Monday’s Verse

December 15, 2008

Monday’s Verse, Dec. 15, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — Nim @ 5:45 pm

Hi all, as you know I am lazy and, genuinely, I’m quite busy today trying to figure out ways not to do this darn labor take-home exam, so we’ll look at the comments of our mystery medievalist, who saw fit to chime in on the pleasures of Milton–and, along the way, provide a plain language break-down of what was happening in that “sonnet.” -ed.

***
Gabriel, thou hadst in Heav’n th’ esteem of wise,
And such I held thee; but this question askt
Puts me in doubt. Lives ther who loves his pain?
Who would not, finding way, break loose from Hell,
Though thither doomd? Thou wouldst thyself, no doubt,
And boldly venture to whatever place
Farthest from pain, where thou mightst hope to change
Torment with ease, and; soonest recompence
Dole with delight, which in this place I sought;
To thee no reason; who knowst only good,
But evil hast not tri’d: and wilt object
His will who bound us? let him surer barr
His Iron Gates, if he intends our stay
In that dark durance: thus much what was askt.

-1667



hi there,

okay, so i didn’t have time to even read last week’s submission, and when i read this week’s i was intrigued and i went back and read last week’s.  and since nobody responded to poor ol’ jm, i’ll submit this response, and if you think it’s worth sharing go ahead and send it out.

since i’ve started teaching the brit lit survey part I (which here at UNO gets not only english majors but also counts as a gen ed requirement so i’ve had prelaw, math, bio, philosophy, theatre, history, criminal justice, and just about any other major you can think of), i’ve discovered that ‘paradise lost’ is one of the big hits of every semester…apparently quite a remarkable feat given that somebody’s decided that it needs to be translated from english to english for the poor doltish students of this day and age to even begin to appreciate.  now, matthew, you know that i’m not a poetry girl, and so i can’t spend a whole bunch of time talkin’ technically about the problematics of translating poetry, but i can say this:  the whole bloody point of the ‘convoluted blank verse’ is, as you so ably point out, to invoke the elevated language of high epic as well as the word of the divinity, which is for believers (as milton most certainly was) the language of the bible.  even the most obtuse ‘non-lit’ students become enthralled with milton’s ‘difficult’ use of language and get why he’s chosen to write his self-proclaimed greatest english epic ever in such a fashion.

but do they get what’s going on?  abso-frickin-lutely.  now, being an anglo-saxonist i am compelled to point out that milton is not the first poet to give us the sexy rock-star satan–that honor goes to the anonymous creator of the satan in the c. 10th century biblical epic ‘genesis b’ from the junius 11 manuscript.  that said, the lines that you chose for last week’s monday verse are actually some of the students’ (and my) very favorites.  first, satan flatters gabriel as being the most wise of god’s angels, and even says that he himself believed gabriel to be so.  but then satan turns his flattery into insult by suggesting that gabriel’s question about ‘why leave hell?’ shows him to be, well, maybe not the shiniest halo in heaven after all.  satan then quite reasonably explains that *anybody* with a bloody *clue* wants to put pain and suffering as far behind himself as possible.  he finishes off his insult to gabriel by suggesting that satan now sees that he can’t really expect gabriel to see reason–or even have the mental capacity to be reasonable–because gabriel has never really thought for himself anyway:  ‘who knowst only good but evil has not tri’d’ and voicing what would be gabriel’s obvious objection: that it’s god’s will that satan be in hell and one just shouldn’t go against god’s will.  then, with a final flourish of hellish reason, satan declares that if god really wanted his will to be done and followed, then he should’ve put heavier locks on the doors since obviously if satan defied god’s will once, he surely will do so again.  in other words, gabriel and god, are unthinking morons and no match for satan’s cunning and nefarious planning capabilities.

so then the question is, what are the flaws in satan’s logic?  what’s he forgetting in his cleverly articulated insult?  to answer those questions, though, the reader must think like a believer; and sometimes that can be difficult because the reader needs to read PL from within milton’s accepted view of the universe’s power hierarchy.  that said, milton’s ability to render the obvious villain of this piece as smart, capable, and likeable because he’s such a snarky s.o.b. is obviously one of milton’s greatest achievements insofar as PL is meant to illuminate the readers’ own fissures regarding faith and their relationship with the proper hero of the piece, the tripartite god.

anyway, that’s what i think about last week’s selection.
cheers,
LB

November 17, 2008

Monday’s Verse, Nov. 17, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — Arwen @ 10:58 pm

Dear readers,

I got this poem on a tip from a friend, so had to do a quick wikipedia search on its author. Faiz Ahmed Faiz (1911-1984) is considered one of the greatest modern Urdu poets, having been born in the Punjab region of what would become Pakistan about halfway through his life. He was deeply involved in politics and journalism. A staunch communist, he was the first Asian poet to be awarded the Lenin prize, in 1963.

Here is a poem of his first in the original, and then in translation. I’m sorry I don’t have the name of the translator.

It is a national poem, a poem that seems to hail a great moment, but the tone is different from last week’s poem, no? What would you say is the tonal range here? -ed.

***

The original Urdu

nisaar mai.n terii galiyo.n ke ae watan, kiey jahan
chalii hai rasm ki koii na sar uThaa ke chale
jo koii chaahanewaalaa tawaaf ko nikale
nazar churaa ke chale, jism-o-jaa.N bachaa ke chale

hai ahl-e-dil ke liye ab ye nazm-e-bast-o-kushaad
ki sang-o-Khisht muqayyad hai.n aur sag aazaad

bahot hai.n zulm ke dast-e-bahaanaa-juu ke liye
jo cha.nd ahl-e-junuu.N tere naam levaa hai.n
bane hai.n ahl-e-hawas muddaii bhii, mu.nsif bhii
kise wakiil kare.n, kis se mu.nsifii chaahe.n

magar guzaranewaalo.n ke din guzarate hai.n
tere firaaq me.n yuu.N subh-o-shaam karate hai.n

bujhaa jo rauzan-e-zi.ndaa.N to dil ye samajhaa hai
ki terii maa.ng sitaaro.n se bhar gaii hogii
chamak uThe hai.n salaasil to hamane jaanaa hai
ki ab sahar tere ruKh par bikhar gaii hogii

Garaz tasavvur-e-shaam-o-sahar me.n jiite hai.n
giraft-e-saayaa-e-diwaar-o-dar me.n jiite hai.n

yuu.n hii hameshaa ulajhatii rahii hai zulm se Khalq
na unakii rasm naii hai, na apanii riit naii
yuu.n hii hameshaa khilaaye hai.n hamane aag me.n phuul
na unakii haar naii hai na apanii jiit naii

isii sabab se falak kaa gilaa nahii.n karate
tere firaaq men ham dil buraa nahii.n karate

Gar aaj tujhase judaa hai.n to kal baham ho.nge
ye raat bhar kii judaaii to koii baat nahii.n
Gar aaj auj pe hai taala-e-raqiib to kyaa
ye chaar din kii Khudaaii to koii baat nahii.n

jo tujhase ahd-e-wafaa ustavaar rakhate hain
ilaaj-e-gardish-e-lail-o-nihaar rakhate hai.

Nisar Main teri Galiyon par Ay Watan…. by Faiz Ahmed Faiz

I yearn for your sacred streets, O beloved nation!
Where the ritual has been invented– that no one shall walk with their head held high
If at all one takes a walk, a pilgrimage
One must walk, eyes lowered, the body crouched in fear

The heart in a tumultuous wrench at the sight
Of stones and bricks locked away and mongrels breathing free

In this tyranny that has many an excuse to perpetuate itself
Those crazy few that have nothing but thy name on their lips
Facing those power crazed that both prosecute and judge, wonder
To whom does one turn for defence, from whom does one expect justice?

But those whose fate it is to live through these times
Spend their days in thy mournful memories

When hope begins to dim, my heart has often conjured
Your forehead sprinkled with stars
And when my chains have glittered
I have imagined that dawn must have burst upon thy face

Thus one lives in the memories of thy dawns and dusks
Imprisoned in the shadows of the high prison walls

Thus always has the world grappled with tyranny
Neither their rituals nor our rebellion is new
Thus have we always grown flowers in fire
Neither their defeat, nor our final victory, is new!

Thus we do not blame the heavens
Nor let bitterness seed in our hearts

We are separated today, but one day shall be re-united
This separation that will not last beyond tonight, bears lightly on us
Today the power of our exalted rivals may touch the zenith
But these four days of omniscience too shall pass

Those that love thee keep, beside them
The cure of the pains of a million heart- breaks

October 27, 2008

Monday’s Verse, 10-27

Filed under: Uncategorized — Arwen @ 8:34 pm
Tags:

Hi all, sorry I’m late I have like ZERO time this week…

You know, we don’t know much about Sappho, which means I needn’t try to make a biographical sketch here, and I suspect her name was a bit of a gag anyway during our Bob Dylan guessing game. Her work has generally come to us in fragments, and may say as much about the translator as it does about her and her worldview. Weltenschaung, for the pedants out there. So here are five versions of one of her fragments, and the question is, which one do you like best? -ed.
The moon has set,
And the Pleiades. It is
Midnight. Time passes.
I sleep alone.

(Kenneth Rexroth)


The Pleiades disappear,
the pale moon goes down.

After midnight, time blurs:
sleepless, I lie alone.


(Sam Hamill)


Tonight I’ve watched

The moon and then
the Pleiades
go down

The night is now
half-gone; youth
goes; I am

in bed alone


(Mary Barnard)


The moon has set, and the Pleiades.
It is the middle of the night,
Hour follows hour. I lie alone.

(Guy Davenport)


Moon has set
and Pleiades: middle
night, the hour goes by,
alone I lie.

(Anne Carson)

June 2, 2008

Monday’s Verse 6-2-08

Filed under: Uncategorized — Nim @ 3:03 pm

Readers,

I am late not because of pressing time demands, but because yesterday I was so hungover that I had not the energy to lift my fingers, never mind exert enough pressure with them to actually turn my computer on. So perhaps it’s small coincidence that today’s poet has a name that anagrammizes to “Dr. Ten Lagers,” and that I’m headed to Pittsburgh, the city of his birth, in 2 days.

But this poem has a staccato strangeness is not because of shaky, faulty typing, but because Gerald Stern is just a random, old man. How wonderful.

Have a good week,

Dr. Ten Lagers

SPRING

The road the road just south of Frenchtown the poem
the one by Mordecai the river the river the
one on my left if I am travelling north the
car a box with wires loose on top of my
left leg the radio fine the light behind
behind the clock not working the rose so dead
I am ashamed the crows too shiny their feathers
too wet the cliff on my right too red the blood
the blood of an animal, a skunk, they bleed
and stink, they stink and bleed, the monkey on top
of me, a New World monkey, not a howler,
an organ-grinder monkey, a capuchin,
his small red hat is on my head and he’s
on my back, he’s dropping orange peels down my neck
March 22nd on the Delaware River.

-2008

April 1, 2008

Monday’s Verse, Apr. 1, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — Nim @ 5:44 pm
Tags: ,

his is not a joke. Today I’m plugging a good cause, and reprinting a
message sent to me last month by intrepid reader Jonelle Lonergan of
Cambridge, MA:

***
Hi all,

As many of you know (because I can’t stop talking about it) I’m
training for the 2008 Boston Marathon with the Dana-Farber Marathon
Challenge, raising money to fund cancer research. If history is any
indication, it’s gonna be a good time.

This is my fourth little trek from Hopkinton to Boston and once again,
I’m running in honor of my mom, Barbara. Many of you have met Barbara,
often in the context of chicken cutlets and/or eggplant parmesan.
Besides being an Italian culinary force and an all-around spectacular
mom, she’s also a breast cancer survivor — four years cancer-free.
Pretty awesome.

I’ve raised almost $15,000 for Dana-Farber over the last few years,
and I’m aiming for another $6,000 this spring. If you’re inclined to
help, e-mail me for more info, or check out
http://www.runjonellerun.com to make a donation online.

And for those of you who already kicked me a donation, thanks thanks
thanks! Barbara promises to make you cutlets.

–Jonelle
***

Jonelle is very close to her goal and the race is April 21, so if
anyone out there would like to donate there’s still time. Meanwhile,
enjoy the following tight sonnet by Timothy Murphy, in honor of all
those who take on, if not more, then as much as they can possibly
chew. I know, the poem makes no sense in this context but that’s OK.
Remember Michael O’Brien, “everything is not something else”? ~mjl

THE CHALLENGE

What polished flattery or slippery truth
tempted your marble athlete from his plinth?
Now that you’ve won so statuesque a youth,
what brazen gates safeguard this Hyacinth?
You keep no sentries posted at your doors,
no trusted eunuchs to massage your prize,
nor spies to poison your competitors
who pace the racetrack with appraising eyes.
What powder or potion, what force of arms
mustered at midnight will forestall your boy
from yielding to a younger rival’s charms?
What Troy or Partha can you destroy
make yourself his hero? And what less
would make you worthy of his loveliness?

-1998

February 18, 2008

Monday’s Verse 2-18-08

Filed under: Uncategorized — Nim @ 11:42 pm
Tags: ,

Dear readers,

 

OK some people felt kicked in the heart last week by Ms. Wakoski, but then some felt their hearts kick-started. In any case, today we’re getting in the way-back machine and reading some traditional love poetry. Real traditional. 

 

Because I am a nerd, I came across an article on the semicolon in a current subway placard and was utterly fascinated. The lifelong civil servant who wrote the compound sentence–like me a literary M.A. and dilettante–is getting mad props for throwing down such august punctuation in an informational spot for train schedules. Now we all know that the semicolon’s chief use is to connect two independent clauses that have no conjunction between them; in poetry there are additional purposes such as rhythm and emphatic end-rhyme. Apparently Ben Jonson was an early popularizer of this elegant device in the English language. So I ask you, what’s he doing with it here? Two additional notes: this poem is old as heck, so reading 2 or 3 times just for meaning may be necessary. But it’s short, and sweet. Also, I’ve appended a brief bio of the man since we haven’t studied him much in this forum.

 

Happy president’s day and second half of the worst month ever,

 

-ed.

 

PS: “The Alchemist” is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen on stage.

 

 

BENJAMIN JONSON: (born June 11?, 1572, London, Eng. — died Aug. 6, 1637, London) British playwright, poet, and critic. After learning stagecraft as a strolling player, he wrote plays for Philip Henslowe’s theatres. In 1598 his comedy Every Man in His Humour established his reputation. He wrote several masques for the court of James I and created the “antimasque” to precede the masque proper. His classic plays Volpone (1605 – 06), The Alchemist (1610), and Bartholomew Fair (1614) use satire to expose the follies and vices of his age, attacking greed, charlatanism, and religious hypocrisy as well as mocking the fools who fall victim to them. Regarded as the era’s leading dramatist after William Shakespeare, Jonson influenced later playwrights, notably in the dramatic characterization of Restoration comedies. He was also a lyric poet whose works include two famous elegies for his son and daughter.

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

HIS EXCUSE FOR LOVING

 

 

 

Let it not your wonder move, 

Less your laughter, that I love.

Though I now write fifty years,

I have had, and have, my peers.

Poets, though divine, are men;

Some have loved as old again.

And it is not always face, 

Clothes, or fortune gives the grace,

Or the feature, or the youth;

But the language and the truth, 

With the ardor and the passion, 

Gives the lover weight and fashion.

If you then would hear the story,

First, prepare you to be sorry 

That you never knew till now

Either whom to love or how;

But be glad as soon with me

When you hear that this is she

Of whose beauty it was sung,

She shall make the old man young,

Keep the middle age at stay,

And let nothing hide decay,

Till she be the reason why

All the world for love may die.



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