into another. I say “re-work” because I cannot imagine it’s as easy as just doing a translation - there is a flow and a mood that must be preserved in poetry that’s not as simple as going to bablefish and clicking the “translate” button.

Loyalty is to the Goddess Calliope

2011-07-04

In the spirit of snarky humor, I today give you Robert Graves’ To an Ungentle Critic. Graves did things the way that he wanted to, and didn’t much care what anyone else thought. When I was first introduced to him back in college, my teacher described him as having enormous strength of character coupled with the ability to tune out criticism. His book The White Goddess was on our recommended reading list in that class, and our teacher urged us to read his poetry and his prose - such as his novel I, Claudius - to gain a better understanding of how one could write well in both forms.

We Real Cool

2011-06-20

I admit, this is the only poem I know by Gwendolyn Brooks (for shame! for shame!). No particular reason why - I’ve just never thought to pick up one of her books. Probably because I have the attention span of a gnat when it comes to selecting a poetry book, so I tend to go for anthologies of poems rather than a particular poem. Of course, the fact that I’ve just spent the last hour reading about Ms. Brooks leads me to believe that I’ll be delving into her career a bit more.

The Golden Lotus

2011-06-13

I know, what is it with me and woman poets? Especially the tortured, crazed, and suicidal ones? Not sure, but I go through these moods where I tend to go off and read along a given theme. This would be one of those times…Sexton, Millay, Dickinson, and now back to Plath. On a previous Poetry Monday I submitted her poem “Daddy” which I always find to be vivid and emotional, a bit of a window into that dark part of her psyche that lead to her suicide. This week I’m going with the no less vivid piece below that always puts me in mind of spending an afternoon on the porch during a hard rain. She starts out with the rook, wanders around the landscape, and then brings it all back together in the end. To me, it speaks of how the miraculous can flow from the ordinary. That and how sometimes we may need to redefine the miraculous. Of course I’m probably totally at right angles to what she was trying to get across, but I still love it.