This next poem is one of my favorites from one of my all-time favorite poets, Zbigniew Herbert. Herbert was one of the premier poets of the twentieth century -- and the rest of the world was left wondering what was in the drinking water of Poland, that it could give rise to him, Czeslaw Milosz, and Wislawa Szymborska all in the same century. Herbert wrote on a tremendous range of subjects, but even when he chooses the most mundane of subjects -- a pebble, an armchair -- his poems resound with depth of feeling and meaning.
Part of the accomplishment of this poem is that he locates a very real, very personal tragedy in such an absurd object -- How can we feel pity for an armchair? -- with the kind of quiet confidence that makes the reader accept the world on his terms, to see the world through his eyes, to find that melancholy in this completely unexpected place.
It's in prose, if that means simply that it's not written in lines. But if this isn't poetry, I don't know what is. I hope you enjoy it. And if you have thoughts, questions, comments, I'd love to see them!
ARMCHAIRS
by Zbigniew Herbert
Who ever thought a warm neck would become an armrest, or legs eager for flight and joy could stiffen into four simple stilts? Armchairs were once noble flower-eating creatures. However, they allowed themselves too easily to be domesticated and today they are the most wretched species of quadrupeds. They have lost all their stubbornness and courage. They are only meek. They haven't trampled anyone or galloped off with anyone. They are, for certain, conscious of a wasted life.
The despair of armchairs is revealed in their creaking.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Dan's poem recommendation
I'm reading GRANTED, an uneven but occasionally brilliant book of poems by Mary Szybist, and I was struck by the haunting beauty of this poem. One of the pleasures here, for me, is that she resists making a neat, easy metaphor of the situation she encounters; she lets it remain mysterious, to herself and to us, rather than reducing the possible readings in pursuit of one-to-one relationships between the animal and human worlds. I hope you enjoy it, and I'd love to see any thoughts you have!
IN TENNESSEE I FOUND A FIREFLY
Flashing in the grass; the mouth of a spider clung
to the dark of it: the legs of the spider
held the tucked wings close,
held the abdomen still in the midst of calling
with thrusts of phosphorescent light--
When I am tired of being human, I try to remember
the two stuck together like burrs. I try to place them
central in my mind where everything else must
surround them, must see the burr and the barb of them.
There is courtship, and there is hunger. I suppose
there are grips from which even angels cannot fly.
Even imagined ones. Luciferin, luciferase.
When I am tired of only touching,
I have my mouth to try to tell you
what, in your arms, is not erased.
---
Note: Luciferin is the chemical substance present in the cells of fireflies that produces light when oxidized under the catalytic effects of luciferase. Also, fireflies light up as part of their mating rituals. (Some species of fireflies, known as "femme fatale fireflies," actually mimic other fireflies' light patterns to lure gullible males, who they then eat.)
IN TENNESSEE I FOUND A FIREFLY
Flashing in the grass; the mouth of a spider clung
to the dark of it: the legs of the spider
held the tucked wings close,
held the abdomen still in the midst of calling
with thrusts of phosphorescent light--
When I am tired of being human, I try to remember
the two stuck together like burrs. I try to place them
central in my mind where everything else must
surround them, must see the burr and the barb of them.
There is courtship, and there is hunger. I suppose
there are grips from which even angels cannot fly.
Even imagined ones. Luciferin, luciferase.
When I am tired of only touching,
I have my mouth to try to tell you
what, in your arms, is not erased.
---
Note: Luciferin is the chemical substance present in the cells of fireflies that produces light when oxidized under the catalytic effects of luciferase. Also, fireflies light up as part of their mating rituals. (Some species of fireflies, known as "femme fatale fireflies," actually mimic other fireflies' light patterns to lure gullible males, who they then eat.)
After After Hours
Welcome to Advanced Upon Spumoni, the official blog of After Hours. For about ten minutes, this blog was accidentally called Advanced Upon Spinone. A Spinone looks nothing like ice cream:
It's an Italian Wire-Haired Pointing Dog. You could probably still advance upon it, though -- looks lazy.
If your friends aren't scared off by either a)pregnant Barbie or b)Spumoni spell-check humor, then you should forward this blog and I'll register them as users. I'm only allowing members to post and comment. You can type your poem/poems into individual posts, and we can respond in the comments section.
One finger in the peanut butter,
Your Administrator (Rebecca)
It's an Italian Wire-Haired Pointing Dog. You could probably still advance upon it, though -- looks lazy.
If your friends aren't scared off by either a)pregnant Barbie or b)Spumoni spell-check humor, then you should forward this blog and I'll register them as users. I'm only allowing members to post and comment. You can type your poem/poems into individual posts, and we can respond in the comments section.
One finger in the peanut butter,
Your Administrator (Rebecca)
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