How to Read a Poem, Lesson 1 continued

Let’s jump right into using Lesson 1 of How to Read a Poem.

I wrote “The Fruit” a long time ago. The 2nd stanza I wrote 10 years after the 1st.

Q.  Can I see a pattern in the stanzas? Number of lines, number of syllables.

I taught myself to hate                      6 syl

And proved my hate was right.       6 syl

I listed all the items                           7 syl

Till my case was very tight.             7 syl

Was proud of all my logic                7 syl

So I told it to my friends.                  6 syl

But now I find hate’s gift                  6 syl

Will cause my love to end.              6 syl

I gave myself to Love                       6 syl

And yielded to its power.                 7 syl

It shed a mighty light                        6 syl

That made my hatred cower.          7 syl

As it focused its bright beam          7 syl

On my lists of others’ sins,              7 syl

I saw their records burn                  6 syl

As hope was born within.               6 syl

A. Two stanzas, each with 8 lines; 9 lines have 6 syllables, 7 have 7 syllables.

Q. Is there rhyme? If so, is the rhyme consistently in the same places in each stanza?

A.  End rhyme in lines 2 & 4, 6 & 8, 10 & 12, and 14 & 16. No odd numbered line rhymes. These two Q/A’s will be useful later when we talk about stanzas and scansion. 

Q.  Scan for words you don’t recognize and for “poetic words.

A.  No problems. You might wonder why love is capitalized.

Q.  Is the poem punctuated like a normal sentence/paragraph?

A.  Yes, every 2 lines is a sentence up to the final 4 lines, which are a sentence.

NOTE:  A poem is a song without music. Everything music has, a poem has except for the musical scale. And poetic music is frequently controlled by the number and stress of syllables in the lines. So, read the poem aloud just like you’d read a paragraph. Do not read a line like it is a sentence.  Then . . .

Q.  Describe the mood, the attitude, the situation that the cadence of the poem puts you in.

A.  It seems rather sing-songy. Sounds like a nursery rhyme. But the words have a serious meaning while the cadences and sounds suggest either a child-like or a childish aspect. 

NOTE:  A poem, like an automobile, is a vehicle that carries something. In “The Fruit,” the vehicle is like a little Strawberry Shortcake  battery-powered car, while the passenger is like a preacher.

Now you are ready to deal with THEME!!

I'd begin by collecting data -- words, phrases, ideas from each stanza that I need to consider in my theme statement, which will begin “The theme of “The Fruit” seems to be . . .”

Now, the words for stanza 1:  taught, proved, logic, gossip, love dies. For stanza 2:  Love, give/yield, power/light, my accusations burned, hope is born. Add to these words the attitude of either child-like or childish that we dealt with earlier.

But remember, the reader is responsible for stating a theme.  Since the poem gives you all you need for theme, I don’t need to tell you what I think it is. 

GOOD LUCK! YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN! Write your theme in a comment box, and I’ll tell you what I think.

You are now an average reader of poems.

But if you wish to be a student of poetry? That’s where we’ll go in Lesson 2.  Take a minute to enjoy one of my favorite poems. 

The Secret

Two girls discover
the secret of life
in a sudden line of
poetry.

I who don't know the
secret wrote
the line. They
told me

(through a third person)
they had found it
but not what it was
not even

what line it was. No doubt
by now, more than a week
later, they have forgotten
the secret,

the line, the name of
the poem. I love them
for finding what
I can't find,

and for loving me
for the line I wrote,
and for forgetting it
so that

a thousand times, till death
finds them, they may
discover it again, in other
lines

in other
happenings. And for
wanting to know it,
for

assuming there is
such a secret, yes,
for that
most of all.

Denise Levertov

How to Read a Poem, Lesson 1

        This is the first of a series of essays I’ll write on How to Read a Poem. The audience is probably more high school up to college sophomore than a poetry-loving adult. I undertook the task for my tenth grade granddaughter, Kelsey.

I.  Questions to ask before reading a poem:

1. Can I see a pattern in the stanzas? Number of lines, number of syllables.
2. Is there rhyme? If so, is the rhyme consistently in the same places in each stanza?
3. Scan for words you don’t recognize and for “poetic words.”
4. Is the poem punctuated like a normal sentence/paragraph?

II.  Some questions that you should NOT ask.

1. What is the poet trying to tell me?
2. What am I supposed to get out of this dang thing?

III.  Ideas that may help you read any poem.

1. A poem is a song without music. Everything music has, a poem has except for the musical scale. And poetic music is frequently controlled by the number and stress of syllables in the lines.
2. A poem is not a one-way communication. It requires a reader willing to hear the cadences, willing to feel the emotions, willing to share herself with the poem.

IV.  What is that thing teachers always talk about -- THEME?

Perhaps this will help -- compare theme to thesis. In an essay, a THESIS is a sentence that states clearly exactly what you are going to talk about -- it controls what you will allow yourself to say in the entire essay. Thesis is explicit!

In a literary work, a piece of music, a painting, or sculpture, THEME functions the same way as a thesis does in an essay, EXCEPT -- the audience is directly involved in art. Poetry is not a statement,  not a telling -- it’s a sharing of how and what the artist sees in his universe. And the reader finds the theme! Theme is Implicit -- Implied!

Let’s compare a simple math question to finding theme.

The sentence is 2 + 2 = 4. On a math test the question would look like this: 2 + 2 = ____. As the taker of the test, you do the math and get 4, only one correct answer.

Now, go to English class -- the teacher assigns the reading of a poem -- you think that’s the 2 + 2. Now to provoke class discussion, the teacher asks what the theme of the poem is. Immediately you search for some 4 -- something that will give that one correct answer. Something that the teacher and the poet will approve. So, the 2+2 is the poem; the 4 is the theme. And there’s only one correct answer!

But for poetry, that's backwards. When the teacher asks for theme, the students (and teacher) should know that the poem is the 4, the whole,  and his question asks the students to give their answers to what equals 4. Is it 1+1+1+1? Or 2+2? Or 3+1? of 1+2+1? Or 1+3? Or . . .

I’m not saying that theme is anything you say it is -- 4 is not equal to 2+3 or 2+1. And the question, What is the theme? is not a question for the poet. It is a question for the reader when he thinks about the whole poem and relates it to his own life’s experiences -- his own universe.  

Think on these things for a while and then we’ll take a look at four of my poems, I’ll make comments in the right column, but I’ll leave room for you to make comments too.

            If you are able to do all that I’ve outlined, then it make sense to go into iambs, trochees, anapests, dactyls, spondees, etc. And then to meters and the stanzas like couplets, tercets, quatrains, or named stanza patterns like ballad stanza, sonnet, villanelle, terza rima, etc.

            In the next lesson, I’ll discuss a poem or two. Like "The Fruit."

The Fruit

I taught myself to hate

And proved my hate was right.

I listed all the items

Till my case was very tight.

Was proud of all my logic

So I told it to my friends.

But now I find hate’s gift

Will cause my love to end.

I gave myself to Love

And yielded to its power.

It shed a mighty light

That made my hatred cower.

As it focused its bright beam

On my lists of others’ sins,

I saw their records burn

As hope was born within.

A Poetry Reading!

Many  responses to Ava-doting yesterday! Pleased! Surprised! You betcha!

One person asked if I contemplated making Badgerdrift into a collection site for the anthology named Ava Belle Badger. 

SO  WE ARE TWO WEEKS PAST THOSE LINES!

To paraphrase an old adage, “Into every agenda a little life must fall!” Duty held all the trump cards for over a week.

I realize that if I desire faithful readers, I MUST be a faithful writer. So before I begin my posting for April 26, let my ask you to respond to this question -- do you wish to both read and write your own comments on Ava Belle Badger’s growth? I know I will.

Now, for today.

Yesterday, April 25th, I attended a poetry reading at our Douglasville Cultural Arts Council. The featured poet, Alice Shapiro, currently lives in the Douglasville area and has published one book of poetry, Cracked, with a second due out in June and a third next year.  The second, Alice Lovelace from Atlanta (co-editor of an anthology entitled Crux)-- a more mature poet and the better reader.

In glancing through the volumes each poet brought for sale, I was amazed at the number of poems they had produced. While I obviously did not give any work a careful reading, I did notice that Ms Shapiro’s was much more free verse while Ms Lovelace’s made more use of traditional poetics. Also, Ms Lovelace’s works had a power, a depth, a range of knowledge with which I identified -- I felt as though I were with a kindred spirit.

The attendance was small -- a total of 20 including the poets -- but quite enthusiastic. Again I saw that writers desire an audience, desire readers, crave response and reaction. And I also felt the vapidness of our traditional replies -- "That was a great poem, I loved it." Even my response, “Your poetry is very strong. Thank you for sharing.” seems empty. The poem said something specific; the reply said nothing specific.

While I felt more akin to Lovelace, I had more interaction with Shapiro. She wishes, I think, to be innovative and to involve her audience. But I can’t, no I shan’t criticize one who has accomplished what I aspire to accomplish -- to have readers hear and respond to what I write. So here is my Easter poem.

                 At the Tomb

Standing at the empty tomb looking

For the crucified, surprised the stone was

Rolled away, that angels sat atop and

To the side, the women, Peter, even

John Beloved could not believe their eyes.

Can I go to that empty tomb to see

The truth myself? To verify the tale?

Traverse the centuries, span the miles, to stand

Bereft of faith before a holy shrine

To see a truth more credulous today?

Mary, Mary Magdalene and other

Women wept with fear to hear the angels

Proclamations. “Seek you Jesus? He is

Risen! Gone to Galilee. He’ll meet you 

There!” Incredulous disciples can’t believe.

Should I in new Jerusalem before

The tomb behold again an empty crypt

With mobs of tourists pressing close, with stone
Removed, with shriveled guides in monologue

Instead of angels, earthquake, napkins folded --

Angels speak again to Peter: “He’s not here!”

Mary meets the risen Jesus, knows his voice 

Not his visage. Peter, Andrew fished and 

Ate before they knew, while others walked the

Road Emmaus listening to the resurrected.

-- I leave that conjured tomb whose emptiness 

Cannot confirm a risen Christ. If not 

The tomb, then where’s that self-revealing Lord?

I hear His voice most clear on dirty streets
When passing beggars, widows, sick and maimed.

Ava-doting

While we grandparents of Ava enjoy seeing her develop into the most precocious and intelligent child of the 21st century, we also are gleaning her precious moments, her little actions, nuances of her attitudes, wit, humor -- those little paragraphs which will become chapters of her childhood that we’ll relate to her over the years.

And, of course, ancient grandparent-eyes are not the only recorders. Mother, aunts, uncles, cousins -- all family whether blood-related or not -- will add their anecdotes to this anthology entitled Ava Belle Badger.

While I applaud video recordings of birth, infancy, toddlerhood, etc., nothing can truly replace the anecdotes we’ll recount at Grandmother’s Sunday dinner, or opening gifts in front of the tree, or celebrating birthdays or graduations. Unlike the video, our stories grow better as the years go by. Unlike the video, we need no electronic paraphernalia to set up. No, our chapters, carefully edited to fit the moment, live on the tips of our tongues, colored by love, admiration, and just a touch of doting. 

 Within the space of an hour this morning, I’ve noted two brief moments -- little seeds of future chapters. 

For part of her breakfast this morning, I lightly buttered a slice of banana bread and cut it into small bite sized cubes. After gobbling a few bits, she altered her style -- a tiny finger wiping a little butter followed by a wee tongue licking the tiny finger. Then, the moment of genius -- the tiny finger poked into the banana bread cube and held up like a lollipop, like little Jack Horner’s plum! We enjoyed a number of cubes in lollipop fashion. Alas, humor is sated quicker than stomach.

This is Monday; we must push the trash can to the curb for pickup. While Ava was of no help in gathering up the trash, as soon as she saw me pull out the large, wheeled trash can, she knew she had to help. The task, to her mind, was not pushing; it was pushing the handle -- just like I did. However, the handle is six inches beyond her reach. So doting grandad bent low so she could grasp the handle and push. At curb side she refused to let go, so for a few seconds she hung from the handle. Part of my memory will include the aching back I nursed returning to the house.

Fifteen minutes later, she came to me, arms outstretched, wanting to be held. Two minutes later she was sound asleep. That was fifty minutes ago. I think I have a few minutes for a fresh cup of coffee before I begin gathering new seeds for future chapters.

I’m just like the rest of you Ava-doters!  

Who Drives a Malibu?

Can you believe I’m Spring-Breaking? But, Paula Prentiss is too old for a wild week. And Deleana has other plans -- plans other than me!

But after my heavy posting last week, I’ve decided to lighten up a bit with a little game for you.

In a recent Dear Abby or Ann Landers column, some letter writers shared an interesting observation -- some people drive a car that relates to their occupation. For example, one writer said the prison warden in her area drove an Escape. Another knew a fire chief who drove a Blazer. 

So, now you get the drift -- can you match a career/occupation/life-style that calls for a certain named auto?

Would a private eye drive a Shadow?

A CIA agent a Stealth?

A gigolo an Escort?

Let’s see what you might come up with!!

I spent a few days in NC over Easter and visited the grave sites of my grandfather and baby sister. The poem below came from my visit.

Welcome, Candy Fore to Badger Drift!

              For Lois, 1944 -- 1996

I stand again behind the stone above

Your resting bones and looking south I view

The mountains, gathered pleats of scenery veiled

In mist, and whitened trailers nestled down

Below besmirching pristine postcard scenes.

The vista chosen years ago when all

That showed from Grampa’s plot were far-off hills,

A lonely cyprus standing guard beside

A stone-front church, and silent granite rows

To mark that congregation of the dead.

Your stone proclaims the dates of birth and death --

Your three-score-ten complete in fifty-two --

But not a word about your life, your loves.

We living must proclaim what stone cannot:

The life Lois lived between those dates.

4/5/10