By John Brehm
Once when I was teaching "Dover Beach"
to a class of freshmen, a young woman
raised her hand and said, "I'm confused
about this 'Sea of Faith.'" "Well," I said,
"let's talk about it. We probably need
to talk a bit about figurative language.
What confuses you about it?"
"I mean, is it a real sea?" she asked.
"You mean, is it a real body of water
that you could point to on a map
or visit on a vacation?"
"Yes," she said. "Is it a real sea?"
Oh Christ, I thought, is this where we are?
Next year I'll be teaching them the alphabet
and how to sound words out.
I'll have to teach them geography, apparently,
before we can move on to poetry.
I'll have to teach them history, too-
a few weeks on the Dark Ages might be instructive.
"Yes," I wanted to say, "it is.
It is a real sea. In fact it flows
right into the Sea of Ignorance
IN WHICH YOU ARE DROWNING
Let me throw you a Rope of Salvation
before the Sharks of Desire gobble you up.
Let me hoist you back up onto this Ship of Fools
so that we might continue our search
for the Fountain of Youth. Here, take a drink
of this. It's fresh from the River of Forgetfulness."
But of course I didn't say any of that.
I tried to explain in such a way
as to protect her from humiliation,
tried to explain that poets
often speak of things that don't exist.
It was only much later that I wished
I could have answered differently,
only after I'd betrayed myself
and been betrayed that I wished
it was true, wished there really was a Sea of Faith
that you could wade out into,
dive under its blue and magic waters,
hold your breath, swim like a fish
down to the bottom, and then emerge again
able to believe in everything, faithful
and unafraid to ask even the simplest of questions,
happy to have them simply answered.
Comments : Two things I liked about this poem. One, the sarcasm in the lines,' a few weeks on the dark ages might be instructive' and the whole imaginary construct in the dialogue 'yes, it is. it is a real sea.................... forgetfulness.' Second, the description of the sea of faith in the end, the longing to go back to more innocent time, to be able to believe in everything etc. - Zen
A blog for those who thoroughly enjoy poetry and for those who just want to check what the fuddy-duddies make such a fuss about ; a blog especially for those who are missing the 'wondering minstrels'. Now that they have us hooked to regular doses of poetry, we need our daily / weekly/ monthly fix. If you come across a poem you like, and want to share it, please mail it to entropymuse.ed@gmail.com. A short commentary in your own words, even a line or two, is essential with every contribution.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Longing and Wonder
By Myra Shapiro
“Talk to Myra you talk to the wall,”
Mama announced when I lived
so long in my head. Behind
my lids was where I fit.
O world, be small enough to hold me,
slow enough to let me swallow.
Maybe I belonged back inside her. Or
beneath the spine of a book. Maybe
among tall buildings to incubate
between their legs. The warm kitchen
was never for me though I wanted
to shine. Passion I called
the pressure wrestling underneath.
Yesterday, in an audience listening to
my first book of poems,
a full professor asked me : “Longing,
how is it different from wonder?”
Astonished, jack-lit as a robber
caught with the goods, I felt my eyes
struggle to withdraw - and then
in longing you close your eyes,
but in wonder you open them.
When those words went
ZINGing through the lovely room
You bet your sweet ass they opened.
Comments : Not only did I enjoy the story in this poem, I just loved the line 'in longing you .....open them'. :-)
Zen.
In the words of the poet :"I wrote 'Longing and Wonder' to hold on to a gift, to convey my happiness at receiving it : the words of the penultimate stanza. When they surfaced, I felt as wise as I'm ever likely to become. School situations have a way of tongue-tying us - what does the teacher want? - and there I was, a sixty four year old poet with a first book, being questioned by a University Department Chairman. When the answer came out of my mouth at the instruction of my eyes, book and body were one!.....The sensation was so good I, who love cities, had to shape it into something concrete."
“Talk to Myra you talk to the wall,”
Mama announced when I lived
so long in my head. Behind
my lids was where I fit.
O world, be small enough to hold me,
slow enough to let me swallow.
Maybe I belonged back inside her. Or
beneath the spine of a book. Maybe
among tall buildings to incubate
between their legs. The warm kitchen
was never for me though I wanted
to shine. Passion I called
the pressure wrestling underneath.
Yesterday, in an audience listening to
my first book of poems,
a full professor asked me : “Longing,
how is it different from wonder?”
Astonished, jack-lit as a robber
caught with the goods, I felt my eyes
struggle to withdraw - and then
in longing you close your eyes,
but in wonder you open them.
When those words went
ZINGing through the lovely room
You bet your sweet ass they opened.
Comments : Not only did I enjoy the story in this poem, I just loved the line 'in longing you .....open them'. :-)
Zen.
In the words of the poet :"I wrote 'Longing and Wonder' to hold on to a gift, to convey my happiness at receiving it : the words of the penultimate stanza. When they surfaced, I felt as wise as I'm ever likely to become. School situations have a way of tongue-tying us - what does the teacher want? - and there I was, a sixty four year old poet with a first book, being questioned by a University Department Chairman. When the answer came out of my mouth at the instruction of my eyes, book and body were one!.....The sensation was so good I, who love cities, had to shape it into something concrete."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)