Poem #8

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 wreathèd horn.

      In a way I really agree with what the speaker is saying. From what I understood, he or she is saying that we as a species have lost our connection or appreciation for nature. The speaker is saying that we need to begin to (as I am going to relate it to texting) “look up”. We need to take our minds off of the busy lives that we lead to look around at our surroundings. I can’t relay enough how annoyed I am when I constantly see people on their phones. Yes, I will admit that I do look at my phone more often that I should, but I mean even in the car or in an open space like a beautiful park. Look up once in a while to see the beauty that you are constantly walking by. Little moments/details make up the big picture that is our world. Believe me, we are all a little happier when we step back into real life. Anyway, I understand how the speaker is upset that we have become too much of a materialistic society. We focus on the consumption of products and not the impact our consumer society is having on the environment that we call our home. Even in the era that the author had written this he had noticed the changes in the values of the people around him. I wonder what he would think of the fast paced, consumer world that we live in now… He would be horrified I would think. I think about that a lot, if the people who helped build this world could ever imagine how it would have developed… could they ever imagine me sitting here typing this or having the laws we have today? I wonder if they would be proud of our advances or disappointed. In all honesty, I believe that a lot of the builders of our world would be disappointed in the changes/downfalls that we have followed. I wish I has lived in a different time period. then again, any time period has its benefits and negatives.

Poem #7

Rites of Passage

Sharon Olds

As the guests arrive at my son’s party

they gather in the living room–

short men, men in first grade

with smooth jaws and chins.

Hands in pockets, they stand around

jostling, jockeying for place, small fights

breaking out and calming. One says to another

How old are you? Six. I’m seven. So?

They eye each other, seeing themselves

tiny in the other’s pupils. They clear their throats

a lot, a room of small bankers,

they fold their arms and frown. I could beat you

up, a seven says to a six,

the dark cake, round and heavy as a

turret, behind them on the table. My son,

freckles like specks of nutmeg on his cheeks,

chest narrow as the balsa keel of a

model boat, long hands

cool and thin as the day they guided him

out of me, speaks up as a host

for the sake of the group.

We could easily kill a two-year-old,

he says in his clear voice. The other

men agree, they clear their throats

like Generals, they relax and get down to

playing war, celebrating my son’s life.

I really think this poem is sort of cute. I recently experienced a very awkward party like this one. Well, the beginning of it anyway because none of us knew each other. It was the “Get Acquainted Day” for my college. For this party they stuck us in a room together and sort of said, “Just socialize. Just talk. Try to make a friend.” Do you know how awkward that is? The people at my party were my age and older, we weren’t six and seven, but we still felt the uncomfortable situation of not having anything in common with these people other than one person or place. Once we start talking the similarities come out, but the initial throwing of a group of people together with no structure as to what we should be doing is what makes it difficult to come together. I love how at the end of the poem the little birthday boy says something that only a little boy would say, but it breaks the ice for the crowd and from then on they can let loose. Ice breakers are necessary for social situations to develop. I can’t remember what social situations were like when I was six and seven. I really wish I could remember because it would be awesome to relate my experience to the experience of these little kids, or to be able to relive it in memory. I think birthday’s mean something really special to the parents, even when he day itself can sometimes not have the same awesome feeling that those parents have. However many years before that the child was born and was something the parents made together. For the child it is a day of fun, but that special day to remember is very important to the parents. Their child came this far.

Poem #6

Holy Sonnets: Death, be not proud

BY JOHN DONNE

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

      This is a really interesting poem because of what I imagine when reading it. I picture a man who is sort of like a Greek hero and is staring down Death who has come to take him after an epic battle. The dude instead of going willingly insults Death and makes Death feel insignificant… maybe a little human. Even Death can be tames, and this is the one part of life that is guaranteed. This is the end and it claims everything. Death even claims the smartest and the strongest, but the reason for the claiming is what makes death weak. Death has an agenda where he comes to take people when he chooses. Maybe for fun, amusement, out of boredom, or just his will, but in the end Death must feel like he is always in control. Premature death is what compromises his agenda. It is cruel. It lies in the hands of accidents and even the hands of the person who died because they chose to take a premature exit from this life. I sort of love the last few words, “Death, thou shalt die.” The irony and power in them is so strong. Sort of thought provoking… when does death ever cease? What works to contradict and control Death? The obvious answer sounds like life but… life is so fragile, so temporary… and death is so permanent; forever imposing. The beginning of this poem is just as important though, were the speaker says that Death isn’t so scary. It shouldn’t be feared, but more accepted. Death shouldn’t feel as though it is all powerful either, though at the end of the day it does claim the lives… I am not sure if accidents and suicide can be counted as claiming life because Death ends up with the count anyway… Sort of depressing really.

Poem #5

To My Dear and Loving Husband

Anne Bradstreet, 1612 - 1672

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay;
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persever,
That when we live no more we may live ever.

      This is actually a pretty romantic poem from the viewpoint that I took. I pictured the speaker being a young woman who is talking to her suitor about what a possible future they could have together. Maybe the suitor has a few reservations about them being together, but the woman is trying to erase his worries and strengthen their bond. My favorite line in the poem was the first, “If ever two were one, then surely we.” This line makes the idea of soul mates have some support. It makes the idea of finding someone that completes you realistic. I have had this feeling at least twice in my life, which sort of contradicts the whole “one person made for you idea”. My grandmother has always said that love is hard because there are only a handful of people that God made who are perfect for us, but we have to search through all of the other millions before we find even one. Now wouldn’t it be complicated to have found more than one? How do you ever decide which is better for you or who you would rather love for the rest of your life? Do you ever stop loving one or continue loving both for your entire life? Will there always be what ifs? Anyway, this first line sums up the goals for most people who seek long lasting relationships. They wish to be a matching puzzle piece for someone. Personally, another fear I have is that I won’t be able to remain interested in someone for the rest of my life. That is probably just a fear that youth has, but I do want to fall so deeply in love with someone that, “My love is such that rivers cannot quench.”

Poem #4

Seventh post:

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

Robert Herrick, 1591 - 1674

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
  Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
  Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
  The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
  And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
  When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
  Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
  And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
  You may forever tarry.

      Being young and at the age that women would have already be married in the past, it is really rather odd to think of going off and getting married in order to have intercourse. In today’s time we often look at sex as a casual thing, as if it is shaking someones hand. To me it is a much more personal experience that is meant to be shared. I do see how biologically it is necessary and nothing to feel should be a secret, but I also don’t believe that it should be cold like a business transaction. I will be the first to openly admit (because from what I hear some people are ashamed to be virgins) that I am a virgin. I am young and time is passing but I feel no hard, internal drive to sleep with someone. I mean, of course the naturally occurring urges are there and are distracting, but I have control of myself enough to not want to run off to sleep with someone. I especially wouldn’t get married just to do it. Isn’t it sad that in today’s society we think marriage is a bigger deal than sex when in the past it was the other way around? Marriage in itself can’t result in a baby, but sex does whether it be in a marriage or between two strangers “shaking hands”. Anyway, I like the last two lines, “For having lost but once your prime,/ You may forever tarry.” I like these lines because of the feeling it makes me have… I don’t want to be an old woman sitting by a window wishing I had done more with the time I had. It makes me feel a determination to be more and do more. I want to have a fulfilled life, packed with as many experiences and memories as I can fill into my youth. I feel like marriage isn’t something that needs to be rushed. Youth is a time to gather experiences, and honestly we know nothing about relationships or marriage and we are still learning how to make the best decisions for us/our future. When you’re young you don’t have to belong to anyone. You should belong to yourself and be yourself, learn who you are before you become one with someone else.

Poem #3

The Youngest Daughter

BY CATHY SONG

The sky has been dark

for many years.

My skin has become as damp

and pale as rice paper

and feels the way

mother’s used to before the drying sun   

parched it out there in the fields.

     Lately, when I touch my eyelids,

my hands react as if

I had just touched something

hot enough to burn.

My skin, aspirin colored,   

tingles with migraine. Mother

has been massaging the left side of my face   

especially in the evenings   

when the pain flares up.

This morning

her breathing was graveled,

her voice gruff with affection   

when I wheeled her into the bath.   

She was in a good humor,

making jokes about her great breasts,   

floating in the milky water

like two walruses,

flaccid and whiskered around the nipples.   

I scrubbed them with a sour taste   

in my mouth, thinking:

six children and an old man

have sucked from these brown nipples.

I was almost tender

when I came to the blue bruises

that freckle her body,

places where she has been injecting insulin   

for thirty years. I soaped her slowly,

she sighed deeply, her eyes closed.

It seems it has always

been like this: the two of us

in this sunless room,

the splashing of the bathwater.

In the afternoons

when she has rested,

she prepares our ritual of tea and rice,   

garnished with a shred of gingered fish,

a slice of pickled turnip,

a token for my white body.   

We eat in the familiar silence.

She knows I am not to be trusted,   

even now planning my escape.   

As I toast to her health

with the tea she has poured,

a thousand cranes curtain the window,

fly up in a sudden breeze.

      In the past before my grandmother died my dad was her home nurse. I watched her become more frail as time went on. Saw the bruises form after the slightest touch on her skin. It was painful for all of us who loved her to see. Her body was rebelling and had been for long years before this, and eventually she couldn’t fight any more so she gave up the painful days for peace. It is hard to read any writing about this subject matter without thinking of my grandmother who enduring something similar. When the speaker begins talking about how they are so stressed (assuming so) to the point where their eyelids hurt (my eyes burn when I am extremely tired…) I can relate because I saw my father rub his eyes many times. This whole storyline of the poem is just upsetting. The first stanza where the speaker is talking about the changes in both of the characters is dramatic, because the passage of time is shown throughout them. Actually the passage of time is shown throughout the poem because we see the memories of the mother as she was throughout her life in contrast with how she is in the current point. This raises personal questions and wonders about my future… will I one day rely on my children in this way? Anyway, at the end where the speaker says, “She knows I am not to be trusted [...]” I at first thought she meant because she is going to poison the mom old woman, but then once I read it over again I realized the speaker meant that the old woman cannot trust that the speaker will be there forever to take care of her. The speaker wants her freedom to be able to live her own life. That is only human.

Poem #2

Pass/Fail - Linda Pastan

You will never graduate from this dream of blue books. No matter how you succeed awake, asleep there is a test waiting to be failed. The dream beckons with two dull pencils, but you haven't even taken the course; when you reach for a book - it closes its door in your face; when you conjugate a verb - it is in the wrong language. Now the pillow becomes a blank page. Turn it to the cool side; you will still smother in all of the feathers that have to be learned by heart.

      I think about dreams all the time. There was a point in my life where I actually bought some books that offered analysis of dreams just so I could try to make more sense of my own. Since then I’ve given up on trying to understand what my subconscious is trying to tell me. I know it will still control my decisions even if I am not conscious of what my mind is processing behind the scenes. Anyway, I think this poem makes an interesting point about how we are one way awake and another asleep. Even Disney can be quoted in saying that, “A dream is a wish the heart makes.” Though I think he was meaning more of conscious, daydreams; dreams or hopes for the future. How I am now applying this to the poem is sort o how I was first saying, our subconscious mind makes or decisions for us. In dreams we are the realist parts of ourselves. All of our deepest desires, no matter how shameful to our awake selves, all exist and thrive in our subconscious. When we are awake we project what we believe is expected of us, meaning correct behavior, appearance and what not. We may advance through life in our awake state, but we never really stray from our basic, innermost desires and urges found in our subscious. This poem makes me feel really hopeless, actually. It seems to be implying that dreams are only dreams, and they are nearly impossible to achieve even with any amount of hard work (now this is sounding like the daydreams, or more like the “American Dream”). Bottom line, our dreams we have when we are asleep can get crazy because our subconscious is trying to push us in specific directions, and our dreams we follow by day may want to take us in a different direction, which can cause conflict. That's what I got.

Poem #1

“Safe in their Alabaster Chambers” (124)

BY EMILY DICKINSON

Safe in their Alabaster Chambers -

Untouched by Morning -

and untouched by noon -

Sleep the meek members of the Resurrection,

Rafter of Satin and Roof of Stone -

Grand go the Years,

In the Crescent above them -

Worlds scoop their Arcs -

and Firmaments - row -

Diadems - drop -

And Doges surrender -

Soundless as Dots,

On a Disk of Snow.

In all honesty I do like Emily Dickinson, but she can be really hard to understand sometimes… I wish I had an instant translator for her poems. Well, an instant translator for poems of various historical periods. The language is beautiful, but unnecessary and unused in modern times. It is a foreign language to us now. Anyway, the seventh line is my favorite I think because of the fact that the word “crescent” is in it. I don’t know why, but crecent is an awesome word to me. Moreover, how I Interpreted this line was about how the Earth’s surface is sloped and curved like a crescent. So if this crescent was about “them”, meaning the dead, then they obviously were below it. In their strong and safe chambers. I think it is a little interesting that I have never really thought of the dead as dead, but while reading this poem it sort of forced me to think in that way. When I think of being dead or the dead, I still think of people being alive in memory. As long as there is a memory or evidence somewhere, than the person who has passed hasn’t died. They are still alive within the memories of them. This makes me think of the short story we read, “A Worn Path” by Eudora Welty. The woman still did this routine because she believed wholeheartedly that this boy was still alive because he existed in her memory. Authors like Hemingway and Faulkner still live on through their writing because they used their life’s events as inspiration for their stories. Anyway, I think that this line from the poem makes the final resting place for the dead seem like something elegant, just because of my connotation of the word “crescent”.

pOsT PoSt pOsT

“Mirror” by Sylvia Plath

My initial reading of this wasn’t intense and I sort of liked the writing. I like the style and transition between being literally a mirror then becoming a natural reflective surface. It was a changeup that kept the story interesting, but I did think there was a lot more she could have talked about from just the mirrors point of view. I felt and do feel that the second section of the poem was just sort of thrown in there to finish the writing rather than be building on the beginning. There was no transition and that was really off putting and confusing. If I were the author, I would have made the the lake be focused on something other than a person. Well, now that I think about it (cause I read the poem like sixty times) I guess the author was trying to convey that the human was getting in the way of the lake looking at the beautiful nature around it. The human was placed in this last section because it expands upon the first section where the mirror is complaining that faces and darkness come between it and the wall. Maybe this face comes between the lake and nature...who knows. I feel like the mirror is indifferent as it says it is, but care a little about the objects that are before it the most.The questions about this story weren’t too bad. I honestly just hated the question because of the stupid trick wording. Usually I do not mind working on them, but the wording makes me so aggravated. Rana and I worked through them together though. We did come to the same answers on most of them though, so that is a positive. Next time I think I will like to work on them alone and then compare just so I know I can do it. For a first time, it was nice to have a partner. I think I need more practice with interpreting lines of the poem and interpreting symbols.

“We Real Cool” by Gwendolyn Brooks

Rana and I selected a poem at random and when this popped up I think we both looked at each other and went, “Really?” It was/is so short and easy it really did not feel like poetry at all. I mean, I know anything can be poetry, but at the same time I just really didn’t expect this. Anyway, I sort of liked it...not really. It sort of bothered me how it was both structured and written. The speaker was vague and seemed to not have the vocabulary or grammar skills to be able to form the story. The fact that the speaker also said they left school really bothered me, because it only makes sense to me to stay in school until you are at least out of high school because that is a basic education. This speaker really severely needed to stay in school, but that is just my opinion. Honestly, once I read that I think that is the major thing I took away from this story. Upon revisiting the poem a few more times after that first time I did start to take in some of the other information that the author gives the readers. The fact that this speaker seems to be in a not so great place at this point in their life also seems to be a topic discussed. I can’t tell if the speaker is disappointed or if they are proud of their decisions. It feels like the story begins with the speaker being a bit proud of their decision to leave school and claim some freedom, but as the story goes on with its train of thought the speaker begins to speak about sadder and sadder content. The ending line really just made me think of “YOLO” because all of the things before it seemed reckless and something a teen would want to do because they feel invincible. So… I am part of the “YOLO” Generation. Personally, I’d like to say in school and make the right decisions, that way I can get what I want in life and not fall into a downward spiral that a lot of people fall into because of bad choices in their youth.