I will have Poetry in my life and Adventure!

By Amy Baranski


Vacation Reads

This morning I'm getting ready to leave on vacation to paradise. I've been pulling together some reading material for the trip which mostly consists of a few scripts from Shakespeare, the new book of poetry compiled by Hollander, the Declaration of Independence, and the long article on memorization that Melissa summarized yesterday.

I've been working, as you know, on memorizing the Declaration of Independence, but I've added a few other texts in the mix. I'm working on Sonnet #18 by Shakespeare, The Second Coming by W.B. Yeats, The World by George Herbert, and The Widow's Lament in Springtime by William Carlos Williams.

The issue of reciting aloud has come up frequently in recent days. John Hollander has this to offer on the topic:

"In reciting a poem aloud, you are not like an actor, coming to understand, and then to feel yourself in a dramatic part, a fictional person. It's rather that you come to understand, and then to be, the voice of the poem itself."

Instruments for reading in the sun.

It's an interesting point Hollander makes in his Introduction to Committed to Memory. In fact, mostly the only poetry I've heard falls into two camps: the stage-wise ravenous performances of slam-style poets and the page-wise lilting performances among the literary houses. Or maybe it's one camp really. It's all a little pitchy to me.

And then there's the dreaded embarrassment one feels when a writer's voice, so apparent on page, so completely disappoints on stage.

Hollander recommends recording audio while reciting a poem for playback. So for the past few days I've been sitting at my computer fussing with the sound recorder. It's hard not to recite a poem with an affectation. And it's also really hard to not infuse your own meaning into a poem, especially when it is obscure. Here are a two examples of me reading The Second Coming by W.B. Yeats.

Listen and tell me what you hear...

A more heightened reading

A self-conscious reading

Notice how the cadence is much different in the beginning?

It makes my skin crawl to hear my voice playback no less post it on the Internet. But I'd really like to be able to do this properly in the end so it's good practice. I struggle with how to read The Second Coming and I take solace in the fact I'm not alone.

I knew everything would be alright in the end

A sweet smelling rose down the street this morning.

posted by Melissa
Juliet:
"What's Montague?  it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man.  O, be some other
    name!
What's in a name?  that which we call a
    rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd."

What a love story, Romeo and Juliet.  Consuming, ardent, tragic.

Back in 1998, when Jamie and I were figuring out our life together around being at the University of Washington Medical Center 12 hours a day, we made a few small attempts at being a couple.  Mostly we tried to be parents to a child born 3 and a half months early, weighing less than 2 pounds.  We didn't know what being a parent meant.  We were so young ourselves, barely over twenty.  We fumbled through the life of a premature baby that we lost, and truth be told, are still picking up the pieces at times.

One of those heartfelt attempts at being a couple showed up as a date to the movies.  We saw "Shakespeare in Love" and I felt my heart swell as I held Jamie's hand in the dark movie theatre, I thought that I knew everything would be alright in the end.  But, when is the end?  Is it when your baby dies?  Is it when you have your next "first" child?  Or is it each time you revisit the perceived hurts of how each parent goes through that experience differently?  Is it when you get married?  Is it when you choose forgiveness?  Is it 15 years later?

No.  The answer is at each point, a resounding "No."  There is no end, you keep learning and living together, and loving each other as best as you can.  It may not be a Romeo and Juliet kind of love story, but it is one filled with life and yes, sometimes tragedy big and small, but one that continues everyday because we choose to keep working on ourselves and with each other.

Last night, in the interest of Poetry month, we had a viewing of "Shakespeare in Love" with Amy and later Bob, at apartment #4.  It is quite a lovely movie; emotionally moving, passionate, funny and refreshingly ends without the typical "Hollywood" ending.

During one of my incomplete commitments to memorizing I intended to take this sonnet to heart, until I realized it is in a man's voice and I had second thoughts.  But still, I love Shakespeare's voice and word choice; and his romantic passion.  Although I am told I lack that in my own life.  Yet, I probably won't choose this one for my classic poem to memorize.

CXLVII
My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Haft left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did not except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as a madmen's
    are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
   For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee
      bright,
   Who art as black as hell, and dark as night.

Or maybe I will.
-Melissa

Kitchen Song

my, un-orderly cupboard, empty white bowls included.

I awoke this morning thinking of poetry.  I sat on the couch last night reading poem after poem, sonnet after sonnet, in an attempt to choose my poem to memorize.  I think I have ended up with a new challenge, to narrow down my list.

I was an English major decades ago (only two!) back in college, and poetry classes were some of my favorites.  Now here I am two degrees later and in nursing school at a community college, at the same time falling in love with poetry all over again.

I have two definites on my list of poems I will memorize.  How many do think we can squeeze into our brains in one month?  So far, I have one by William Carlos Williams and a Shakespeare sonnet.  When I was looking up insights to my WCW poem online this morning, I stumbled upon this poet, Laura Kasischke.


Kitchen Song
by Laura Kasischke

The white bowls in the orderly
cupboards filled with nothing.

The sound
of applause in running water.
All those who've drowned in oceans, all
who've drowned in pools, in ponds, the small
family together in the car hit head on. The pantry

full of lilies, the lobsters scratching to get out of the pot, and God

being pulled across the heavens
in a burning car.

The recipes
like confessions.
The confessions like songs.
The sun. The bomb. The white

bowls in the orderly
cupboards filled with blood. I wanted

something simple, and domestic. A kitchen song.

They were just driving along. Dad
turned the radio off, and Mom
turned it back on.

I like the simplicity, the imagery, the way the darkness is there whether she wants it to be or not.

I immediately felt a kindred spirit to this woman in Michigan, sitting perhaps at a desk near a window writing.  I wonder what color her kitchen is?

-Melissa

Lotta strands in the ole Duder's head

posted by Melissa
Things on my mind:

I never updated on the therapy vs. poker experiment.  It sorta worked for a bit.  I found out the when you want to be "princessed" (i.e. treated like a princess) for 2 weeks, you should probably have a concrete idea of what that means.  Otherwise, you will never get what you want, likely because you have no idea what the hell it is in the first place.  (ps...I have no idea where this princess thing came from, and am more than a little bit embarrassed to be writing about it.)

And your husband will fail, through no fault of his own.  (I can't believe I admitted that last part.)  Men need lists, whether it is for the grocery store or for treating you like you want to be treated.  And this is especially true if you are making up a new word for what you want, it's not like he could even look it up in the urban dictionary.

OK, I just looked up "princess treatment" (because it was the closest thing I could find) on the aforementioned urban dictionary.  Holy shit, I had no idea.  And no thank you, Jamie.  My two weeks is about a lack of touching, and licking.  Ok, TMI.  Moving on.

Beets and Collard Greens, grown from seed.
I also forgot that I wanted to mention in May that I continued on with last May's topic, Growing our own food.  I replanted my little garden plot out front.  It seems to be doing quite nicely and I even have room for more plants.  More lettuce?  Kale again?  So far I have sugar snap peas, sun gold tomatoes, beets, collard greens, spicy lettuce mix, dahlias, a sunflower or two, bee's friend flowers, thyme, sage and marjoram. 

On the bowling front:  Jamie and I went to the Garage on Saturday night to try and get a game of bowling in.  The place was so packed that we never did get a lane.  The frustrating part for me was that there were empty lanes.  It's just that people were chatting or eating and not bowling, but paying for the lane.  

On the upside, we heard lots of good music, Eazy-E "The Boyz in the Hood" being one of my faves of the night.  I learned that the lyrics are "talking that trash we'll pull your card."  I always thought they were working in a car shop or something and they would come and "pull your car."  Like tow it or literally I pictured all these gangsters lifting the front of some big ass car and pulling it down the street.  Wow, all these years, singing Eazy-E all wrong.

My school quarter is almost over.  And unlike my lyrical rap skillz, I hope to do much better when it comes to remember the quadratic formula or naming ionic compounds.  I have finals this week.  I do love math and chemistry, but today I'd rather be outside in the sun.  Or at the bowling alley.  Or reading a novel, or poetry.  Or maybe cleaning out my closet and doing laundry.  Or blogging.  I just have to sit my ass down and open the book and get to work on some problems.  Once I am there and in it, I do love it.
And finally, I have been thinking ahead for the blog.  Next month is reciting a classic poem.  I have a few in mind.  Wondering if you all have any ideas?  So far I am thinking: T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" or something by H.D. or Denise Levertov or Shakespeare.
Who are your favorite poets?
(damn Blogger, I cannot get this centering to change, it is not an artistic touch, more a technical ineptitude)

There you have it, a tiny glimpse into my mind, at the moment.  And now onto studying, if I don't get an A in all three classes (and fine, I'll settle for an A-) I know I'll be disappointed.  Wish me luck!

-Melissa