Countee Cullen- The loss of Love

All through an empty place I go,
And find her not in any room;
The candles and the lamps I light
Go down before a wind of gloom.
Thick-spraddled lies the dust about,
A fit, sad place to write her name
Or draw her face the way she looked
That legendary night she came.

The old house crumbles bit by bit;
Each day I hear the ominous thud
That says another rent is there
For winds to pierce and storms to flood.

My orchards groan and sag with fruit;
Where, Indian-wise, the bees go round;
I let it rot upon the bough;
I eat what falls upon the ground.

The heavy cows go laboring
In agony with clotted teats;
My hands are slack; my blood is cold;
I marvel that my heart still beats.

I have no will to weep or sing,
No least desire to pray or curse;
The loss of love is a terrible thing;
They lie who say that death is worse.

Countee Cullen

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-loss-of-love/

I really like this poem because it is true. Now I cannot say that I have lost love but I have had break ups and they are definitely hard to lose someone. This poem was written somewhere around the 1920s and 1930s which means that it was written during the Harlem Renaissance. During the Harlem Renaissance, many poems were repetitive and focused on concerns and issues of the time. I do not feel like this poem focuses on a huge issue of the time. The issues more likely to be focused on were the racial discrimination and other more severe problems. Harlem Renaissance pieces also contained a fragmented structure. This poem does not seem to contrain any major fragments either. I feel like this poem is simply a love and grief poem. “The Loss of Love” is talking about losing someone you love and it sounds like this person died. No one in my close family has ever died therefore, I have never quite felt Cullen’s despair. According to Cullen, it is very difficult to recover from a loss. “I have no will to weep or sing, no least desire to pray or curse, the loss of love is a terrible thing; they life who say that death is worse.” Losing someone would be very challenging and would cause the despair Cullen expresses.  

Chosen Poet: Gary Snyder

How Poetry Comes to Me
It comes blundering over the
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light

Source

Snyder is a postmodern poet.  He combines a Buddhist point of view with the influence of his Beat contemporaries; he emphasizes clarity, in the minds of his audience and in the relationship between humans and their surroundings.  That can be seen here, as poetry comes to the edge of the camp like a deer would, if the deer were curious.  This personification of poetry creates a fluid relationship between the speaker, most likely Snyder, and poetry.  It allows them to grow closer and to trust one another.  The only punctuation is that comma after night, representing the longest pause in this encounter.  The poetry is clumsy on the rocks, and Snyder is the one who has to coax it to him; he knows its there, but he's the one who has to do the work to get it to truly manifest itself.  That idea goes against the postmodernist idea that "'first thought, best thought,'" is best for aesthetic appeal.

Gregory Corso (use this one)

1959 Uncomprising year—I see no meaning to life. Though this abled self is here nonetheless, either in trade gold or grammaticness, I drop the wheelwright’s simple principle— Why weave the garland? Why ring the bell? Penurious butchery these notoriously human years, these confident births these lucid deaths these years. Dream’s flesh blood reals down life’s mystery— there is no mystery. Cold history knows no dynastic Atlantis. The habitual myth has an eagerness to quit. No meaning to life can be found in this holy language nor beyond the lyrical fabricator’s inescapable theme be found the loathed find—there is nothing to find. Multitudinous deathplot! O this poor synod— Hopers and seekers paroling meaning to meaning, annexing what might be meaningful, what might be meaningless. Repeated nightmare, lachrymae lachrymae— a fire behind a grotto, a thick fog, shredded masts, the nets heaved—and the indescribable monster netted. Who was it told that red flesh hose be still? For one with smooth hands did with pincers snip the snout—It died like a yawn. And when the liver sack was yanked I could not follow it to the pan. I could not follow it to the pan— I woke to the reality of cars; Oh the dreadful privilege of that vision! Not one antique faction remained; Egypt, Rome, Greece, and all such pedigree dreams fled. Cars are real! Eternity is done. The threat of Nothingness renews. I touch the untouched. I rank the rose militant. Deny, I deny the tastes and habits of the age. I am its punk debauche .... A fierce lampoon seeking to inherit what is necessary to forfeit. Lies! Lies! Lies! I lie, you lie, we all lie! There is no us, there is no world, there is no universe, there is no life, no death, no nothing—all is meaningless, and this too is a lie—O damned 1959! Must I dry my inspiration in this sad concept? Delineate my entire stratagem? Must I settle into phantomness and not say I understand things better than God? Gregory Corso http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/1959/ Gregory Corso was a postmodern poet that died in 2001 and lived in New York City, NY. He was an important member of the beat movement. He lived in the time of 1959, so the poem speaks from a real life experience about the time. Hardships and struggles are evident from the poem. It acts as if giving up was close. “There is no of us, there is no world, there is no universe” is a very dark and radical view of the world. He felt that there was no meaning, and he uses poetic devices to convey this attitude and a negative connotation. He uses imagery to further this negative image about the darkness of life. He was 29 at this time, so he had an educated view that he had experienced a lot in his life at this point. It is a free verse poem, which goes along with the way he described this and wrote. The Beat Generation was a group of American post-World War II writers who wrote in the 1950s, and they had a distinct culture. Beat culture included rejection of received standards, innovations in style, experimentation with drugs, alternative sexualities, an interest in religion, a rejection of materialism, and explicit portrayals of the human condition. Corso had radical beliefs, and he fit in with the other Beat Generation writers, yet the things he had to say were meaningful and possibly how a lot of people felt after World War II.