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Tuesday, November 19, 2013

365 Poems: Wordsworth to Corman--Walk with me, talk with me

Day 323

So ModPo was over today and I had to miss the live webcast but watched some tonight, especially the end, and it was like waving goodbye to friends lifting off in a hot-air balloon, colors glowing, occasional bursts of flame taking it higher and further away but still beautiful and vivid and always with the promise of coming back to earth.

And I've had internet problems all night and instead of the heartbreaking, poetic things I wanted to write I just keep saying oh shit not again and going to reboot the router.

So now, out of frustration, you get the top three things, ModPo version:

1. We studied contemporary poetry and it was revelation to me, mind-blowing and sometimes incomprehensible but like literary LSD. To learn to read poetry just for the sound and find the meaning in the method. But once a lyricist always a lyricist and after hearing instructor Al Filreis talk about a ModPo-er who came home from her crappy job every day and found her real self in ModPo, I thought of this:

The World Is Too Much With Us

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreath├Ęd horn.
Which is about as far from contemporary poetry as you can get but yet not -- the idea, the sound, the words, the emotion....

2. So the poems and the community found in the videos and the forums brought us together, which brings us around to this:

"It isn't for want" by Cid Corman

It isn't for want
of something to say-- 
something to tell you-- 
something you should know--
but to detain you-- 
keep you from going-- 
feeling myself here 
as long as you are--
as long as you are.


And it's not the most language-y or incomprehensible-yet-meaningful of the contemporary stuff we read, but says it all about coming together with other lovers and learners of poetry on ModPo.

3. And then finding this, by a link on the great time-waster, Facebook, which once again proved that maybe it's not such a waste: Black Aperature, a book of  poems by Matt Rasmussen. If I were a real poet I'd write poems like this. Heart-rending, raw, visual, magical, sad, optimist. All that. 

'Make your voice unheard
and lift your love off me

like a burning blanklet.'

Kleenex ready.

This.


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