Showing posts with label Opinion: Poetry Review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Opinion: Poetry Review. Show all posts

Monday, 30 September 2019

Poem Review – “Ame” / “Rain” by Junzaburo Nishiwaki

I just read, twice, for the first time the poem in ModPoPlus by Junzaburo Nishiwaki entitled "Ame" / Rain and wanted to share the effect this had on me.
The obvious striking use of "s"s throughout lending it a soft sound in English produces a sense of being lulled into a glorious oblivion, of being saturated by the sensual sounds of the words seeping deep into one's soul like the warmth of a long bath. I don't think I have been so moved physically by a poem as I was by this one. Languid, lushness, lying in a bed of feathers.
It reminded me of the movies of Russian filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky and his use of dream sequences, his long takes, and his use of wind and water, the way he immerses his viewer. I thought Andrew Howen's translation was simply stunning and his explanation of how the Japanese language version works in construction and form most informative.
All in all it left me salivating quietly, secretively, like life hung suspended as its words steadily, insistently penetrated all of me, everything natural and manmade, around me and imaginary, past and present, in a hypnotic reassuring stealth of silence until all that could be heard was a gently murmuring purr of pleasure.

"Ame" ("Rain") Junzaburo Nishiwaki, translated by Andrew Houwen

The south wind brought soft goddesses.
Soaked the bronze statues, soaked the fountains,
soaked the sparrow's wings and golden feathers,
soaked the sea, soaked the sand, soaked the fish.
Quietly soaked the temples, the public baths, and the theatres,
this quiet, soft procession of goddesses
soaked my tongue.
Reproduced from https://www.coursera.org/learn/modpo/resources/D8fmd
ModPo Video Discussion https://www.coursera.org/learn/modpo/resources/1SpxX








Friday, 11 May 2018

Review: Jazz Poems

Jazz Poems Jazz Poems by Kevin Young
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

After a long wait I finally got a copy of this Everyman Anthology of Jazz Poetry. Loving the music I thought this is a book that needs a place on my shelves. Delving in last night for the first time, I was not disappointed. I found old favourites and some new delights.

One of the new delights was Langston Hughes's poem The Trumpet Player.

This poem encapsulates the personal and collective experience of African Americans in a portrait of a jazz trumpeter - stanza 1 is about weariness from the slave experience, stanza 2 is about change specifically the taming of natural hair, stanza 3 is about jazz music, stanza 4 is about desire, to see moonlight on the sea, stanza 5 is back to him playing, carried away by the music, and stanza 6 about how music smoothes away all his troubles.

What strikes me is the structure, the minimal punctuation, the smoothness of its reading. There is the repetition of the opening lines The Negro/ With the trumpet at his lips making it like a musical refrain,

After first reading I am in awe at the final two stanzas - how he inverts the more normal sentance structure in

(The Negro)
Does not know
Upon what riff the music slips
It's hypodermic needle
To his soul -


and how he turns the needle into a positive vehicle for deliverying the suppression of his troubles, rather than the destructive delivery of escapism via drugs that plagued many a musician.

Trumpet Player

The Negro
With the trumpet at his lips
Has dark moons of weariness
Beneath his eyes
where the smoldering memory
of slave ships
Blazed to the crack of whips
about thighs

The Negro
With the trumpet at his lips
Has a head of vibrant hair
Tamed down,
Patent-leathered now
Until it gleams
Like jet-
Were jet a crown

The music
From the trumpet at his lips
Is honey
Mixed with liquid fire
The rhythm
From the trumpet at his lips
Is ecstasy
Distilled from old desire-

Desire
That is longing for the moon
Where the moonlight's but a spotlight
In his eyes,
Desire
That is longing for the sea
Where the sea's a bar-glass
Sucker size

The Negro
With the trumpet at his lips
Whose jacket
Has a fine one-button roll,
Does not know
Upon what riff the music slips
It's hypodermic needle
To his soul -

But softly
As the tune comes from his throat
Trouble
Mellows to a golden note.



View all my reviews

Thursday, 15 February 2018

Opinion : Cortland Review, Issue 78, Feb 2018 (Part 1 of 2)

Why are poetry books so expensive? At 10GBP PLUS per short chapbook pamphlet this keeps poetry elitist, out of reach for the stretched pockets today, especially if you want to read a cross section of modern poets this cost would soon mount up and easily get out of control even for the well off. Further many poetry books do not seem to ever make it to the e-book format.

Magazines aren’t much better. In today’s global internet based world, the printed issue which frequently doubles in price for international postage also becomes unobtainable, and many are not available in digital format.

I have decided to explore a number of online Poetry Magazines which are free. I’m not doing these in any particular order other than the order I come to the  magazines.

The opinion given herein, and in following opinions, is my own, first impression both of the Magazine and the poems. Readers of this blog will know I write Reviews of books and Short Stories as much as a reminder to myself of the individual story and which ones I have read, however I am novice when it comes to reviewing poetry so feedback welcome.  Here goes.

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Today’s is the Cortland Review Issue 78 February 2018 http://www.cortlandreview.com/issue/78/index.php @CortlandReview 

Its editorial claims it has “new poems by Sally Bliumis-Dunn, Collier Brown, Grant Clauser, Ann Conway, Robert Cording, Chris Crew, Matt Daly, Roger Desy, Mark Dow, Glenn Freeman, Beth Gylys, Julia Leverone, Valerie Nieman, Simon Perchik, Todd Robinson, John Sibley Williams and Philip Terman” and fiction “by Juan Alvarado Valdivia and Jade Freeman.”

Each poem in this quarterly journal comes with its own audio reading. I really like this as it lets me, as a reader, also listen to how the poet reads her/his own work – their tone, their emphasis, their breaks and pauses – this greatly enhances my own read, my enjoyment, my understanding. Its the two together which make the differences hearing it read and seeing the poem’s layout, together.

Today I have read the poems by

Sally Bliumis-Dunn
Collier Brown
Grant Clauser
Ann Conway
Robert Cording
Chris Crew
Matt Daly

none of whom I have read before. Here’s my initial thoughts on each. My thoughts on the others from this Issue will follow in a subsequent post.

********

Snow by Sally Bliumis-Dunn

6 stanzas each of 3 lines in which she recalls the aftermath of her a loved one’s death in hospital in terms of the removal of the body, the renewing of the white bed linen. The trigger for this being a snowfall in her back yard covering all the items left there – the trowel, the rake, the dog’s ball , just as the black vinyl bag covered the body on the hospital gurney. Contrasts of what is hidden by the white and black in that moment of vacant staring about at the world during grief.

********

Brother by Collier Brown 16 lines Can’t say I relate to this poem. It seems to be about hunting, is the Brother of the title the hunted fox? . What stands out are the sounds employed in end of line rhymes and mid line lines and visual rhymes - aabbccddxxxxffgg Lines 1-8 are rhyming pairs, as are lines 12-16 although the reading  doesn’t force the rhymes it shows them. Lines 1-8 show the rhythm of the hounds circular territorial walk round the places where it has buried its kills and left its scent.  Lines 9-12 has the rhyming “choke” “speak” “teeth” “creek” and I suspect the jarring of “choke” is an intentional hard “k” echo into “speak” but I fail to understand why the poet should have chose this ‘discord’ in the middle section of his poem.

********

Trouble Light by Grant Clauser

This is a beautiful memory of a past father found through thinking about all the things the speaker witnessed his father doing when he was a child – fix the broken station wagon, fix the dog’s trapped leg. All this trouble, which needed a father to fix, happened in the dark, a child’s fear we can all relate to. I loved the phrases

“when the dark
was a problem you could solve
with tools and anger”

and the finale, where he still sees, recalls his father

“his light,
hanging in the shed, the garage,
keeping the dark cracks
from getting too large.”

Probably my favourite of the ones I have read thus far.

********

My Friend, Lost by Ann Conway
Another poem I just don’t get. On my reading its 15 lines didn’t run smooth and this is where the author audio really helps – it gave me the momentum of the poem.

It seems to be about someone who has lost a friend, possibly to war?  Whereas the town has moved on, forgotten its dead, the speaker has not. The friend is now only present in the speaker’s dreams, as noises haunting the kitchen, But why the final line “I was sick of those goddam Yankees”? There is no other hint, to me at least , of this being set in the US Civil War time, although I suppose “cicadas” only to be in the US South. Lost on this non-American.

********

Two Photographers by Robert Cording

A poem in 2 parts, each about an art photographer – the first Josef Sudek’s Egg, the second about Diane Arbus’ Vineland photographs. I knew neither artist, so how did reading this poem inform me about what to expect when I ‘googled’ them?

Josef Sudek appears to have a preoccupation with eggs! But more his work is post war still lifes with mundane objects such as an egg, a glass of water, placing these in different situations equally mundane and everyday  - a table, a saucer - and  using his skill as a photographer to capture the line between “light and shadow” – the before and after of the war? But also the singularity, the “selfhood”, the defined outline of the egg shape as a “focus to quiet the mind” amidst the turmoil past and present. Having ‘googled’ him, his photographers are stark – bread, water, egg – pretty basic nutrition – stark reminders of destitution, poverty and necessity, of hard times and survival. He was a Czech photographer born 1896, died 1976 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Josef_Sudek 

I also learnt a new word “gnomen”

“On a saucer, the egg
a gnomon shadowing the line

between before and after. “

According to the dictionary gnomen is
(1) the projecting piece on a sundial that shows the time by the position of its shadow.
Astronomy - a structure, especially a column, used in observing the sun's meridian altitude
(2) Geometry - the part of a parallelogram left when a similar parallelogram has been taken from its corner.

The second part, entitled Transparency (Vineland photographs, Diane Arbus), is a complete contrast. The photographs are about people it is not clear who, but the photographer  appears to be in the picture with her subjects, reminiscent of an anthropologist encountering a primitive tribe.. The result a sensation of who is looking at who in the zoo. As voyeur we ‘see’ elements of ourselves in these subjects

“in those mismatched, out-of-date,
ill-fitting outfits we recognize as our own”

But their  “stare at her camera” remains childlike, unknowing, primitive and

“even if we tried to be

this naked and vulnerable, could never escape
the awareness that has us looking at them

as if we were relieved for being who we are,
then apologetic for that failure in ourselves.”

Imagine my horror when I ‘google’ the photographer https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diane_Arbus and this series of photographers and find they were taken at Utah State Hospital for the institutionalized mentally retarded. https://www.americansuburbx.com/2012/12/diane-arbus-essential-mysteries-excerpt-2011.html

Did Robert Cording do a good job?Yes, for me his poem captures the essence of both these artist’s works and the two pieces sit well together in one poem - the sheer contrast between the distinctly different styles, approaches, and subject matter.

********

From a relief pitcher's death, I learn by Chris G Crew

On first seeing this poem I thought it must be some kind of mesostic, text found within another piece, but it  lacks the meaningful central vertical line . Instead, after reading it, I am of the opinion it is diagrammatic of the boat propeller’s shaft, central to the poem’s narrative, the circumstances surrounding the swimmer’s death.

I loved the phraseology that painted the picture of boats which “turtled along the beach” , the cyclic nature of  “all movement is borrowed from stillness” , the boat’s propeller as “the windmill toward home” .

I have difficultly with the beginning and the end – the initial “the same day we washed February from my father’s body” would appear to be self explanatory but what relation does it hold to the rest of the poem, except happening at the same time? And the point of the finale  escapes me “the finer points visible only to those living each turn of those astronomical years”

On doing a bit of investigation I found this 2015 story of Caracas Lions / Seattle Mariners pitcher Victor Sanchez which may have been the inspiration for the poem http://www.nydailynews.com/sports/baseball/mariners-prospect-dies-hit-boat-propeller-article-1.2167042

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After Tony Write to Me About Dogen by Matt Daly

Even with the title of this 11 line poem I had to consult the oracle – Google told me who Dogen was, a Japanese writer , poet and philospher from the 13th century who wrote the first Zen monastic code  (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/D%C5%8Dgen ) . Having that piece of information this poem is a reflective, contemplation on diet and lifestyle choices. The speaker considering himself appreciative of his breakfast of  “granola with almonds, walnuts, cranberries and milk rather than plain oatmeal” which it is to be assumed is what his probably vegetarian friend Tony of the title and other advocates of Dogen’s Zen lifestyles would be having , even though his non-vegetarian stomach remains wishing for something more substantial.

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ashramblings verdict – I like the format of the Cortland Reviw on the web., especially approving of the presentations of audios. My favourite poem of those read thus far is Trouble Light by Grant Clauser   - its language is very accessible, and I think anyone who has grown up with a father figure around in their childhood can relate to its narrative and sentiment.