Winter's Mixed Results

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Winter's Mixed Results


Snow to rain and back to snow
again. Then comes just cold,
which freezes slush and snow
and mud. At last we're slowed
down and up, our feet and wheels
and winged chariots set back
to sluggish paces, in some cases
even stopped by frozen slop
of slush and snow and mud.

This weather lurks beneath
the mean temperature. We're
put in a mercury-mood--heavy,
gray, not quite solid, depressed
by cold. After thaw, abrasive
rains scour streets. Hard wind
mutters under eaves, in
gaps between urban structures.
We escape again into feverish
bustling and maniacal toil, into
a flow of routine we hold, dear.


Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom

On "Howl"

I still teach Allen Ginsberg's "Howl" (as opposed to someone else's "Howl?) in most poetry-writing and modern/contemporary American poetry courses I offer. It's a great example of a protest poem, and of "prophetic" poetic rhetoric going at least as far back as the Hebrew Bible. At the same time, it is squarely (not in the Beat sense of the term) in the tradition of Whitman and Jeffers, in the context of American poetry.

Not without its problems? Of course. As bad as Ginsberg and compatriots may have had it in the 1950s, others had it worse, so occasionally students, with good reason, ask, "Was it really all that bad?" Also, it is a dense poem. It asks patience. But that can be a good time.

I also like to teach the poem as one that gives the effect of a spontaneous "rant" but that is actually carefully crafted. And of course it is a crucial poem in the context of gay and lesbian literature.

I would cease teaching it if students seemed disengaged from it, but they still seem to find a purchase or two in the poem. They like to discuss it, critique it, and learn from it, at least on my campus.

In any event, here is a link to an interesting spectrum of views, from poets and others, on "Howl"

http://www.english.illinois.edu/maps/poets/g_l/ginsberg/howl.htm

New Scottish Poetry

A link to several links concerning New Scottish poetry, as commissioned by the British Council:

http://www.britishcouncil.org/scotland-arts-and-culture-poets.htm

November Poems by Hood and Plath

Here is a poem by 19th century British poet Thomas Hood about November and called "November." I found it in November--on a site called, not November, but scrapbook.com, of all places. In this poem, Hood seems to play Dr. No.


November

by Thomas Hood

No sun--no moon!
No morn--no noon!
No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day--
No sky--no earthly view--
No distance looking blue--

No road--no street--
No "t'other side the way"--
No end to any Row--
No indications where the Crescents go--

No top to any steeple--
No recognitions of familiar people--
No courtesies for showing 'em--
No knowing 'em!

No mail--no post--
No news from any foreign coast--
No park--no ring--no afternoon gentility--
No company--no nobility--

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member--
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November!

I feel as though I should go watch an episode of "Yes, Minister," now.

Then I found an odd video "of" Sylvia Plath reading "November Graveyard"; the video actually does that strange and clumsy thing of taking a still photo and making the mouth seem to move. A bit gauche and unsettling. The poem interests me in a way that most of Plath's poems interest me: for its use of sound. With reason, many readers focus on the less than cheerful subjects and outlooks in her poems, but I've always thought her to be masterful with sound, too. The link to the . . .

Video

Poems By Don Mattera

Following up on the previous post . . ., here is a link to four poems (which I enjoyed a lot) by Don Mattera, South African poet:

Mattera poems

New South African Poets

I ran across the site, Poets On Fire, which represents a group devoted to poetry, poetry readings, spoken-word events, and so on, across the UK. A relatively recent post mentions a reading (last month) that featured four South African poets I had not heard of:

Keorapetse Kgositsile, Lebo Mashile, Don Mattera and Phillippa Yaa de Villiers.

Now I will look for some poems by these writers.

Orson Welles Reads Pasolini?

Here, apparently, is a video of Orson Welles, reading a poem by Pasolini: who knew?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Rh5d8AxvrM&feature=player_embedded

You stay classy, Orson.

Neruda's "If You Forget Me"

I enjoyed this video-dramatization of Pablo Neruda's "If You Forget Me," and I hope you do, too:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jFWfNn_Wd8

And I'm sure you have probably seen the film, Il Postino, which features Neruda as a character, played by Phillipe Noiret.

Carl Sagan on Voyager

The late Carl Sagan was so passionately rational about discoveries in space that he seemed sometimes to be speaking prose-poems, as in this short video about some of Voyager's discoveries as it moved on through the solar system:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=niKWI1AFMno&feature=related

Canadian Women Poets

Here is a link to some information about Canadian Women Poets:

The Link

Wendy Francisco and Dog-Lovers

We had a genuine dog-lover over for dinner the other evening, and the next day she sent along a link to the following video that presents a song ("God and Dog") by Wendy Francisco, with illustrations,that gives equal time to dog-lovers (given my last post on cats), and that, for poets, treats "frailty" as a three-syllable word--because in the context, it needs to behave as a three-syllable word:

Wendy Francisco on God and Dog

How To Be A Cat

In honor of our cat, who is now sitting in front of the television screen and staring at me in a patient but accusatory way, I am re-posting a poem from about a year and a half ago:


How To Be A Cat


Be the noble curator of your excellence, for
fate made you perfect. In all things, be precise:
standing, sitting, staring, walking, sniffing, eating,
sleeping, killing. Never look in mirrors,
which are windows for the insecure. Sleep
in a variety of comfortable places, which
were created for you alone. Make acquaintances,
never friends. The latter tend to cling.

All phenomena are potential enemies. Therefore,
stare, listen, listen, stare, sniff, stare, listen, sniff,
hide, stare, and listen. Never perform tricks. Leave
those to dogs, who need to be wanted and want
to be liked. Talk as necessary, but never just
to chit-chat. Crack the whip of feline fury as
you wish. Keep the blades of your four feet sharp
and retracted like long-held resentments. Let
your soul's motor idle and strum the taut cord
of your body. No one owns you.

God made you and likes you best. In a world
that's dubious, you are certain. You never
make mistakes. You are entitled to what
you want; otherwise, why would you want it?
No matter what else you may be undertaking,
never be reticent to stop and groom yourself,
for you are superb, and self-maintenance
doubles as self-admiration. You are a cat,
a form of beauty that enters stealthily,
naps, and agrees to be admired. You
are a cat. Everything is as it should be.


Hans Ostrom
Copyright 2008 Hans Ostrom

Anthology of Modern Turkish Poetry

Here is a link . . . information about EDA: An Anthology of Modern Turkish Poetry, published in 2004.