New Favorite #4

I've been slowly reading Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty by Tony Hoagland (Graywolf Press, 2010). It took a while for me to get into this book, but about half-way through, Hoagland began to blow me away with one ridiculouly good poem after another. Here is one of my new favorites, called "Nature." As a nature-lover, it's close to my heart. As an adult, it's a reminder.

Nature

I miss the friendship with the pine trees and the birds
that I had when I was ten.
And it has been forever since I pushed my head
under the wild silk skirt of the waterfall.

What I had with them was tender and private.
The lake was practically my girlfriend.
I carried her picture in my front shirt pocket.
Even in my sleep, I heard the sound of water.

The big rock on the shore was the skull of a dead king
whose name we could almost remember.
Under the rooty bank you could dimly see
the bunk beds of the turtles.

Maybe twice had I said a girl's name to myself.
I had not yet had my weird first dream of money.

Nobody I know mentions these things anymore.
It's as if their memories have been seized, erased, and relocated
among flowcharts and complex dinner-party calendars.

Now I want to turn and run back the other way,
barefoot into the underbrush,
getting raked by thorns, being slapped in the face by branches.

Down to the muddy bed of the little stream
where my cupped hands make a house, and

I tilt up the roof
to look at the face of the frog.

Wash, Rinse, Repeat

In my desire to bring poetry to the people, I rely heavily on contemporary poetry. It is often easy to understand and relate to, simply because the language and theme are generally contemporary as well. But this approach also ignores over 2,500 years of poetry. And that's a shame. A huge shame. My high school English teacher taught me to love Shakespeare. Everyone was always grumbling about how none of it made sense - I couldn't understand what they meant; if they had been assigned to memorize monologues from Romeo and Juliet, surely they would understand. To understand anything, we must linger with it; like those bottles of shampoo we all read when we're hanging out in the bathroom say - wash, rinse, repeat.

Step One: Wash

Forget what you think you're going to find when you read poetry. Don't be scared. It's not meant for snobby, rich people. It's meant for you. It's universal...at least, any GOOD poetry is. Wash your preconceived notions right out of your noggin.

Step Two: Rinse

Let the soothing waters of a poem embrace you. Read it. Read it out loud. Listen to the sound of the words. Don't worry about understanding anything; just feel.

Step Three: Repeat

This is the most important step. Read it again. Read it out loud again. It will start to make sense. A poem should feel all velvety and soft, well-worn. If you don't feel that connection, it's okay. Try another poem. Repeat steps one through three.

This is what I do with Shakespeare, Sappho, and the Buddha; heck, even the Bible has some amazing poetry in it; reading and understanding just takes some practice. But let's take it slow. Here is an excerpt from the poem "Adieu, Farewell, Earth's Bliss" by Thomas Nash (1567 - 1601).

Adieu, farewell, earth's bliss;

This world uncertain is;

Fond are life's lustful joys;

Death proves them all but toys;

None from his darts can fly;

I am sick, I must die.

On first read, sounds a little weird right? Well, we know that "adieu" and "farewell" just mean "goodbye." "Earth's bliss?" A fancy way of saying worldly pleasure. The next four lines are just written kind of backward compared to the way we're used to writing sentences. So "This world uncertain is" means "The world is uncertain." And then..."Fond are life's lustful joys" - We like earthly pleasures like lust and joy, things that make us feel good and happy. "Death proves them all but toys" - But when we die, we lose all of that; those things don't matter. "None from his darts can fly" - We cannot escape death. "I am sick, I must die" - Well, it means I am sick, I must die. We're all going to die. Not a happy poem, but it's a fun one to read aloud and memorize. The rhyming helps with that, giving it a musicality, like learning a song.

The full poem may be found at www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/181017

In the end, my point is this. If you're just coming to poetry, welcome! You may want to start with some contemporary poets, but don't forget about the old ones. You'll find that although they take a little more work to conquer, they were, in fact, going through the same issues of life, love, pain, and death that we're going through now. Maybe there were no cell phones. Probably there weren't. But they were human, we are human, and the need to experience art is living in us all.

Remember Poetry

Have you ever heard someone say "What's the point of poetry?" Well, what's the point of music, paintings, or movies? Some may say that there is no point, only entertainment. I would, of course, heartily disagree. When I come to any art form (even the dorky, corny ones, like the cheesy puppet-using sci-fi series I'm currently watching), I am looking for a place to find myself ('cause let's face it, I am a bit dorky and corny myself). We read novels because we want to find ourselves in the characters. In visual art, we are looking for understanding, which we find through our own interpretations. In movies, we root for the good guys and gals; we see ourselves in their faces, their hurts, their romances. They are imperfect, and so are we.

Many of you are going through hard times. I don't pretend to know what it's like to lose your home, your family, or to be torn apart by war. For many Americans, our hard times are not so physical, but they are still present. During difficult times, I turn to poetry. It teaches me empathy for others and understanding for myself. One poet whom I turn to during darker times is Joy Harjo. Her work, though often about depressing issues, is a force of nature that brings me back to my spirit and purpose. Thanks, Joy, for being my rock. In your honor, I copy this poem, "Remember," to encourage you all to find that special poet that makes the good times brighter and the bad times less dark.

Remember
by Joy Harjo

Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star's stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is. I met her
in a bar once in Iowa City.
Remember the sun's birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother's, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe. I heard her singing Kiowa war
dance songs at the corner of Fourth and Central once.
Remember that you are all people and that all people are you.
Remember that you are this universe and that this universe is you.
Remember that all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember that language comes from this.
Remember the dance that language is, that life is.
Remember.