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.

Judgement: Pilates and Jesus

After being betrayed by Judas (who returned the 30 pieces of silver and hung himself), Jesus was brought to Pontius Pilate, the governor. Pilate asks Jesus if he is the King of the Jews to which Jesus replies  “It is as you say." Jesus is further questioned and he does not answer. Pilate offers to release one prisoner of the peoples choosing to the people. The two under consideration were Jesus and Barabbas ( a notorious prisoner.) When asked who the people wanted they call out for Barabbas. When Pilate asked what should be done to "Jesus who is called Christ," the people yelled "Let him be crucified." When Pilate asked what evil Jesus had performed the crowed simply yelled out "Let him be Crucified." Pilate did not want Jesus' blood on him (especially because his wife repeatedly told him to "have nothing to do with that just man, for I have suffered many things today in a dream because of him.") and washed his hands clean in front of the crowd. To which the crowd responded "His blood be on us and our children."  Barabbas is given to the people and after being scourged, Jesus is delivered to be crucified. 


Everyone views judgment as morally unacceptable even though judgment is unavoidable. Now, not to sound like a crummy person but, we have all judged and been judged. This is obvious through the fact that no one is friends with everyone. There are without a doubt people you have judged because they act differently than you or have different morals. For the same reasons people have judged you. In our society, it is wrong to judge someone. While no one would say, "I do not want to talk to them because they look weird," it happens everyday you walk through HCHS hallways. There is no way to prevent judgment of others, the only option is to lessen judgment for the wrong reasons (race, sex, etc.) Judging due to race and sex is terrible and avoidable. Nonetheless, no one could ever try and stop someone from judging another for their actions (this happens in HCHS hallways, interviews and public places.) 

W.H. Auden

W.H. Auden (1907-1973) was a twentieth-century poet who was somewhat modernist, but tended to "transcend labels". Half of his poems he wrote as an English citizen before WWII, and the second half as an American citizen after the war. Of his poems, I chose "The Unknown Citizen", written in 1939.
(To JS/07 M 378
This Marble Monument

Is Erected by the State)

He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
One against whom there was no official complaint,
And all the reports on his conduct agree
That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a
   saint,
For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.
Except for the War till the day he retired
He worked in a factory and never got fired,
But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.
Yet he wasn’t a scab or odd in his views,
For his Union reports that he paid his dues,
(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)
And our Social Psychology workers found
That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.
The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day
And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.
Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,
And his Health-card shows he was once in hospital but left it cured.
Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare
He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Instalment Plan
And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,
A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.
Our researchers into Public Opinion are content 
That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;
When there was peace, he was for peace:  when there was war, he went.
He was married and added five children to the population,
Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his
   generation.
And our teachers report that he never interfered with their
   education.
Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.

This particular poem deviates from the standard expectations of modernist poetry as it is entirely a satirical commentary on the true uniqueness of man. The poem starts out with a message saying that  the following is for a marble monument for the citizen, beginning the satire. Throughout the poem, the speaker basically describes the things that the citizen had done in his life that was good, like serve in the army, not get fired, quietly live his life. However, because the man had lived a very quiet and cautious life, he was considered free because it was in his will. This is quite contrary to the speaker's beliefs, who believes that non-unique behavior does not equal freedom. The satirical nature of the poem is summed up with the two questions at the end of the poem; literally, the speaker is saying that "Of course! Of course he was free, he's just like everyone else so naturally we would know if he wasn't." The true meaning of what the speaker is trying to say is that what everyone else sees as freedom and happiness is simply just a highly conformist nature masked by the idea of a free country.
As I mentioned before, the poem doesn't very much align with modernist poetry. It is pretty independent in itself, but it does align slightly more with postmodern poetry due to the irony and satire present and the political issues it addresses. I also think it's interesting how Auden wrote this poem after he moved to America after the war, as this poem talks about a citizen's "free" life after the war.





I found the poem on this website:
http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/unknown-citizen

Frank O'Hara

Frank O'Hara (1926-1966) was a poet of the "New York School" Movement, which had strong ties to the growing art culture in New York at the time. Like their visual art friends, their form of poetry was designed to help readers see the world in a new way through new comparisons and ideas. His poem "A Step Away from Them" is particularly enticing as O'Hara provides this new perspective on modern culture as it developed in the mid-20th Century.

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171374

A Step Away from Them
BY FRANK O'HARA

It’s my lunch hour, so I go

for a walk among the hum-colored   

cabs. First, down the sidewalk   

where laborers feed their dirty   

glistening torsos sandwiches

and Coca-Cola, with yellow helmets   

on. They protect them from falling   

bricks, I guess. Then onto the   

avenue where skirts are flipping   

above heels and blow up over   

grates. The sun is hot, but the   

cabs stir up the air. I look   

at bargains in wristwatches. There   

are cats playing in sawdust.

                                          On

to Times Square, where the sign

blows smoke over my head, and higher   

the waterfall pours lightly. A   

Negro stands in a doorway with a   

toothpick, languorously agitating.   

A blonde chorus girl clicks: he   

smiles and rubs his chin. Everything   

suddenly honks: it is 12:40 of   

a Thursday.

                Neon in daylight is a   

great pleasure, as Edwin Denby would   

write, as are light bulbs in daylight.   

I stop for a cheeseburger at JULIET’S   

CORNER. Giulietta Masina, wife of   

Federico Fellini, è bell’ attrice.

And chocolate malted. A lady in   

foxes on such a day puts her poodle   

in a cab.

             There are several Puerto   

Ricans on the avenue today, which   

makes it beautiful and warm. First   

Bunny died, then John Latouche,   

then Jackson Pollock. But is the   

earth as full as life was full, of them?   

And one has eaten and one walks,   

past the magazines with nudes   

and the posters for BULLFIGHT and   

the Manhattan Storage Warehouse,   

which they’ll soon tear down. I   

used to think they had the Armory   

Show there.

                A glass of papaya juice   

and back to work. My heart is in my   

pocket, it is Poems by Pierre Reverdy.

One of the biggest devices used by O'Hara here is his extensive use of imagery as he depicts a largely materialistic world that, in many ways, did not leave much room for artistic expression in the forefront of society (of course, looking back, it became a huge part of our history). When O'Hara uses phrases such as "laborers feed their dirty   

glistening torsos sandwiches and Coca-Cola, with yellow helmets on", he has essentially made this new kind of connection between pop culture and poetry that few before him had been able to do. In addition to that, he includes references to a blonde girl, an African-American, and Puerto Ricans, something which we can link to the cultural perception of America as the "melting pot". However, a lot of these modern and pop culture connections seem to be dissolved in the final stanza of this free verse poem. O'Hara writes "A glass of papaya juice and back to work. My heart is in my pocket, it is Poems by Pierre Reverdy". Just like that, it seems like the entire building up by O'Hara has been thrown out the window. Papaya juice (not sure if there was some phenomenon for it in the mid-20th Century) seems like something well off the beaten path from "Coca-Cola" and, per today's terminology of "hipster", seems to definitely fit the bill. The same can probably be said for the book of poems by a French artist. 

Perhaps the breaking of modern ties connects to the possible theme: Poetry is so entwined into modern culture until you go back to the surface of it all.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Constantly Risking Absurdity (#15)

BY LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI

Constantly risking absurdity

                                             and death

            whenever he performs

                                        above the heads

                                                            of his audience

   the poet like an acrobat

                                 climbs on rime

                                          to a high wire of his own making

and balancing on eyebeams

                                     above a sea of faces

             paces his way

                               to the other side of day

    performing entrechats

                               and sleight-of-foot tricks

and other high theatrics

                               and all without mistaking

                     any thing

                               for what it may not be

       For he's the super realist

                                     who must perforce perceive

                   taut truth

                                 before the taking of each stance or step

in his supposed advance

                                  toward that still higher perch

where Beauty stands and waits

                                     with gravity

                                                to start her death-defying leap

      And he

             a little charleychaplin man

                                           who may or may not catch

               her fair eternal form

                                     spreadeagled in the empty air

                  of existence

When this poem was written, it was one of the sparks of the "San Francisco literary renaissance of the 1950s and the subsequent "Beat" movement." Ferlinghetti writes to defy popular political movements and writes like jazz-a very contemporary style where the poetry reflects either the subject matter (including the shape of the poem) and or adds the shape as a stylistic effect adding emphasis and meaning to the poem. Like in "Constantly Risking Absurdity" Ferlinghetti uses a scattered line placement to suggest an almost crazy look to the poem itself, but because of the poem's words, the poem remains connected just like its "constantly risking absurdity".  Ferlinghetti also uses enjambment to have the flow of the poem seem endless just like the act of writing poetry as a never ending struggle and balancing act. Imagery is also used to draw comparisons for everyone to understand. By using three different examples describing poetry authors, the tight rope walker, the realist, and the charleychaplin man, he connects with different levels of education and age with the audience. Reaching those differences was a large part of the characteristics of that time period and of Ferlinghetti's writings. To me, the meaning of the poem is describing how difficult it is to actually write poetry. Most people don't necessarily understand the art of composing a poem that is deep in meaning and power. This poem addresses that issue for Ferlinghetti's readers that might not appreciate other authors as much because the poems just seem like jumbled words that anyone could put together.

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/lawrence-ferlinghetti

This is just some Biographical information on Lawrence Ferlinghetti and his accomplishments taken from http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/lawrence-ferlinghetti.

On March 24, 1919, Lawrence Ferlinghetti was born in Yonkers, New York. After spending his early childhood in France, he received his BA from the University of North Carolina, an MA from Columbia University, and a PhD from the Sorbonne.

During World War II he served in the US Naval Reserve and was sent to Nagasaki shortly after it was bombed. He married in 1951 and has one daughter and one son.

In 1953, Ferlinghetti and Peter Martin began to publish City Lights magazine. They also opened the City Lights Books Shop in San Francisco to help support the magazine. In 1955, they launched City Light Publishing, a book-publishing venture. City Lights became known as the heart of the “Beat” movement, which included writers such as Kenneth Rexroth,Gary Snyder, Allen Ginsberg, and Jack Kerouac.

Ferlinghetti is the author of more than thirty books of poetry, including Time of Useful Consciousness (New Directions, 2012); Poetry as Insurgent Art (2007); Americus, Book I(2004); San Francisco Poems (2002); How to Paint Sunlight(2001); A Far Rockaway of the Heart (1997); These Are My Rivers: New & Selected Poems, 1955-1993 (1993); Over All the Obscene Boundaries: European Poems & Transitions (1984);Who Are We Now? (1976); The Secret Meaning of Things(1969); and A Coney Island of the Mind (1958). He has translated the work of a number of poets including Nicanor Parra, Jacques Prevert, and Pier Paolo Pasolini. Ferlinghetti is also the author more than eight plays and of the novelsLove in the Days of Rage (1988) and Her (1966).

In 1994, San Francisco renamed a street in his honor. He was also named the first Poet Laureate of San Francisco in 1998. His other awards and honors include the lifetime achievement award from the National Book Critics Circle in 2000, the Frost Medal in 2003, and The Literarian Award in 2005 presented “for outstanding service to the American literary community.”

Currently, Ferlinghetti writes a weekly column for the San Francisco Chronicle. He also continues to operate the City Lights bookstore, and he travels frequently to participate in literary conferences and poetry readings.