i do feel that she manages to out-ironise every poet who ever wrote
I must disagree.
The Heart asks Pleasure – first –And then – Excuse from Pain –And then – those little AnodynesThat deaden suffering –And then – to go to sleep –And then – if it should beThe will of the InquisitorThe privilege to die –
And then – to go to sleep –And then – if it should beThe will of the InquisitorThe privilege to die –
― alimosina, Tuesday, 4 April 2017 01:05 (three years ago) link
that poem is funny though. it's "true" at one level, but it's also a deliberately absurd reduction of human experience. her poems are full of these kinds of moments:
Surgeons must be careful When they take the knife !Underneath their fine incisionsStirs the culprit,--Life!
i also think there is something ironic about phrases like "on her divine majority, intrude no more!" to joyfully embrace misanthropy is a kind of ironic experience, even if the sentiment is meant sincerely. the whole fantasy of emperors jostling for her attention as she closes the "valves of her attention like stone." it's fun.
― Treeship, Tuesday, 4 April 2017 01:46 (three years ago) link
What I mean is - her tone, while perfectly sincere when it's talking about a religious concept or a moral idea, is also qualified by numerous ironies. One of those being that she is aware that you, the reader are aware, that her sincerity is partly performed, and her intellectual insight through and past simple ideas and pieties is so great that she is providing several levels of silent meta-commentary on her own framing of the idea in the poem, not merely the idea itself. All this is only to add to the other obvious ironies one feels - that as a woman she shouldn't be writing or thinking this, but has a better grasp than anyone she knows. That her doubt, caution, fear and knowingness are there in the poem, unhidden, but exist with a kind of innocence which she earnestly feels and she earnestly knows has been foisted on her by virtue of her sex. Battles of knowledge, battles of form. The ironies are transcendent, because they cling to the surface of the ground, and yet are able to see all which passes all around. They express complete awareness, and the limitations of expression by one human personality.
― glumdalclitch, Tuesday, 4 April 2017 02:10 (three years ago) link
the POLL selects its own society
― the Rain Man of nationalism. (Alfred, Lord Sotosyn), Tuesday, 4 April 2017 02:26 (three years ago) link
dickinson really is kind of a unique poet -- i can't think of anyone else who writes quite like her.
― (The Other) J.D. (J.D.), Tuesday, 4 April 2017 23:57 (three years ago) link
I'm a common reader of poetry. When you say ironic, I think:
Henry was programmed for happiness.What happened O, O bloody friends?Hoho, heehee.
― alimosina, Wednesday, 5 April 2017 01:07 (three years ago) link
there once was a man from nantucket
― Treeship, Wednesday, 5 April 2017 01:36 (three years ago) link
What a lovely thread.
― the world's little sunbeam (in orbit), Wednesday, 5 April 2017 13:36 (three years ago) link
yeah i quoted that first whitman bit upthread that aerosmith quoted in a text message and got a <3
― The times they are a changing, perhaps (map), Wednesday, 5 April 2017 18:59 (three years ago) link
― alimosina, Wednesday, 12 April 2017 17:01 (three years ago) link
Sight & Sounds gave it a good write-up.
― xyzzzz__, Wednesday, 12 April 2017 18:10 (three years ago) link
“Nature is a haunted house--but Art--a house that tries to be haunted.”
― Treeship, Tuesday, 16 May 2017 02:48 (three years ago) link
Going to heaven!I don't know when,Pray do not ask me how,--Indeed, I'm too astonishedTo think of answering you!Going to heaven!--How dim it sounds!And yet it will be doneAs sure as flocks go home by nightUnto the shepherd's arm!
Perhaps you're going too!Who knows?If you should get there first,Save just a little place for meClose to the two I lost!The smallest "robe" will fit me,And just a bit of "crown";For you know we do not mind our dressWhen we are going home.
I'm glad I don't believe it,For it would stop my breath,And I'd like to look a little moreAt such a curious earth!I am glad they did believe itWhom I have never foundSince the mighty autumn afternoonI left them in the ground.
― difficult listening hour, Tuesday, 16 May 2017 03:01 (three years ago) link
magnificent and terrifying
― Treeship, Tuesday, 16 May 2017 03:03 (three years ago) link
Watch the movie.
― the Rain Man of nationalism. (Alfred, Lord Sotosyn), Tuesday, 16 May 2017 03:04 (three years ago) link
You cannot put a Fire out --A Thing that can igniteCan go, itself, without a Fan --Upon the slowest Night --
You cannot fold a Flood --And put it in a Drawer --Because the Winds would find it out --And tell your Cedar Floor --
― difficult listening hour, Tuesday, 16 May 2017 06:11 (three years ago) link
I many times thought Peace had comeWhen Peace was far away --As Wrecked Men -- deem they sight the Land --At Centre of the Sea --
And struggle slacker -- but to proveAs hopelessly as I --How many the fictitious Shores --Before the Harbor be --
― difficult listening hour, Tuesday, 16 May 2017 06:14 (three years ago) link
Love those Dickinson poems. I don't think Whitman poems work so well in small doses. I guess I think Dickinson might be the better poet, but Whitman means more to me personally. I remember being on summer break during college, staying with my grandparents, not knowing many people my own age in the area, and Whitman was kind of like a companion to me. It's hokey as hell, but I used to sometimes sit out in the woods behind their house with "Leaves of Grass". Dickinson's poems are like finely-cut gems, whereas Whitman's are like big woolly sweaters. No doubt there's a lot of hocus pocus in Whitman, something I'm sure Dickinson's austere gimlet eye could have skewered deftly, but it's deeply comforting hocus pocus nonetheless.
― o. nate, Friday, 19 May 2017 00:44 (three years ago) link
i like it when she's ambitious:
Such are the inlets of the mind—-His outlets-— would you seeAscend with me the eminenceOf immortality—-
(tho prayerful as ever)
I don't think Whitman poems work so well in small doses.
dickinson does suffer in large ones i think, she can drive u crazy circling her obsessions (like the gnats around the porch light in lolita: "continuously darning the air in one spot") not to mention that one rhythm she likes so much that's practically a personal haiku.
that fire/flood/winds/floor one i posted upthread still gives me chills tho: all four elements, in conspiracy. sometimes she reminds me of the log lady
― difficult listening hour, Saturday, 30 September 2017 02:04 (two years ago) link
i seem to have invented a new kind of dash, above. the circle is now complete. ascend w me the eminence
― difficult listening hour, Saturday, 30 September 2017 02:05 (two years ago) link
This is Emily. Emily stays inside.She reads. She writes poetry. She writes letters. She bakes. She does a bit of bird watching. Then she writes some more.Emily is safe from COVID-19.Be like Emily. pic.twitter.com/4Weuc9puug— Mathieu Duplay 🌈 🇪🇺 (@mathieu_duplay) March 16, 2020
― xyzzzz__, Tuesday, 17 March 2020 08:51 (two months ago) link