I did not care much for The Bear. I thought it was an interesting poem, however it was very harsh and a little bit too - vulgar is not the appropriate word - but disgusting. I found it hard to get into the beauty of the poem hearing about the gruesome way in which the bear dies, and how the poet hunts him. It's a very primal poem, and I find it hard to align myself with in that regard.
1. Brief synopsis: The poet is hunting the bear, sharpens a bone and places it in blubber so that the bear eats it. The poet continues tracking the bear, eats the bear's blood-soaked feces to survive, and eventually comes upon the bear, dying from the internal injuries of the bone. He cuts open the bear, eating briefly, and then climbs inside the bear to sleep. He then goes through somewhat of a transition into becoming the bear, and experiencing the bear's perspective.
2. The speaker is the hunter
3. Using the first-person narrator makes the poem feel much more personal, it really lessens the distance of the poem for the reader.
4. The hunter discovers the bear, lays his trap, and tracks the bear until he discovers the bear's body
5. The poet experiences a transformation to where he becomes the bear, experiencing her death and awakens in the world, somewhat unsure whether he is the bear or the hunter.
6. The poet eats the bear's feces, ingesting somewhat of its essence. The poet then physically enters the bear's carcass, and then mentally follows.
7. I suppose in order for the poet to truly understand the bear, he has to experience it in all ways, which would include becoming it.
8. The last section of the poem seems to be somewhat of a rebirth of the bear, and so a return to its essence. The poet seems to question, then, what was the essence on which he lived?
9. Yes, I think it does support those final lines. The poem is very fanciful, and so the transition from death, to rebirth, death again, and then true rebirth seems to support it.
Poem in response:
There are few among us
who would share their homes
with a monster
yet I did.
Covered in red hair
she gazed imperiously about
until her eyes settled
on a very still, slightly waxy chicken.
She stomped on it.
The chicken uttered a desperate
SQUEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee……..
She looked down at it
seeming to delight in its slow death.
Then, moving nothing but her eyes
she met my stare
as if to say
This chicken—is mine.
This house—is mine.
And you—
you are mine.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Poetry Journal #4 - If You Forget Me
If You Forget Me
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
-Pablo Neruda
In this poem the poet is clearly speaking to his love, or potentially to his lost love. The energy behind this poem is very interesting, as he enters the poem in a very different place from where he exits. At the beginning, this poem feels very much like a warning, a caution to the recipient of the message, with lines like if "you decide to leave me at the shore" then "I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land," implying not so obscurely that if the recipient does not return his affection, love, or attention, he will seek it elsewhere.
However, the poem exits in an almost breathtakingly tender and passionate manner. The lines "in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten," are full of such wanton passion for the recipient that it is clear that the beginning warnings in the poem are from a place of desperation that they not come to pass.
The final line "and as long as you live it [my love] will be in your arms without leaving mine" is one that I am really impressed by. Love poetry is so difficult to write without sounding cliche, and I feel like the implication of "forever" at the close of this poem just manages to avoid this, so the poem really works in this way. Neruda does an outstanding job of writing a beautiful love poem that captures not only the passion and desire of the love, but also the desperation and fear of losing it.
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
-Pablo Neruda
In this poem the poet is clearly speaking to his love, or potentially to his lost love. The energy behind this poem is very interesting, as he enters the poem in a very different place from where he exits. At the beginning, this poem feels very much like a warning, a caution to the recipient of the message, with lines like if "you decide to leave me at the shore" then "I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land," implying not so obscurely that if the recipient does not return his affection, love, or attention, he will seek it elsewhere.
However, the poem exits in an almost breathtakingly tender and passionate manner. The lines "in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten," are full of such wanton passion for the recipient that it is clear that the beginning warnings in the poem are from a place of desperation that they not come to pass.
The final line "and as long as you live it [my love] will be in your arms without leaving mine" is one that I am really impressed by. Love poetry is so difficult to write without sounding cliche, and I feel like the implication of "forever" at the close of this poem just manages to avoid this, so the poem really works in this way. Neruda does an outstanding job of writing a beautiful love poem that captures not only the passion and desire of the love, but also the desperation and fear of losing it.
Friday, September 19, 2008
9/18 In-Class Writing Excercise - Cherrylog Road
Paraphrase:
The poet arrives and sits in a car overgrown with plants in a junkyard. He continues to enter and exit different cars in the yard in various states of disrepair. The poet feels different in each car, noting the varition in heat and color. He changes in anticipation of the arrival of his girlfriend, tying the change in himself to each automobile he enters. His girlfriedn too would experience a change in herself, escaping from her life and identity in the adventures she shares with the poet in the junkyard.
Poem in Response:
Heavy bag on my back
I parked on Scenic,
noting no appropriate view,
a steep road and row of houses,
freeway below and golf course behind.
Enjoying the novelty of arrival
I stride upward, vaguely knowing
where to go, who to find
Up the road lined with asphalt
roses, and cars as nice as mine.
I knocked on the door
identical to the three I passed
before it, brown, unspecial outside,
and clearly built years before I built today.
Soft lighting from lamps
made to look like candles, I think,
I must be more beautiful in here,
and drop my burden in the bedroom
Unsure of where to sit or stand
I opened wine, pouring
two overly large glasses
Buttery Chardonnay in mismatched bowls
The couch is very long and narrow
no arms, so I sit upright
swirling the stemware,
nervousness and excitement rolling inside.
The poet arrives and sits in a car overgrown with plants in a junkyard. He continues to enter and exit different cars in the yard in various states of disrepair. The poet feels different in each car, noting the varition in heat and color. He changes in anticipation of the arrival of his girlfriend, tying the change in himself to each automobile he enters. His girlfriedn too would experience a change in herself, escaping from her life and identity in the adventures she shares with the poet in the junkyard.
Poem in Response:
Heavy bag on my back
I parked on Scenic,
noting no appropriate view,
a steep road and row of houses,
freeway below and golf course behind.
Enjoying the novelty of arrival
I stride upward, vaguely knowing
where to go, who to find
Up the road lined with asphalt
roses, and cars as nice as mine.
I knocked on the door
identical to the three I passed
before it, brown, unspecial outside,
and clearly built years before I built today.
Soft lighting from lamps
made to look like candles, I think,
I must be more beautiful in here,
and drop my burden in the bedroom
Unsure of where to sit or stand
I opened wine, pouring
two overly large glasses
Buttery Chardonnay in mismatched bowls
The couch is very long and narrow
no arms, so I sit upright
swirling the stemware,
nervousness and excitement rolling inside.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Poetry Journal #3 - Death Be Not Proud
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.
-John Donne
This is one of my favorite poems of all time. I love that the speaker, who is clearly the poet, is speaking directly TO Death, personified. I have read a lot of poetry where the subject being discussed is death, or to where we are feeling the after-effects of death, but this is one of the very few that directs the message directly AT Death, and personifies him. I think there is a certain amount of glee in this poem at the idea of this great force being truly unimportant and, in a sense, beaten, which causes a feeling of elation.
I like how Donne enters and exits the poem in similar ways, with a four-word statement, almost a command, to Death: "Death be not proud" and "Death, thou shalt die." This poem is almost about the exertion of dominance over death, and so to enter and exit the poem with such brief statements, structured at commands really ties in well with the body and message of the poem.
I find the rhyme scheme interesting, as it is abba, cddc, effe and then ends in an unrhymed couplet. To me, this draws particular attention to the final statement, "Death, thou shalt die" as we expect it to rhyme, and it does not.
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.
-John Donne
This is one of my favorite poems of all time. I love that the speaker, who is clearly the poet, is speaking directly TO Death, personified. I have read a lot of poetry where the subject being discussed is death, or to where we are feeling the after-effects of death, but this is one of the very few that directs the message directly AT Death, and personifies him. I think there is a certain amount of glee in this poem at the idea of this great force being truly unimportant and, in a sense, beaten, which causes a feeling of elation.
I like how Donne enters and exits the poem in similar ways, with a four-word statement, almost a command, to Death: "Death be not proud" and "Death, thou shalt die." This poem is almost about the exertion of dominance over death, and so to enter and exit the poem with such brief statements, structured at commands really ties in well with the body and message of the poem.
I find the rhyme scheme interesting, as it is abba, cddc, effe and then ends in an unrhymed couplet. To me, this draws particular attention to the final statement, "Death, thou shalt die" as we expect it to rhyme, and it does not.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Elegy Assignment
Responding to "The Leap" by James Dickey.
In this poem I feel that the author is speaking, and as there is no mention of "you" in the poem, it seems to me that this must be a recollection or personal reflection and is directed inward. His tone seems to be one of disbelief and sadness. I find it interesting that he references the thin, brittle chain of paper multiple times, and also uses "the paper" as the way in which he finds out about her death. Its unclear in the poem whether Jane has truly died or not, and so to me it would seem that by using "the paper" as the medium by which he hears of her death makes it potentially only a daydream or whimsy.
I also feel that the journey that the poem takes potentially undermines the possible reality of her death. He starts of remembering her, but not in the ways in which she was commonly known. He did not recollect her as running with the other girls, he remembered her in this one odd instance of a formal dance. As he reaches the latter part of the poem where he "remembers" hearing of her death, he states that it is odd. Starting and ending the poem in dissociative recollections of her seems to me to call into question whether there is any truth to the poem.
I am confused by the final turn in the poem, the last stanza, and specifically the line "Hold on to that ring I made for you, Jane - My feet are nailed to the ground By dust I swallowed thirty years ago - While I examine my hands." If you eliminate the part between the two dashes, the line becomes "Hold on To that ring I made for you, Jane - While I examine my hands." This seems to make no sense to me, and leaves the exit of the poem somewhat unresolved and unclear to me.
Upon rereading the poem, I did notice that he foreshadowed her death in the second stanza, describing her jump as a "Grave Leap."
Poem in response:
I finished my milk
Placed the glass carefully on the wood
Tall enough, even at that age
To reach the top of the piano.
It was warm that day, midsummer.
Beads of condensation rolled
Slowly, strolling toward
The beautiful honey finish
Long out of tune from hours
Spent hammering tuneless
Tunes, carefully crafted
By my fat, five-year-old fingers
I had no respect -
So turned away.
Your angry shout echoed
In the Steinway's strings,
Slightly humming from fury
at the damage I had caused.
It was the only time
You ever spoke to me in anger,
Called me by my given name
Each syllable a hammer
Hitting heavy on the bass.
The only time your words
Impacted part of me, and
Still I always wonder
If I meant as much to you
As a water ring
On honey maple
In this poem I feel that the author is speaking, and as there is no mention of "you" in the poem, it seems to me that this must be a recollection or personal reflection and is directed inward. His tone seems to be one of disbelief and sadness. I find it interesting that he references the thin, brittle chain of paper multiple times, and also uses "the paper" as the way in which he finds out about her death. Its unclear in the poem whether Jane has truly died or not, and so to me it would seem that by using "the paper" as the medium by which he hears of her death makes it potentially only a daydream or whimsy.
I also feel that the journey that the poem takes potentially undermines the possible reality of her death. He starts of remembering her, but not in the ways in which she was commonly known. He did not recollect her as running with the other girls, he remembered her in this one odd instance of a formal dance. As he reaches the latter part of the poem where he "remembers" hearing of her death, he states that it is odd. Starting and ending the poem in dissociative recollections of her seems to me to call into question whether there is any truth to the poem.
I am confused by the final turn in the poem, the last stanza, and specifically the line "Hold on to that ring I made for you, Jane - My feet are nailed to the ground By dust I swallowed thirty years ago - While I examine my hands." If you eliminate the part between the two dashes, the line becomes "Hold on To that ring I made for you, Jane - While I examine my hands." This seems to make no sense to me, and leaves the exit of the poem somewhat unresolved and unclear to me.
Upon rereading the poem, I did notice that he foreshadowed her death in the second stanza, describing her jump as a "Grave Leap."
Poem in response:
I finished my milk
Placed the glass carefully on the wood
Tall enough, even at that age
To reach the top of the piano.
It was warm that day, midsummer.
Beads of condensation rolled
Slowly, strolling toward
The beautiful honey finish
Long out of tune from hours
Spent hammering tuneless
Tunes, carefully crafted
By my fat, five-year-old fingers
I had no respect -
So turned away.
Your angry shout echoed
In the Steinway's strings,
Slightly humming from fury
at the damage I had caused.
It was the only time
You ever spoke to me in anger,
Called me by my given name
Each syllable a hammer
Hitting heavy on the bass.
The only time your words
Impacted part of me, and
Still I always wonder
If I meant as much to you
As a water ring
On honey maple
Friday, September 5, 2008
Poetry Journal #2 - Fotografia
Cada vez que yo me voy llevo a un lado de mi piel
Tus fotografias para verlas cada vez
Que tu auesencia me devora entero el Corazon
Y yo no tengo remedio mas que amarte
Y en la distancia te puedo ver
Cuando tus fotos me siento a ver
Y en las estrellas tus ojos ver
Cuando tus fotos me siento a ver
Cada vez que te busco te vas
Y cada vez que te llamo no estas
Es por eso que debo decir que tu solo en mis fotos estas
Cuando hay un abismo desnudo
Que se opone entre los dos
Yo me valgo del recuerdo taciturno de tu voz
Y de nuevo siento enfermo este corazon
Que no le queda remedio mas que amarte
Every time that I leave I take next to my skin
Your photos to look at every time
Your absence devours my heart entirely
And I have no remedy but to love you
And in the distance I can see you
When I sit to look at your photos
And in the stars I see your eyes
When your photos I feel the need to see
Each time I look for you, you leave
And each time that I call you are not there
That is why I must say that you are only in my photos
When there is a naked abyss
That stands between us
I try to remember the sound of your voice
And again I feel heartsick
And I have no remedy but to love you
In this song, the speaker is clearly longing for someone who they love or loved at some point, and the words are clearly directed at the object of their affection. This song is not stuck in a particular time, it is speaking of specific moments when he seems to be experiencing a lonliness at the absence of this other person, and has pieced them together to form this work.
There doesn't seem to be much progress from the beginning to the end, as the second stanza ends with "and I have no remedy but to love you" which is also the exiting line of the poem. This again leads me to believe that it is not about actions or an experience, but purely about the feelings experienced when the other person is not present.
There is a stanza that surprises me, which begins with "cada vez que te busco te vas" or "Each time I look for you, you leave" which surprises me in that I gathered the person to be already gone, and the writer to be speaking of the absence. However, this stanza leads me to believe that he is chasing her affection, and never seems to be able to obtain it, or keep it for long. And strangely enough, his remedy is to continue loving her.
Another note that I found interesting when translating this poem is the need for punctuation in the English language versus spanish. Specifically in "cada vez que te busco te vas" versus the translation "Each time I look for you, you leave." Punctuation is extremely important in a poem, and in the Spanish there is no comma, but it is required in the English to form a proper statement, which changes the pace and rhythm of the poem.
Tus fotografias para verlas cada vez
Que tu auesencia me devora entero el Corazon
Y yo no tengo remedio mas que amarte
Y en la distancia te puedo ver
Cuando tus fotos me siento a ver
Y en las estrellas tus ojos ver
Cuando tus fotos me siento a ver
Cada vez que te busco te vas
Y cada vez que te llamo no estas
Es por eso que debo decir que tu solo en mis fotos estas
Cuando hay un abismo desnudo
Que se opone entre los dos
Yo me valgo del recuerdo taciturno de tu voz
Y de nuevo siento enfermo este corazon
Que no le queda remedio mas que amarte
-Juanes
English Translation:
Every time that I leave I take next to my skin
Your photos to look at every time
Your absence devours my heart entirely
And I have no remedy but to love you
And in the distance I can see you
When I sit to look at your photos
And in the stars I see your eyes
When your photos I feel the need to see
Each time I look for you, you leave
And each time that I call you are not there
That is why I must say that you are only in my photos
When there is a naked abyss
That stands between us
I try to remember the sound of your voice
And again I feel heartsick
And I have no remedy but to love you
In this song, the speaker is clearly longing for someone who they love or loved at some point, and the words are clearly directed at the object of their affection. This song is not stuck in a particular time, it is speaking of specific moments when he seems to be experiencing a lonliness at the absence of this other person, and has pieced them together to form this work.
There doesn't seem to be much progress from the beginning to the end, as the second stanza ends with "and I have no remedy but to love you" which is also the exiting line of the poem. This again leads me to believe that it is not about actions or an experience, but purely about the feelings experienced when the other person is not present.
There is a stanza that surprises me, which begins with "cada vez que te busco te vas" or "Each time I look for you, you leave" which surprises me in that I gathered the person to be already gone, and the writer to be speaking of the absence. However, this stanza leads me to believe that he is chasing her affection, and never seems to be able to obtain it, or keep it for long. And strangely enough, his remedy is to continue loving her.
Another note that I found interesting when translating this poem is the need for punctuation in the English language versus spanish. Specifically in "cada vez que te busco te vas" versus the translation "Each time I look for you, you leave." Punctuation is extremely important in a poem, and in the Spanish there is no comma, but it is required in the English to form a proper statement, which changes the pace and rhythm of the poem.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Poetry Journal #1 - To Earthward
Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air
That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of ** was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Downhill at dusk?
I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they're gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle
I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.
Now no joy but lacks salt.
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain
Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.
When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass and sand.
The hurt is not enough;
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.
-Robert Frost
The first time that I read this poem, I thought it was a love poem, seeing imagery of musk, roses, honeysuckles... but upon multiple readings I think it is a poem of bitterness toward love. The writer seems to have somewhat of a love/hate relationship with love, stating that "love at the lips was touch as sweet as I could bear," that it was almost too much to handle, which ties in with the stanza "I craved strong sweets, but those seemed strong when I was young; the petal of the rose it was that stung." Most times we hear of the roses's thorns as an imagery for the hurt that comes along with a thing of beauty, objectification, or love. However in To Earthward the part that stings is actually the petal, the most beautiful, tender, and delicate part of the rose.
I think that the writer, in this case, is not speaking to an audience. The way in which it is written reminds me almost of a musing, an internal dialogue that the author has with himself. The line which has the break "The flow of ** was it musk" leads me to believe that this is the case.
What struck me in this poem were the last two stanzas. The writer seems to have been caused great pain by love, and yet says "The hurt is not enough" which is a difficult line to discern. I find it ties back to the line "I lived on air" as he now seems very grounded in the earth, the dirt, the sand. He states "I long for weight and strength, to feel the earth as rough to all my lenth." This is a VERY different place to end the poem from where it began in lightness and air. Again, if the air was the lightness of love, the earth seems to be the reality, the pain. And so I was really struck by "The hurt is not enough" as though he wants more of it, despite the pain, with his desire to "feel the earth as rough to all my lenth."
I think this poem is very mysterious because as the reader we are never sure if he loves or hates love, wants it or despises it. Though, my opinion is that all are true. He both loves and hates it, wants it and despises it, and so is in complete conflict with himself. This leads us, as the audience, to wonder ourselves.
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air
That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of ** was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Downhill at dusk?
I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they're gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle
I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.
Now no joy but lacks salt.
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain
Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.
When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass and sand.
The hurt is not enough;
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.
-Robert Frost
The first time that I read this poem, I thought it was a love poem, seeing imagery of musk, roses, honeysuckles... but upon multiple readings I think it is a poem of bitterness toward love. The writer seems to have somewhat of a love/hate relationship with love, stating that "love at the lips was touch as sweet as I could bear," that it was almost too much to handle, which ties in with the stanza "I craved strong sweets, but those seemed strong when I was young; the petal of the rose it was that stung." Most times we hear of the roses's thorns as an imagery for the hurt that comes along with a thing of beauty, objectification, or love. However in To Earthward the part that stings is actually the petal, the most beautiful, tender, and delicate part of the rose.
I think that the writer, in this case, is not speaking to an audience. The way in which it is written reminds me almost of a musing, an internal dialogue that the author has with himself. The line which has the break "The flow of ** was it musk" leads me to believe that this is the case.
What struck me in this poem were the last two stanzas. The writer seems to have been caused great pain by love, and yet says "The hurt is not enough" which is a difficult line to discern. I find it ties back to the line "I lived on air" as he now seems very grounded in the earth, the dirt, the sand. He states "I long for weight and strength, to feel the earth as rough to all my lenth." This is a VERY different place to end the poem from where it began in lightness and air. Again, if the air was the lightness of love, the earth seems to be the reality, the pain. And so I was really struck by "The hurt is not enough" as though he wants more of it, despite the pain, with his desire to "feel the earth as rough to all my lenth."
I think this poem is very mysterious because as the reader we are never sure if he loves or hates love, wants it or despises it. Though, my opinion is that all are true. He both loves and hates it, wants it and despises it, and so is in complete conflict with himself. This leads us, as the audience, to wonder ourselves.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)